Page 4 of Had To Be You

“You’re an asshole, Dylan.”

“Whoa.” Parker steps out from behind the change room curtain and stands next to me, eying me in the three-way mirror. He laughs hysterically. “Looks like someone has been indulging in too many late-night snacks.”

“Funny, Parker,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’d like to know where you found this guy. Did you get a Groupon entitling you to half-price suits? I mean, what the hell? I obviously take up more room in the front section than you do,” I say, gesturing to my favorite body part, which is currently crammed behind the zipper that is cutting off all circulation to my dick. “But this is ridiculous.”

Miles jumps in, not wanting to miss an opportunity to give me the gears. “You need to stop skipping your workouts, Liam. Maybe lay off the gin and tonics too,” he says with a burst of laughter.

“Fuck you, Miles. You don’t have a clue what a real workout is. FYI, fetching beer bottles from the fridge doesn’t count as one.”

We are interrupted by the pint-size Italian tailor, Marco, who speaks with an accent so strong I have to struggle to understand a word he’s saying.

“So, gentleman, how are we doing? How is everything fitting?” he asks. His eyes go wide when they land on me, and he covers his mouth with his hand.

Kill. Me. Now.

Parker, Miles and Dylan all double over in laughter, clearly enjoying seeing me in pants small enough for a toddler. Dicks!

“We have a problem with your pants, I see,” Marco states, or at least I think that’s what he says. He bends down in front of me, pulling at the seams that are struggling to remain intact.

“No shit we do,” I mumble under my breath. Parker eyes me, fighting to keep his composure.

“Not to worry. I can fix this.” Marco says, sliding the measuring tape from around his neck to my waist and cinching it.

“I say leave them,” Miles suggests. “Liam likes his pants extra tight. He thinks it helps him land the ladies.” I stare him down while he snaps a photo on his phone of the situation happening south of my midsection. I make a mental note to snatch his cell phone from him later and throw it into oncoming traffic.

“Have you forgotten I’m making a speech at your wedding, Parks? Payback is a bitch,” I warn as Marco gets a little too handsy for my liking. Thankfully, he finishes up five minutes later and I’m able to take these things off. I get dressed behind the curtain and then meet the guys in the front of the shop. Parker finishes up with Marco while Miles, Dylan and I make our way outside.

My phone vibrates in my pocket seconds later and I dig it out to see a notification from the goddamn wedding group chat. I shove my phone back into my pocket.

I don’t need to even look. My disaster of a tux fitting will be an endless source of entertainment for these idiots for years to come.

“Aren’t you going to check that?” Miles side-eyes me, unable to hide the stupid smirk on his face.

“Seriously? You guys are assholes. You just couldn’t resist, could you?”

“Nope. Not when it’s that good,” Miles laughs.

Chapter Three

Ellie

I’m jolted from my sleep by the sound of my phone. I curse to myself, trying to find it on my dresser. I’m still half asleep, but I’m awake enough to know it’s nowhere near morning. My fingers finally grip my phone and I check the time on the screen. Four effing thirty in the morning and of course, it’s from my parents. I rub my eyes in attempt to focus on their message.

My annoyance fades quickly because seeing a photo of my mom and dad makes my heart swell. They’re standing in front of a huge sandstone canyon, my father’s arm draped across my mother’s shoulder. My dad is shirtless with layers upon layers of crystal healing necklaces around his neck, and he’s gazing at my mom likes she’s the best thing he’s ever seen - even better than the impressive rock formations behind them. Half of my mother is cut off in this picture, which is not surprising. They haven’t yet mastered the art of the selfie, so at least one of their heads is usually missing from photos. My mom is wearing a long, flowing, printed skirt with an embroidered halter top and her hair is tied up with a bandana. She looks beautiful.

The message reads, “not to worry ells bells your mother is still madly in love with me ;) antelope canyon is home for the next month we love you forever.” Of course there is zero punctuation or capitals. I can’t help but laugh as I read it.

I laugh and then I smile. I miss them so damn much. I haven’t seen them in almost three years. I haven’t even heard their voices in six months. There’s no use calling them, they have one crappy drug store cell phone between the two of them and they can never remember to charge it. And when they do decide to charge it, they manage to plug it in the wrong way. It’s a wonder those two survive. Or maybe it’s just simple…they’ve always survived on love and each other.

It was the day after my eighteenth birthday when they left. They packed up the house and loaded up their RV and hit the highway as fast as they could. They said they were tired of living in the same zip code all their lives, and people needed them. I had no idea who the “people” were that they were referring to, but they said it was their calling. They kissed me goodbye. Little did I know then how infrequent their visits back home would be or how little we would speak, but I’ve never felt like they didn’t love me. They are simply two free spirits living out their dreams.

But that doesn’t make it easy. Watching them go was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. To this day I struggle with the realization that I’m alone. Being an only child only solidifies that.

My parents were high school sweethearts, having me shortly after graduation. I was a surprise - the best surprise of their lives, as they put it. My father, an artist among other spiritual things, owned a successful gallery that afforded us a very comfortable life. My mother, a born healer as she would refer to herself, grew berries and plants that she concocted into balms and edibles to heal people who were sick or wounded. I grew up an only child, in a two-story craftsmen home in the suburbs. My childhood felt so ordinary growing up. My parents were unconventional, but the love in my family always felt endless. They were madly in love with each other and still are. They never hid their affection for one another. Then, the year before I turned eighteen, my grandfather died, leaving my parents a substantial amount of money. The inheritance combined with the money from the sale of their home bought them the double wide and enough money to travel the nation. Enough money to give a lot of it away to those in need along their travels too.

I type a return message knowing they probably won’t see it and make a mental note to print a copy of their canyon photo so I can add it to the collection on my refrigerator door. I never know when I will hear from them next, so I hold on tight to every photo they send me.

I set my iPhone back on the nightstand and roll over onto my side. A slideshow of childhood memories plays through my mind. My father teaching me how to ride a bike, family game night and picnic lunches in the yard. I miss my parents. I miss having family nearby. Most days now I am able to forget that I’m all alone, that I have no one here in Reed Point to call mine. But some days are harder.

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