Page 8 of Finding Parker

“It’s a sore subject with me. People saying they love someone, screwing them, and then screwing them. Inevitably it ends poorly, Parker. The girl always gets left holding onto some false hope of the most recent douchebag of a boyfriend coming back to her, and he doesn’t. He moves on to another victim, screws her, and gives her some bullshit reason for leaving; generally twisting the truth to make it look like it’s her fault. Fact of the matter is this,” she spread her hands about a foot apart and turned her palms upward.

“It never was love, and it was always just about sex. He should have said, I want to fuck you and walk away without any ties to you. If I have fun fucking you, I may come back and do it again. If I don’t enjoy it, don’t expect to see me again. Had he said something like that, she could have made a more intelligent decision – a more fact based decision – and not held onto the hope of him being the one. Men. I have little use for them,” she clasped her hands together, looked down at my shoes, and shook her head.

“So,” I dragged the word along, and hesitated before continuing.

“You want to go on a date?” I asked.

“Seriously? After all of that you want to ask me out?” she chuckled.

“Absolutely,” I smiled.

“Just don’t tell me you love me and then spend the entire night trying to fuck me,” she said as she scrunched her brow into a cartoon like scowl.

“Not a chance,” I smiled, “I’m a virgin.”

“Whatever,” she said as she rolled her eyes and tossed her head to the side.

“I’m serious. My grandmother raised me with old school values,” I said flatly as I lifted my cup from the table.

“A date with a virgin. This’ll be a nice change. Sounds fun, Parker. When and where?” she asked.

“How does Friday night sound? Say six o’clock or so?” I raised my eyebrows and waited for her response.

“You really a virgin?” she asked, her eyes studying me as she spoke.

I nodded my head sharply, “I certainly am.”

“Six o’clock sounds great,” she responded.

“How about this,” in an effort to make myself seem more interesting and a little on the mysterious side of things, I stood from my chair and picked up my tablet.

“I’ll pick you up here at six o’clock on Friday. If everything goes well, we’ll exchange numbers and such afterward.”

Undeniably surprised, she looked up at me as I picked up my coffee cup.

“Sorry, I have a meeting in a few minutes,” I said as I turned my wrist and glanced at my watch.

“Sounds great,” she looked up, smiled, and shook her head slowly.

“I’ll look forward to seeing you again,” I nodded and turned toward the stairs.

As I approached the steps, I dropped my coffee cup into the trash can. Turning to face Katelyn as I pushed my hand into my pocket, I hesitated and held the gaze for a long moment before I stepped onto the first step. When her mouth began to form a smile, I smiled in return, turned, and began to walk down the steps.

Certainly Kenton would be proud of me – considering my accomplishments for the morning. I didn’t really understand why, but his approval of my endeavors was important to me. As I stepped through the door and onto the sidewalk, I began to think of what I would tell him regarding having met Katelyn and my morning at the coffee shop.

Kenton had requested my updates be delivered in person. Speaking on the telephone, he advised me, was impersonal. The thought of acting in a manner other than what would be perceived as anything but personal bothered me.

I started the car and typed Kenton’s address into the navigation system. As I pulled from the curb, I thought of how I would describe Katelyn to Kenton. Her natural good looks, the asymmetrical haircut, her hatred toward her whorish sister, clear skin, general lack of faith in the male species, and her small yet athletic build.

Imperfectly perfect.

VICTORIA. “Look above the stove, in the pantry,” my mother moaned.

“I did mother,” I responded as I walked from her bedroom into the living room.

I tried to recall the last time she actually slept in her bedroom. I was probably in middle school. For as long as I could remember, my mother had slept in the recliner in the living room. Basically, she lived in the chair, pointed strategically at the television - which blasted meaningless matter twenty four hours a day.

Without a doubt, painkillers dull all of one’s senses, hearing included.