Parker glances at Demi. “Polly’s his favorite doll. He was allowed to take one with him to rehab, providing he didn’t do anything, well…weird.”
By now Parker’s talking to Demi’s back as the younger girl makes a beeline for the living room, and comes back in record time, her jeans on but still unbuttoned as she scrambles to pull her shirt back on.
“Thanks a lot, ma’am,” Demi says as she brushes past Parker. She ignores me altogether.
“You’re welcome, sweetie,” Parker says with a smile. “You need a cab?”
“Nah, my friends are at the bar just around the corner.”
“Okay, then,” Parker says with a little finger wiggle. “Bye-bye now!”
Neither of us move after she shuts the door behind Demi.
“I know what that was,” I say finally. “Payback for that time I told that one girl that you had a doll collection—”
But Parker’s not interested in memory lane, because she interrupts me.
“Talk or mute?” she asks.
“I, um, what?” I ask, confused at the sudden appearance of our old game. Generally we do it only when the other person clearly has something on their mind.
And while I definitely have stuff on my mind, it’s nothing that I can talk about—
“You’re not deciding whether you talk or mute,” she explains. “You’re deciding whether I talk or mute.”
What the hell?
“Why would I decide whether you talk or not?” I ask.
She meets my gaze steadily. “Because there’s a very, very good chance you’re not going to like what I have to say.”
I’m not really loving the sound of that, but…
“This something you want to get off your chest?” I ask warily.
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
I blow out a long breath. “Then tell me.”
She opens her mouth, then seems to lose her nerve, because she shuts it. “Can we do this in the living room?”
“Um, okay,” I say, because she’s already walking away.
“And I could use a drink for this!” she calls.
Do I need one? I wonder quietly to myself.
“You should get one for yourself, too!” she calls again.
Great.
I dig around behind some embarrassingly old leftovers until I find a bottle of prosecco left from when this used to be Parker’s fridge, too.
I pop the cork and dump hefty pours into two coffee mugs.
As I pour, I wonder if I hadn’t left the sparkling wine in the fridge for precisely this reason.
A hope that she’d come home.