She loved Blossom, loved Tuesday mornings, when she’d be at the shop at 5:00 a.m. to get the week’s delivery from the wholesaler. She loved the waxy, clean smell of flowers, loved Carlotta, whom she hired after the first week to run deliveries and cover some hours. Carlotta had six grown children and seventeen ear piercings, spoke Portuguese and often brought Parker a coffee.
After two weeks, Blossom already had repeat customers, including Ethan, bless his heart, who ordered all the flowers for his restaurant from her, ensuring some continuity. He also stopped by for flowers for his bride about once a week. She’d done one funeral and one birthday party. She had a wedding booked for Christmastime, and had sent out beautiful printed announcements, complete with pressed flowers, to her Harvard and Miss Porter’s classmates.
There was a lot of reason to hope she’d do just fine.
The shop was ten minutes from Nicky’s school, fifteen from the little Victorian they’d rented. Parker was already hoping to buy the house eventually. It was snug and adorable, more than enough room for her and Nicky. A spiral staircase led to Nicky’s room on the third floor, which he called the Bat Cave. Parker’s room was on the second floor, along with two smaller bedrooms, and downstairs was a galley kitchen, a dining room and a living room. Her favorite part, though, was a front porch.
Every night, Parker and Nicky sat out there before dinner. He’d tell her about his day, the games the gym teacher came up with, the art classes, his sight words, how Colette was the prettiest girl in kindergarten and the nicest, how she sat with him on the bus and they would probably get married.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” he said, zipping his Matchbox cars over the porch railing. “You can live with us and our eight babies.” It was a simple statement, but Parker’s eyes filled with tears. It had been happening a lot.
Another plus of the front porch and normal neighborhood: accessibility to other humans. Christina and Louis, the newlyweds next door, talked in baby voices to each other, which, though exceedingly nauseating, was also kind of sweet. Jennifer, the single mom with the beautiful toddler, was lonely and often stopped for a chat.
Sometimes, Parker wondered how’d she’d managed to live at Grayhurst all those years.
One night, when Nicky was at Ethan’s, Parker sat on the porch, nursing a glass of wine, one foot on Beauty, who was snoring gently, when Lucy came up the front walk.
“Hey there,” she called, smiling. “I left the boys to do manly things. Figured we could hang out.”
“Absolutely,” Parker said. “Glass of wine?”
“Can’t,” Lucy said, patting her belly, which had begun to pop. “Those doctors are so mean. Know what they said last week? ‘Limit your chocolate intake.’ Don’t they know who I am?”
Parker laughed, and Lucy sat next to her. They chatted till it got dark—Nicky, Ethan, baby names, work—then went inside, little Beauty padding after them, then curling up in the corner to keep an eye on Lucy. She was still shy, though her abject terror at outsiders seemed to have passed.
“I love this place,” Lucy said, looking around. “You’ve done a nice job, Parker.”
“Thanks,” she said. She’d painted the walls a soft green, filled the bookshelves and hung some framed artwork by her son. “I never really had a place of my own. I mean, I had apartments and stuff, but my mom would come in with her decorator and take over.”
“Did you mind?” Lucy asked.
“Nah. It was her way of taking care of me.”
“And how is your mom?”
“Oh, she’s fine. She’s in the final ten for Real Housewives of Las Vegas.”
“Dear Lord.”
“I know. She might come out for Thanksgiving. But my cousin is a definite.”
“It’ll be great,” Lucy said. They were coming, too, as well as Gianni and Marie. A full house.
Lucy took a sip of her seltzer water, then pulled a throw pillow into her lap. “So.”
“Uh-oh. Are you going to lecture me?”
“Yes.” Lucy smiled. “You were so good at lecturing me about this time last year.”
“Was I?”
“Oh, yeah. Figured it was my turn.”
Parker sighed and took a sip of wine. “Okay. Go for it. I’m ready.”
“Thanks. Well, it seems to me that on some levels, you’ve never been better. The shop is fantastic, and you seem to love it.”
“I do,” Parker said. “Never thought I’d be a florist, but you’re right.”
“And this house feels so much more like you than Grayhurst ever did.”
Parker gave a half nod. “Yeah. Hard to feel at home in a mansion when it’s just two of you.”
“Nicky’s doing great, obviously.”
“He’s getting married.”
“Yes. Colette. Do you approve?”
Parker smiled. “I do. She came over on Sunday and has beautiful manners.”
Lucy was quiet for a minute. “You ever hear from James?”
Parker looked down. “No. We…we’re done. Summer lovin’, and all that.”
“Please, no singing.” Lucy smiled. “The thing is…well, you’ve been different since you got back. A little sad.”
Dang. There were those ninja tears again, slipping up on her without warning. “Um, you know. A lot of change.”
“Right,” said Lucy. “But I know you had feelings for James.”
Parker took a sip of wine. “No, you’re right. I did.”
“And I know that’s pretty rare for you.”
“Hey. I was in love with John Stamos for quite some time. Of course, I called him Jesse back then.”
“Okay, okay, so John Stamos, sure, who didn’t love him? And the Old Spice man, we can’t forget him.”
“He saw me through a lot of lonely hours,” Parker seconded.
Lucy smiled again, her soft, gentle smile. “But in all seriousness, Parker, the fact that this guy got to you…that’s huge. Isn’t it?”
Her words brought a lump to Parker’s throat. “He’s a lot like my father.” Her voice was just above a whisper.
“Really? Because I never got that impression. I always thought James was kind of sweet. And a little lonely, maybe.”
Parker swallowed. “He is. Or he’s not. I don’t know, Luce. I was thinking about a future, a relationship, and the whole time he already had a job lined up in New York. And the girlfriend…”
“Yeah, yeah, you told me the story.”
“Right. So at the very best, it was a huge miscommunication. At worst, he was cheating on me. Or her.”
Lucy was quiet for a long minute. “Well, let me say something, and don’t get mad, okay?”
“I hate when people say that,” she grumbled.
“Right, but I’m in a delicate condition, so you have to listen.”
“Fire away, Pregnita.”
Lucy looked at her hand for a minute, and twisted her wedding ring. “It’s just that sometimes, the right guy seems really wrong. And sometimes, it’s easier to grab hold of an excuse, because really going for it, putting yourself out there…that’s hard. You know that. You saw me through that last year.”
Parker conceded the point with a nod.
“So, welcome to the world, Parker. Loving someone can be terrifying.” She set her glass down gently. “And it’s worth it.”
ON SUNDAY, WHEN THE SHOP was closed and Nicky was with Ethan, Parker got into the Volvo and headed north. It had been a week since the Lecture from Lucy, and she’d been itchy and scratchy ever since.
Life would be much simpler without a relationship.
She had a son to raise.
She had a business to run.
James didn’t want what she did. Or so he said. Except for that one time, on the dock. I’m in.
He’d gone into the water looking for her son.
As she turned onto the street of dear old dad’s correctional facility, a car pulled out of the parking lot. She caught the quickest glimpse of the driver, and before her brain registered who it was, longing surged up so fast and strong that her chest actually ached.
James.
Her hands zinged with adrenaline, and she bit her lip hard. But he didn’t see her, turned the other way, didn’t seem to glance in his rearview mirror, didn’t tap his brakes.
She went in, the guards as polite as the waiters at the Pierre, and went into the visiting room. A few minutes later, Harry appeared.
“Parker,” he said. He looked better than last time. “What a surprise.”
“Harry. How are you?”
“Good. And you?”
“Fine.”
“How’s Nicky?”
“He’s great. He wants to get married and have eight kids.” She pushed some hair behind her ears, her heart thudding sickly, though she wasn’t sure why.
“Seems like a lot.” Harry gave a small smile, and Parker felt something shift in her chest.
“So I saw James leaving as I pulled in,” she said.
Her father nodded. “He comes every other weekend or so. Good kid.” Her father paused, tracing an invisible design on the tabletop. “Of course, he should come see me, since he’s the one who put me here.”
Parker’s mouth dropped open. “You know about that?”
Harry shrugged. “He told me a few weeks ago, but I already suspected. I was stupid. He did the right thing.”
“Doesn’t it bother you? That he’s the one responsible?”
“Well, the truth is, I’d have probably gotten caught anyway. He jump-started the process, let’s put it that way.”
Parker shook her head. “Did you want to get caught, Harry? Is that it?”
Another shrug. “I don’t know. You get to a point where you think you’re invincible. That you’re smarter than everyone else. Maybe I wanted to see how far I could push things.”
You always did.
“I have a question for you, Harry,” she said, her voice low.
For the first time during the visit, her father looked uncomfortable. “Go ahead.”
She hesitated, her stomach twisting. Say it, Spike advised. She swallowed. “How is it that you could be such a crappy father to me and be so…easy with James? The first time I ever saw you two together, you were already closer than you and I have ever been. He put you in here, and you don’t seem to hold anything against him.” Her voice was shaking.
Harry didn’t answer.
“You barely speak to me. We’ve talked more since you were convicted than we have in a decade, and I’m sure it’s because you’re bored. But James…James is your BFF, even now. Did you always want a son? Is that my problem? I was born with the wrong parts?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped. He glanced over her shoulder, thinking, then looked at her again. “It’s not that at all.”
“Well, what is it, then?”
“It’s that you’ve been waiting for me to screw up again since you were ten years old.”
“When I walked in on you doing the babysitter, you mean?” Her voice was loud, and several people looked over.
“Yes.” His eyes were stony. “Exactly. And ever since that day, you’ve sat in judgment, just like your mother. You moved into Grayhurst to remind me of that day, to remind me that I was dog shit.”
“You were screwing my babysitter, Harry! You were dog shit!”
Her father shook his head “See, that’s your problem, Parker. Granted, I’m completely to blame for that day. But nothing I could do afterward could ever make up for that one stupid roll in the sack. You wouldn’t forgive me. Ever.”
