Parker

PARKER

It’s been about three hours, and I haven’t moved from the kitchen table.

I’ve been lost in daydreams of what Brando might be like now and edging myself each and every time the thought of him floated through my mind.

I guess it’s hard not to think about him since the sun went down about an hour ago, and dusk was the last time we got to play hide and seek before being split up.

I smile lazily at the memory before I finally drop my feet from the kitchen table and stand up, reminding myself that those games are so far in my past that it doesn’t do much for me to think about them anymore.

Besides, Brando is in his late twenties at this point, a grown man with actual responsibilities, and I’m sure none of them have to do with childhood games.

Although one more time for the road would be fun, I think as I let out a breath and begin to pick up the debris from the table. A half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a sticky napkin that I used to clean myself up a little bit, and the spare dabbing cartridge for my vape that I was so sure I was going to use tonight.

I empty the plate into the trash can, then walk back to the sink and place it to the side as I turn on the faucet. Pumping some hand soap into my hands, I quickly give my hands a scrubbing before picking up the plate again and washing it off. After I’ve placed it in the strainer, I turn around and rest my cheeks against the cool steel of the top of the base doors.

I haven’t worn a thong in years, but after reading his letter, I became flushed with so many feelings about seeing him again, and felt that it went best with my white, cotton tank.

I look toward the window, wondering how close Brando is by now. Granted, his letter was dated three days ago, so I would think, at this point, he’s already come and gone.

Maybe seeing me would have been too much for him, I reason as I watch the stars twinkling in the dark, midnight-blue sky. Maybe he wants to remember how me how I was—it’s how I would, and want, to remember him.

I glance toward the spot next to the refrigerator and stare at my landline hanging there, staring back at me. I found that rotary phone at an estate sale and was so excited to find out that it still worked, that I decided to have a line installed so I could use it.

Running a hand down my face, I decide to walk over and pick up the receiver. It takes more than a few turns of the dial, but the line starts ringing soon enough.

“Hello?” comes the groggy bark.

I get it. It’s almost one in the morning, and I woke him up, so he’s more than likely going to chew me out more than anything else.

“Hey, Dad,” I greet him.

“Parker? Oh, what the fuck,” he grumbles in a quieter tone. I smile as I hear the bed creak, knowing that he’s probably sitting up to make sure he doesn’t wake up Mom. “Are you okay? Is this an emergency?”

“I guess that depends.”

“Parker,” he growls in his quietest tone. “Why are you calling at–” I listen to the rustling in the background. “Twelve forty-seven in the fucking morning if it’s not an emergency?”

I do my best not to giggle. I can only imagine how he looks right now. Dressed in his standard flannel pajama pants, his white Hanes t-shirt, and his salt and pepper hair standing up wildly on his head.

I lean against the wall next to the phone and begin to twirl the chord nervously around my finger. I have to tell him even though I know it’s going to make him angrier than he possibly already is.

“Parker?”

“I …” Just tell him. “I just wanted to say that I love you. And Mom. I don’t think I’ve told either of you lately. That’s all.”

I hang up the phone quickly and close my eyes, sliding down to the kitchen floor.

There probably won’t be much to tell since I doubt Brando is still in town, so why upset him?