Page 60 of Finding Parker

As we all sat down, Karen carried in a tray with champagne glasses and a bottle of champagne, “Here you are, Mr. Ward.”

Kenton quietly nodded his head toward the table.

“Thank you, Karen,” Kenton said as she placed the tray onto the edge of the table.

Kenton began to pour champagne into one of the glasses, “So have you given any thought to when?”

I turned to face Parker, who shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t see much value in waiting or having a long engagement, do you?”

I shook my head excitedly.

“Well, if I may,” Kenton said as he handed a glass of champagne to Parker and me.

As soon as we accepted the glasses, he continued, “I’m of the opinion most have a lengthy engagement because they’re partially not certain, and or to assemble the family for the wedding. This, for the most part is the family,” he motioned around the room.

And he was right. This was our family, our only family.

“As soon as possible, if I have much of a say. I’m quite ready to begin living together,” Parker sighed.

I thought of my sleepless nights at home alone, and the difficulty I have had being away from Parker since my mother’s death. I didn’t want Parker to feel rushed, or as if I was incapable of waiting.

But considering what he said…

“I’d wait just short of forever, Parker. You know that. I’m comfortable with what we have, or I’d be happy to marry you tomorrow. I really would. But you’re right, there’s no value in waiting. I’m ready,” I smiled.

Parker looked up toward Kenton and smiled as he lifted his glass of champagne, “Soon,” he grinned a she nodded his head.

Kenton nodded his head and raised his glass, “Here’s to soon.”

And we all raised our glasses and toasted.

To being married.

Soon.

VICTORIA. For as long as I have lived, I would say I’ve only had two wishes. More like dreams, I suppose.

As a toddler and a young girl, I often wished I had a father. My mother’s constant complaints of his death and her love for him continued to remind me how much she missed having him in her life as well. As I grew older, I began to understand the differences between all of the other girls in school and myself. They had families, and I did not. They sat at home at night at a dinner table and ate with their brothers, sisters, and both of their parents. I sat at home and ate Ravioli’s from a can as my mother sat in her chair and watched television in what I assumed was terrible pain.

Life as a little girl in my home was far different than most other girls I knew. I never felt that a father was a fix, but I felt it would be a good start. Not only could he take care of my mother, but he could also take care of me, I was sure of it. He could cook me meals, and tell me stories, and hold me when I was scared. When there were things in school I did not understand, and there were plenty, he could softly explain in a manner I could understand. He would always love me, and never let me go.

He would drop me off at school and pick me up when it was over so I didn’t have to walk alone. When the other children’s parents came to school for their conferences, he would come. And teachers would not stand in the hallways and talk about him in a tone that I was perfectly capable of hearing.

But a father never came.

As I grew older, and hormones began to run rampant inside of my pre-teen body, I yearned for a boyfriend. One who would hold me, love me, care for me, and never leave me. When I turned thirteen, my wish was granted. Josh Wilson asked me to be his girlfriend. Although it was through a note passed in class, I took it for being the gospel. We went steady for about a month, all of which was a one-sided relationship from an emotional standpoint. He played sports, ran around with his male friends, and never cared to spend time with me outside of school.

At my insistence, he agreed to spend an evening with me at my home. My mother agreed, and I was sure this was going to take our relationship to the next level. How wrong could I have been? Half an hour into the night, he demanded I have sex with him, and when I said no, he called me a slut and stomped out. Later, while back in school, there were times I wished I would have had sex with him. He did what I believed to be unthinkable – he told the other boys he did have sex with me. It wasn’t long and all of the boys were begging me for sex and calling me a slut when I said no.

And I slowly began to lose trust in all men.

What began as my second wish turned to more of a dream – to one day become married to a man who would accept me for who I was and what I believed. I knew regardless of whom it was I may ever meet, sex was going to wait until we were married. That, to me, was an absolute.

I wished and dreamed throughout high school, and every boy, upon finding out I was a virgin, decided they were not interested. I stopped with the daily dreaming, and came to understand marriage may never happen for me. By the time I was twenty-one years old, and had not yet had a boyfriend, I completely gave up on being married; and on men in general. My attitude quickly changed, and for the most part, I became anti-social. My lack of interest in meeting men turned into a lack of interest in meeting people.

And life, to me, became quite simple.

Two wishes and two impossibilities.