Reliving Yesterday ✔

Chapter 32.

When I walked back up the porch stepped, turned to wave Blake off and then walk in the door, I was sun kissed and happy. This was probably because Blake, ever the wonderful person, had completely brushed off the awkward interaction with Parker and had turned the day around. When the heat had started getting to us, we decided it was time to leave. So, there I stood, my back pressed up against my door, as I reminisced the day that preceded. Well, day was a stretch. We had only spent a few hours together; a few much-needed hours, but it was enough.

I sighed happily as I pushed myself off the door and went into the kitchen to get myself a glass of water. I pulled a bottle out of the refrigerator, instead, needing something to cool my system and ambled upstairs, wondering which method of procrastination I could use before I had to actually start some work.

I changed my clothes and sat down at my desk to catch up on a few TV shows online, when I heard a door slam. I looked up and watched as Parker's mother walked hastily away from the house and towards a shiny, black car parked on the other side of the road. There was no sign of Parker near the door or in his room, so I waited for a while, watching his window to see whether he walked in, but he didn't. I hesitated, my fingers poised over my keyboard to type, but I couldn't. I debated whether to go over there and talk to him. He was never in a good mood after he interacted with his mother. His stepmother he got along with fairly well, but she was away so much that she hardly knew him.

I tried to distract myself with some videos on YouTube, but in the end, I found myself climbing out my window and in through his. I landed on his hardwood floor with a soft thud and breathed in his scent. There wasn't a sound in the house so I figured he must be in the kitchen. I walked downstairs and into the kitchen, trying not to notice a smashed vase on the floor. I remembered the vase to be one of his mother's favorite things; I secretly rejoiced that he smashed it. As I reached the kitchen, I could see him sitting at the island counter with his back turned to me, his tank top still showing patches of sweat and his flannel still tied around his waist, nursing a mug of some steaming liquid.

I didn't dare to breathe, afraid of what his reaction would be to be standing there. It was only when I fidgeted my toes that I realized that I hadn't bothered to don on any shoes. Taking in a deep, silent breath, I walked into the kitchen and walked around the counter and sat across him, not looking at him. I know he knew it was me and that I came in because he breathed in deeply and straightened slightly even though he still kept his head bent.

As our tradition goes, we don't ask each other anything, so I waited patiently for him to talk. I didn't really have any courage to look up at his face, so instead, I watched his artful, long fingers as they fidgeted around his mug, which depleted in steam by the second. It was as I was watching his fingers that I noticed that there was water dropping on to the counter every now and then. It was then that I realized that Parker was crying; silently and without motion, but he was shedding tears. I sighed. I didn't want to ask him about it because that sort of violated our tradition, so I got up and walked over on to the other side and sat beside him.

It was a long time before the silence was broken.

"What did she say to you?" he asked me.

I looked at him sideways. "She asked me whether I knew where you were," I replied.

"What did you tell her?" he asked.

"The truth," I stated, simply, "That I didn't know."

He didn't talk for some time again. He only raised his head. By this time, his tears had dried and he had wiped his eyes. I ached to ask him what she had said to make him so hurt because Parker, strong as he was, only cried when he was truly, utterly hurt, but I didn't; I couldn't; I didn't feel the same ease with his as I used to, especially when it came to sensitive matters. It pained me that our conversations didn't flow like a tranquil river anymore; they only sprouted suddenly like springs from rocks.