“Amicably,” Parker repeats slowly, like he doesn’t quite believe me.
Probably because I’m lying through my teeth.
“Uh, yeah.” I take another sip, mind racing. “He, uh, left. For Doctors Without Borders!” I exclaim, latching onto the thread of my previous lie in desperation. “I’m here and Diego, well, he’s off… saving people… and stuff.” Are my cheeks on fire? I think they’re on fire. “So… we had to break up. But it was…”
“Amicable,” Parker finishes for me.
“Yeah,” I confirm weakly.
Nate’s grip tightens even more on his mug. I wish I knew what that meant.
Parker stares at me like I’ve gone mad. “O-kay. Now that that’s all cleared up…” He turns to Nate. “What about you, my friend? Still flying solo? Last time I was here, you were basically celibate.”
I choke on my coffee. I’m so surprised, the sip in my mouth shoots straight up my nasal passages and out my nose. I sit there, spluttering like a fool, and Parker bursts out laughing, the bastard.
“Need a sippy cup, sis?” He slaps me on the back.
Nate silently hands me a napkin, mouth twitching in a dangerous approximation of a smile as I continue to cough.
Thismakes him smile?Seriously?
I wipe my dripping nose and pray that this is all a dream. With Parker here, everything feels alarmingly like middle school all over again.
***
Later that night, I clean the kitchen while the boys talk, their voices hushed low. Every now and then, Parker will glance over at me with concern in his eyes, so I know they’re talking about me.
I do my best to ignore them.
My hair, still wet from a shower, is up in a towel. I’m finally back in my own clothes, looking sleek and sophisticated in a pair of ultra-slim black chinos, a fitted Gucci blouse, and coral Brain Atwood heels. I tell myself if I dress normal, I’ll feel normal.
For some reason, I’m not half as comfortable in the designer getup as I was in Nate’s simple black t-shirt.
I took my time beneath the water, examining the damage to my body. There’s a burn on the back of my neck, where my necklace was yanked off. My raw wrists, knees, and elbows are starting to scab over, though it’ll be a few days before they’re back to full working order. For the most part, my body looks totally fine.
My face is another story.
A dark bruise blooms from my right eye socket all the way to the hairline by my temple. It’s an ugly blue-black color — mottled red at the edges where my blood vessels burst. In the coming days, I expect it’ll run the full gamut of colors, from purple to green to yellow, before finally fading away.
How delightful.
Stomach rumbling, I raid Nate’s fridge in search of dinner. He’s got plenty of standard boy-fare — more beer, some leftover pizza, two uncooked steaks, seventeen thousand different kids of hot sauce — but I’m also pleasantly surprised to find chicken breasts, milk, cheese, and even —gasp— vegetables.
I grab the chicken, a lemon, and fresh parsley from the fridge, then root around his cabinets for the rest of my ingredients. Twenty minutes later, I’ve got water heating on the back burner and a simple chicken piccata — without capers because A. Nate didn’t have them and B.Ew, capers — sizzling in a skillet up front. I lower the heat, add another dash of chicken broth, and toss in a handful of chopped parsley for flavor. A peek into the back pot shows the water has reached a rolling boil — I dump in a generous handful of pasta.
Unless there’s been a drastic change in the boys’ eating habits, I’m guessing every morsel of this meal will be devoured in less than twenty minutes.
I don’t bother calling them. The aroma of dinner does that for me.
They both wander over and lean against the counter, drawn like bloodhounds to a fresh kill. When I turn to look at them, they’re both eyeing my skillet with hungry gazes.
“Whatcha cooking there, sis?” Parker asks, fingers darting out to nab a piece of chicken from the pan.
I smack his hand with my spatula before he makes contact.
“Hey!” He glares at me and pulls back his walloped fingers.
“It’ll be done in five minutes, grabby.” I glare back at him. “This is not a free for all.”