Weekend Friend

10.

TATUM SAVES THE day.

In Layman's Terms, the engine had threatened to fail because Parker's Prius was treacherously low on oil. How this came to pass is beyond me, but Tatum effectively replenished the oil, and the engine is no longer failing. Big hurrah. Parker will take it into the shop when we return to Seattle, but it's still safe to drive. At least, according to Tatum and Zookeeper Zander, it is.

While I wholeheartedly believe that Parker and myself would've sorted everything out on our own, Tatum has spared us the manual labour and accompanying frustration that probably would've culminated with me in tears. And now we're all on our merry fucking way, with Parker's Prius following Sydney's Prius down Highway 101 like we're in some sort of hybrid motorcade.

All things considered, my spirits should be relatively high, but they're not—they're shaky at best. Sometimes I struggle to pinpoint why I'm moody or anxious or some sick combination of both, but this is not one of those times. Parker keeping me out of the loop and Sydney neglecting to give me a heads-up about chauffeuring two soccer-playing international students—one of which I get butterflies for—into Olympic National Forest is precisely why I'm not fired up right now.

I'm also not ready to talk about my feelings with Parker, so I turn up the volume on Taylor Swift's folklore album and rest my temple against the cool glass of the window, watching the seemingly endless screen of green whizz by. Parker respects my silence for thirty minutes, but she's never been one to hold her tongue for long, so when mirrorball starts playing at a lower volume, I know what's coming.

"You'd tell me if you were upset, right?" Parker asks.

I sigh, my breath fogging up the glass. "Upset about what?"

"You know what, Jen." Her words are sharp, borderline accusatory. She isn't going to let things fester, and I decide that I don't want them to either.

Cold air from the AC brushes against my cheek as I reposition myself to look at Parker. "I'd appreciate it if you'd clarify."

Parker's knuckles stain on the wheel as she spares me a quick, apologetic glance. "Morgan knew about today. He knew I was going to go eventually, but he also knew we were going today because...well, because I told him."

"Which I wouldn't have judged you for," I sigh out, pulling my left knee to hug it to my chest. The movement relieves tension in my muscles that I'm only now aware of. "I'm not, like, adamantly Anti Whitman. You know that. I know you do."

As Parker's best friend, I've spent many hours of my life talking about this boy. And because of this, she's well aware of where I stand on Morgan Whitman. She knows I think he's a nice guy—a good guy, even. But it's hard to wholeheartedly endorse the guy who's only ever seemed to disappoint Parker. It's like betting on a promising racehorse that has yet to win a race.

"I know," Parker confirms with a nod. "It's just that talking about it is...hard. It's so hard. Even with you. Because hearing myself talk about it—about wanting to keep trying to make this thing work after nearly two years—it makes me doubt myself. It makes me feel like a lovesick pushover. Like, where has my agency fucked off to?"

I shake my head because she couldn't be further from the truth. "You're not a lovesick pushover, Parker."

"But that's how I feel!" Parker barks out a hollow laugh. "The second he looks at me with those big blue eyes and talks in that god damn British accent, I can't think straight. And the thing is, I can't be mad that he wants to take a break because—" her voice waivers, and a singular tear slides out from behind the lens of her sunglasses. "—because his dad's sick. He's got thyroid cancer, which Morgan says is treatable, but he's got younger siblings and it's been hard. It's why he turned down his internship at KMPG and went back to England for the summer."