Like Elliot: Part 3

Introducing Parker.

Well, a reintroduction.

Considering I never really knew him.

***

There I was, standing embarrassingly frozen as he exited Marie’s Cake Shop calling for me.

My heart was already in my stomach but I felt it drop again when he asked me in a wavering tone,

“Wait, Lennie...would you...maybe...wanna grab coffee sometime?”

I blushed and was about to open my mouth but before I could respond he said in one breath:

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be so forward…I have no idea what your situation is, or if you’re even married or something but I don’t see a ring on your finger...Oh God, now I’m being invasive I’m so sorry. Lord, you probably don’t even remember me but I remember you. Now that sounded creepy. I’m so fucking creepy. You must’ve been so confused when I was talking to you back in the shop, that some random dude was just calling your name and freaking you out. I’m sorry. Anyway, I’m Parker. We used to go to the same school. My grandma ran this shop and so I was around here all the time and you were sometimes here, you and that boy and–”

That was the most I ever heard him speak.

“Parker?” I question as if the name has never occurred to me before.

I wait for a second longer just to tease him. I shouldn’t have, but the opportunity was right there; the words fell out of my mouth too quickly to hold myself back.

As he was about to speak and explain himself further, I jump in laughing,

“Jeez, I'm just kidding. I’m sorry. Parker, of course, I remember you.”

Oh, of course, I remember him. I recognized him the moment I walked into the cake shop and looked into his eyes. He has big brown eyes that glisten like honey in the sun and curly hair of the same hue...boy did he age well.

“And yes. Let’s get coffee sometime...I’m in town for a little while longer.”

Maybe I didn’t remember Parker correctly. Maybe he wasn’t a quiet boy at all. It’s possible that I didn’t give him any of my attention, so it was never reciprocated. That I just observed him rather than try and get to know him. Maybe if I wasn’t so attached to Elliot, I would've known Parker. Maybe, I can get to know him now. I would like that.

As I watch Parker return to Marie’s, a feeling emerges in my chest that I can’t quite place. Is it the excitement of learning something new about someone old? Is it the way Parker said, “that boy” so simply? Or is it just this place and town weighing on me that I am unable to get a full breath?

***

On the day of our coffee date, which was only two days later, we decided that I would stop by Marie’s Cake Shop and go from there. I did not want Parker to pick me up at my childhood home and have my parents asking all these questions whilst my younger siblings were running around all over the place. It's not the best look for a 25 year old.

And so, I walk in, catching the gaze of his honey brown eyes, and immediately feel calm. Which is surprising and scares me a little. Even though I barely know Parker, the comfort of him being a sliver of the past settles my bones. He was someone who knew Elliot. Well, at least knew of.

But this settlement didn't last for long: because instead of just exchanging pleasantries than getting on our way, he announces,

“Can I show you something before we head out? It’s upstairs in my grandma’s old apartment. I promise you it's nothing creepy.”

Although wary, I take his hand and follow him up the creaky wooden staircase and around the corner. We stop in front of the bright yellow arched door while his keychain jangles in his hand.

As I am greeted by the sage green walls and pink flowery curtains, Parker makes his way to a bookshelf. It is beautiful oak wood with books covering it from ceiling to floor; I wish I had known about this place as a kid. I would have nagged Marie every day to come up here and pick a new book off of the shelf.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him reaching for something. His shirt pulls up and the skin on his side peaks through.

He turns around holding a small package wrapped in brown paper.

Surely it couldn’t be a present. It’s only been two days since he was reminded of my existence. And why would it be up here, in Marie’s apartment?

“Here. Go ahead...open it.”

“What is it? Are you sure?”

"Yes. Just open it.”

I rip through the brown paper, and a flash of deep forest green appears. As the brown paper dissolves, the buttery leather on my fingertips gives me the familiarity of home: the presence of Elliot.

It's his childhood journal.