Page 58 of Finding Parker

“I want the old crew back,” I complained.

“Maybe after we eat,” Kenton sighed.

Downes nodded.

And Parker continued to fidget in his chair.

I turned toward Parker, who was seated on my right side, “What the fuck is wrong with you? You’ve been squirrelly all night. Sit still.”

Parker turned toward Kenton and complained, “I can’t take it anymore.”

Kenton stood from his chair and started to pace the length of the dining room.

“Can’t take what? The wait? Surely it won’t be much longer. Take off your jacket, you look flush. Are you okay?” I asked.

“No. I’m fine. I just…”

“What?” I asked.

“I am just. Yes, I’m hot. And I’m nervous. And I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten since yesterday evening. I’m just,” Parker stood from his chair.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized.

He half knelt beside my chair and looked as if he were going to vomit.

“No need to apologize, dear. Stand up, you’re making a fool of yourself, and if you barf on me, I’ll going to be mad,” I shook my head and reached for my glass of wine.

Parker cleared his throat, “Victoria.”

Kenton stopped pacing the room and covered his mouth with his hands. I looked up at Parker, who was visibly shaking. His face was now covered in beads of sweat. I looked up at Kenton, who was audibly crying. He knew something I didn’t.

This son-of-a-bitch is going to break up with me.

I fucking knew it.

I pressed my hands into the edge of the table and pushed my chair away enough to stand. As I stood, Parker stood along with me.

“If you’ve got something to say, say it Parker. Say it,” I demanded in a stern tone.

Parker tilted his head toward Kenton and then faced me again, “I…uhhm,” he stammered

“For the love of God, Parker. Just do what you have to do. Get it over with,” I shouted as I fought back tears.

Kenton’s crying was becoming louder. I considered storming from the room, and quickly realized Parker was my ride home. Great, this is going to be awkward as hell. As my lip began to quiver, I bit into it, attempting to make it stop. Parker nervously reached into his jacket pocket, but didn’t pull his hand out.

What the fuck is going on?

“Victoria, I’m sorry. I wanted to do this differently. It isn’t working. So I’m just going to say it,” he paused.

I fucking knew it.

“Victoria Lillian Fisker, I want to spend the rest of my life living,” he pulled his hand from his blazer and held it curled up at his side.

Living what? Single?

You little prick.

He raised his hand in front of my chest and turned his fingers upward, “As your husband. Will you marry me?”