*trigger warning*
"Happy Thanksgiving!" I announced to Parker.
He threw a pillow at me from his bed.
"Does something magical happen on Thanksgiving?" I inquired. "Does a giant turkey bring you presents? Or a pilgrim deliver baskets of food?"
"It's Thanksgiving," Parker muttered, pulling a pillow over his head. "You're supposed to be thankful for what you already have."
"Well I have you," I pointed out. "If you'd get your ass out of bed."
"Go away."
"Let's go to the beach."
"Five more minutes."
"I didn't drive 2 and a half hours to sleep in a hotel room," I pointed out.
"Shut the fuck up and leave me alone," Parker groaned.
I threw the pillow back at him that he'd pelted me with.
Parker let out a long, dramatic groan, flipping over on his back and shooting me a death glare. "Why do you hate me?"
"Because I want to go to the beach."
"We have the entire day, all day tomorrow, and the morning on Saturday to do that. Why can't you just let me sleep a little longer?"
"Because I want to go to the beach now."
He threw the pillow at me again before crawling out of bed, muttering obscenities to himself as he headed towards the bathroom.
"So we're going to the beach then?" I called after him.
"Take your medicine Lee!" he called after his shoulder.
"And then we can go?"
He slammed the bathroom door shut.
I'll take that as a yes.
I hopped up out of my own bed, rummaging through Parker's suitcase until I came across my giant-ass pill container.
I popped open the slot for Thursday morning and took what was inside, trusting that Parker had dealt the drugs as instructed.
"So are you making me a giant turkey for dinner tonight?" I asked Parker, as he came out of the bathroom. "You know, in the spirit of Thanksgiving and everything."
He gestured to the tiny kitchen in the hotel room. "Yes Lee, I'm baking a fucking turkey in the hotel room tonight. Would you like some stuffing to go along with it?"
"Preferably."
He rolled his eyes, cracking a smile. "I don't even know how to cook a turkey."
"You just put it in the oven," I said, heading over to my own suitcase to find my swimsuit.
"I think there's more to it then that," Parker declined.
"It can't be that hard."
"Why? Do you want to make a turkey?"
"No," I said, with a shake of my head. "I'd rather not burn down the hotel room."
In the cooking department, Parker and I both lacked most of the required skills. My mom had passed on some of her wisdom to Parker, but not enough.
"I was thinking that we'd just go out tonight," Parker said, as I located my swimsuit.
"So you're taking me out on a date then?"
"A nice candlelight dinner," Parker agreed, with a smirk.
I headed to the bathroom, laughing.
"I'm serious though!" Parker called after me.
"About the date?"
"No, about going out for dinner. I'm sure there's somewhere that has to serve, like, Thanksgiving dinners for people who don't cook."
True. There has to be a market for that.
I changed into my suit, re-entering the room.
Parker had changed as well, and was currently applying sunscreen.
"Did you have somewhere in mind?" I asked him, tossing my pajamas in the general direction of my suitcase.
"I barely got this hotel room together," Parker reminded me, gesturing to the room around us. "Do I look like I have dinner reservations?"
I rolled my eyes, taking the spray sunscreen and stepping outside on the balcony.
"You're going to get burnt," Parker warned me, as I stepped back inside after covering myself in sunscreen.
"I just put this on," I said, tossing the spray back at him.
"Spray sunscreen doesn't do shit."
The same damn argument every time.
"Just because you burn like a lobster, that doesn't mean everyone else does," I reminded him, slathering some sunscreen on my face.
He ignored me, opening up a cabinet. "Did we even buy breakfast last night?"
"I bought Pop-Tarts," I said, moving aside the chips on the counter and revealing a box of Brown Sugar Cinnamon Pop-Tarts.
"Good enough," he said, ripping open the box.
I took a package before sliding on my Ray Bans. "Is my surfboard still in the car?"
"Do I look like I brought it in?"
I rolled my eyes, taking my Pop-Tarts with me as I headed out of the hotel room and downstairs towards the car.
I finished my first Pop-Tart as I made it to the parking lot, tossing the wrapper in the trashcan as I started on the second one.
"Would you like the keys or are you planning on breaking a window?" Parker called from the railing up by our room on the third floor.
Keys, right.
He tossed them down, and I caught them before they impaled me in the face.
My surfboard was still strapped to the top of the car. Lucky someone didn't steal it.
When you were at the beach, it seemed that you lived in a different world. You trusted your beach chairs down by the water while you went up to the pool. You left your towels by the pool while you went to your room for a snack.
Everyone was more trusting and open at the beach.
While I was in the real world, I wouldn't even leave a bag of chips sitting by themselves for more than five seconds for fear they'd be stolen.
I rescued my surfboard and Parker met me down in the parking lot, popping open the trunk.
All of our beach stuff was still in the car.
"What did we even do last night?" I asked him.
"We got here at about 10:00," he reminded me. "Went to the store at about midnight to find some food. And then went to bed."
Parker and I never really brought anything to the beach. I brought my board, and Parker brought a soccer ball. And then we brought towels.
Sometimes Parker would bring a chair if he was feeling responsible. But today was not that day.
"Maybe we should've brought a chair or something," Parker said to me.
"Good call."
I could practically hear him rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses.
We headed down to the beach, which wasn't too crowded.
I guess people would rather spend time eating turkey and watching football than soaking up the sun on Thanksgiving.
I brought my own surfboard wax this time, because Parker could never seem to remember it, and after a quick cleanup of my board that's spent the last several months in storage, I ditched Parker for the ocean water.
I'd always loved to surf. I remember the first time I'd gone surfing, I was seven. It'd been Parker's idea, at the age of 10.
My mom had signed us both up for this surf class at the beach and Parker had hated it within half an hour, mostly because he couldn't get the hang of it.
But I'd loved it. I'd never been athletic, that was always Parker's thing. But something about surfing had just clicked, and by the end of the class I'd convinced my mom that this was what I was born to do.
I'm sure she wasn't convinced of it, but she rented me a surfboard the next day and let me loose on the water.
And so it continued every time we came back to the beach, which was quite often as a Floridian, home-schooled kid. Eventually I had my own surfboard, and I'd stay in the water from the time we arrived at the beach until we left.
I never entered any surfing competitions or pretended like I actually knew what I was doing. I just did it because it was something I knew how to do, and actually liked doing.
I think it pissed Parker off sometimes because we'd never end up on the gulf coast beaches, where the water was calmer and the parties were rampant.
We frequented Cocoa Beach, and sometimes we'd switch it up for a different Atlantic beach. But he'd grown accustomed to it. He may not surf, but he and my dad would go at it in skim boarding and body surfing competitions.
They were both competitive, another trait I seemed to lack.
After a few hours I went back to the shore to grab a quick drink and take a short break.
I discarded my surfboard next to the towel I was sure had been mine, mostly because I'm sure nobody else would own a Key West towel with the name Lee Adams monogrammed on it.
Courtesy of my mom. Or the Easter Bunny. Whichever you prefer.
Parker was down a bit on the beach, playing a game of pick-up soccer.
No matter where or when we went to the beach, Parker always managed to start a game of soccer.
I took a seat in the sand, helping myself to some of his water since I'd failed to bring some of my own.
After a few minutes, Parker jogged over to our little beach site, helping himself to his water.
"I'm starving," he informed me, his breathing ragged.
"I could go for food."
He tipped back his water bottle, finishing it off. "Let's go up to the pool bar and find something."
"Are you going to rescue your soccer ball?" I asked, nodding towards the game that was continuing on without him.
He glanced over his shoulder, and then shrugged, looking back at me. "Nah, I'll just come back."
~*~
"What about seafood?" Parker asked, as we continued down the highway.
"No," I declined.
"A steakhouse?"
"No."
Parker casted me a look.
"What?"
"What do you want then?" he asked me, irritation lacing his voice.
"What about Italian?"
He mused over my offer, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
I checked my phone, answering McKenna's text as I waited on his response.
"I guess," he agreed. "That's not very Thanksgiving-like though."
"And seafood was?"
"You can have crab legs in the spirit of Thanksgiving."
"Just like you can have pizza in the spirit of Thanksgiving."
He let out a dissatisfied grunt, and I reached over and turned up the radio, letting Drake's voice fill up the Audi instead of Parker's seafood argument.
And then a ringing sound interrupted the music.
I shot Parker a confused glance.
"Oh, that's me," he said, his eyes lighting up. "I connected my phone to the Bluetooth system."
"So your phone call is going to broadcast throughout the car?"
"It's hands-free talking Lee. It's safer."
I just shrugged, leaning back as he answered the incoming call from Emmett.
"Hey man, what's up?" Parker asked.
There were a few moments of silence on the other end.
I think his hands-free system might be broken or something.
"Parker, we need to talk," Emmett said, in a low voice.
That wasn't a friendly, I just binged on a shitload of Thanksgiving food voice. That was an urgent, something's wrong voice.
Shit, Emmett is going to tell Parker about the Jacksonville tests. And Parker's going to know that I knew first.
I could see the light at the end of the tunnel now.
"What's going on?" Parker asked, his voice a little stressed now.
I could hear Emmett's ragged breathing on the other end of the line now.
"I got home last night, about 8:00," Emmett started, in a slightly panicked tone. "From my tournament?"
"Yeah," Parker agreed.
"And I asked Em if she wanted anything for dinner, because I hadn't eaten yet."
This conversation was taking a different turn than I expected, and it wasn't a turn that I wanted it to take. And judging by Parker's expression, it wasn't one he wanted it take either.
"She said that she'd already eaten," he continued, in a bit of a rushed tone, "which makes sense, because it was about 8. So I made myself dinner and went to bed. This morning I got up and went on my run, and when I came back Emily was already awake. Which is fucking weird, because it was early. And so I told her I'd make our usual Thanksgiving breakfast, pancakes, eggs, bacon the whole nine yards. And she told me that she'd already eaten, showing me the empty yogurt container."
Parker's entire body was tense now, and he was slowly shaking his head.
"We always have our Thanksgiving breakfast," Emmett stated, his voice stressed. "And I knew something was wrong. But I played it off, and we went to lunch."
The Winstons do Thanksgiving lunch instead of dinner, which I think is weird, but because they were raised that way, the twins think it's normal.
"I kid you not, she tried avoiding me," Emmett continued. "But I sat next to her during lunch, and she did that thing that you told me about."
"What thing?" Parker pressed.
"Where she cuts her food into little pieces instead of actually eating it, and then just sort of moves it around the plate so it looks like she's eating it."
Of course Parker would notice that. I was notorious for doing that when my mom used to make me come to the dinner table when I didn't want to be there.
Parker glanced over at me before focusing his attention back on the road.
"She didn't take more than two bites at lunch today," Emmett continued.
Parker turned on his blinker, pulling off to the side of the road. He leaned back in his seat, letting out a long sigh.
"You spent time with her this week, right?" Emmett asked.
"Not much," Parker declined.
"Well when you did, did you guys go out to eat or did you see her eat or anything?"
"Wednesday was an awkward time," Parker said, with a long sigh. "It was mid-afternoon. So we didn't do anything."
Except make-out.
"Saturday she was here with me while we were car shopping. And we were supposed to go out for a late lunch, but we got into it and she went home instead."
I could tell that Parker was slightly uncomfortable discussing his relationship with Emmett.
"You guys have been fighting?"
"I think there's a little more of an issue here Emmett," Parker said, massaging his temples.
"When did you guys start fighting?"
And then Parker slowly sat upright, his body frozen.
Shit.
"Fuck," Parker said, shaking his head.
"This comes back to Annalise doesn't it?" Emmett questioned.
"You think it's been weeks?" Parker questioned.
"When's the last time you sat down and physically ate something with her?" Emmett pressed.
"It's been a while," Parker admitted. "We haven't had much date time."
They've been too busy fighting.
"I haven't been home either," Emmett declined. "I've been putting in hours at the shop, and then I've had practice. I haven't been home for dinner in a couple of weeks."
Parker leaned back in his seat, his eyes closed.
Silence elapsed between the two.
No one had ever come outright and told me about Emily's Anorexia at first. When I'd first met her, I hadn't had a clue. And then one night, Emily called me in distress, rambling on about her need for perfection. And that's when I realized that she was struggling with something much, much deeper.
She didn't actually tell me herself until this past summer, when we were in a park together eating ice cream. I was still in my anti-Parker phase, and most of the time people couldn't stand to be around me, especially post-therapy. But Emily had picked me up, and the two of us had ended up getting ice cream. And I'd noticed that she wasn't eating hers, so being the dick that I was, I asked her why she'd dragged me out to her get some ice cream when she didn't even want any in the first place.
"Do you know how many calories are in this single scoop of ice cream?" Emily asked me.
I stared at her for a few moments.
"In a single scoop of mint chocolate chip ice cream, there are approximately 270 calories," she informed me.
"Do you know how many problems there are in the world?" I asked her. "The amount of calories in an ice cream cone rank pretty low on that list."
She was silent for a few moments, her gaze dropping to the floor.
"I didn't even want to be here in the first place," I pointed out. "And you're clearly obsessed with the calories in that damn ice cream cone. So let's just go home."
She brought the ice cream to her mouth, pausing for a moment before taking a bite of it. "There."
"Congratu-fucking-lations."
"You know Lee, you're right about one thing. There are lots of problems in the world. You're not the only one suffering."
I looked away from her, feeling my grip tighten around my cone. "I've heard it for the past few hours in therapy. I don't need to hear it from you too."
"Today I've eaten 1,200 calories," she recited. "This ice cream is 271, not including the calories in the cone. And I haven't even had dinner yet."
I looked back over at her, my eyes narrowing. "Why do you know that?"
"As I said Lee, other people are suffering too. Maybe instead of being so cynical, you could try opening your heart a little bit."
"I don't know what to do," Emmett admitted. "I guess I should call my parents."
"No," Parker said, shooting straight up.
I raised my eyebrows at him.
"I know that it's not ideal, but-"
"Lee and I are wrapping up here on Saturday," Parker said, casting me a glance.
I nodded, already knowing what he was going to say.
"And we'll come by on Saturday. Leave it as a surprise for Emily, okay? I'll surprise her, take her out to dinner."
"She's not going to like that," Emmett declined.
"That will give us our definitive answer," Parker stated. "Just act normal for the next couple of days."
"She knows I'm suspicious."
"Act normal," Parker repeated. "Saturday she'll probably decline my dinner invitation, make up some bullshit excuse. And then we'll sit down with her and talk. And if that doesn't work then you call your parents. But they're just going to want to send her to more therapy or rehab or something."
Sounds like someone I know.
"Okay," Emmett agreed, a bit uncertainly. "Saturday Parker, you better be here."
"I will."
Emmett hung up, and Parker continued to stay where he was, his eyes closed.
"Switch with me," I ordered.
Parker looked over at me, raising his eyebrows.
"I'm driving."
Parker opened his mouth, probably to argue, but then shut it again, letting out a long sigh.
Parker got out of the car and I just climbed over the center console, readjusting the seat and the mirrors.
"Do you still want to go out for dinner?" I asked Parker, as he took his seat in the passenger seat. "We could just go back and order a pizza or something."
"We're going out," Parker said, buckling his seatbelt. "I'm going to be okay. And it's still our Thanksgiving too. I ruined the last one, and I'm not going to let this one get tainted too."
"You didn't ruin the last one," I declined.
"You keep saying that. But for the love of God, we spent it in a hotel room down in Miami with some Chinese food while I puked my face off."
I pulled back onto the highway, chuckling. "Yeah, but we were a family."
Parker was silent for a few moments, absorbing what I said.
It doesn't matter that we were in a hotel room in Miami, or that we're in a hotel room in Cocoa now. It doesn't matter where we are or whether Parker has the stomach flu or not.
All that mattered, and matters now, is that we're a family. We're a bit dysfunctional, and a mess most of the time, but we're all we have left. And, for me at least, family is the most important thing.
"Yeah," Parker said, with a nod. "At least we've still got that for going us."
******************************************************************************
So what did you guys think about Parker & Lee? The bromance game is strong, especially since they're brothers. Haha, punny. What about Emmett's news for Parker? I didn't hint towards that one in the teaser. Were you surprised? And then Lee's little flashback. What do you think Parker's plan is?
The picture up there at the tip top is of the former cover, created by Callipygian-. Check it out!
This chapter is dedicated to xJadePaynex for the new cover. What do you guys think?
So I'm finally done with finals. That means it's just you, me, and work for the rest of summer. I hope to update as much as humanly possible for the next few months.
Teaser: Time to head back to the old apartment, where Parker takes the "Brad Pitt" approach towards Emily.