Magnolia Parks: Chapter 42

“Good of you to come up for air, lad,” Jonah says, nodding his chin at me. His eyes are a bit dark. He’s a bit off me, thinks I’m going too hard. That might be saying something in and of itself, I don’t know? I mean—Jo’s hardly a monk.

I actually think he’s sort of into Taura Sax these days. Which is maybe a bit shit because I think Henry is also (reluctantly) into Taura? Probably why Jo’s a bit tetchy?—I mean, definitely shagging her. And Henry knows it and doesn’t seem to care, and Taurs, I think, is maybe intrigued by Henry not caring? I’m not sure. It’s a mess. They think me and Parks are a mess, but they’re making their own.

Admittedly it’s been a rough week or so. Drank myself stupid, fucked ’til I was numb. Don’t ask about the snow. I can admit it, I’ve been a bit off the handle since I saw Parks last, but this is just how I deal when things go to shit with us.

Usually within a fortnight she’d be texting me with a fake emergency like a flat tyre or she thinks someone’s in her house trying to kill her and I’d come and I’d save her and we’d reset and be okay.

But she hasn’t called. She hasn’t even texted.

“You and Parks sorted yet?” Jo asks as I jump up on the counter, eating dry cereal from the box.

“Mope—” I chew through Frosted Shreddies.

“Seen her?”

“Nope.”

“Called her?”

I scowl at him. “Get fucked.”

“Texted?”

I throw some cereal at him and without skipping a beat, he pegs a remote at me and it hits me square in the chest with terrifying accuracy.

Fucking gang lords…

“What the fuck, man?” he groans.

I give him a look. “She likes Tom.”

“Yeah, I wonder why, man? You’re palming cereal into your mouth at 3 p.m. on a Tuesday, he’s probably flying her to Barcelona as we speak—”

“I have a plane.” I rub my tired eyes as I glare over at him. “You have a plane. So does she. It’s not that special, we all have planes.” He rolls his eyes. “And what’s with how he calls her Parks? Don’t you think that’s weird?”

“That he calls her ‘Parks’?” Jonah repeats, frowning. I nod. “Are you asking if I think it’s weird that Tom calls Magnolia Parks ‘Parks’?” he says again.

“Yes,” I say, giving him an impatient look.

Jonah gives me a long look that makes me feel like a twat. “No, I do not think it’s weird that Tom calls Magnolia by her last name.”

“Yeah, but it’s my name for her.”

“Yes, but it’s also her last name—”

I swat my hand at him because he’s the idiot here who doesn’t get it. Jo gives me a long look and I don’t like it. He and Parks are the only ones who can make me feel like I’m made of glass.

“Beej, what are you doing?” He shakes his head. “What happened? You were nearly together and now she’s shagging Tom.”

“Once.” I shake my head. Need that to be true. “It was a singular event. A sexual anomaly—” I wave my hand dismissively. He looks at me dubiously again. I sigh. “She wanted to know what happened. On the date.”

“Oh.” He nods, presses his mouth together. “Maybe you should tell her…”

I shake my head. “Can’t.”

“You could.”

Shake my head again. “It’s too late.”

It is too late and I can’t. I pore back over the night for the billionth time. Sadie Zabala in the little black dress, eye fucking me from the other side of the room. My hands went sweaty… went dizzy for a sec—everyone knew I was with Parks, had been for years by then, what was she doing? I went downstairs to my bathroom. Thought I might throw up. Maybe I was drunk? I wasn’t. Not drunk enough for what happened next anyway.

She followed me to see if I was okay.

I wasn’t.

And what would Parks knowing do anyway? Give her a visual to pair with her waking nightmare? There’s nothing I can say that could make it better. I can’t explain it away neatly how she needs me to.

I fucked up, I hurt her. I can’t change it.

I need her to want me anyway. That’s the only way.

“So, what?” Jo shrugs. “You’re chucking in the towel?”

“With Parks?” I blink. He nods. “No.” I shake my head.

Never.

“What then? You already took her on a date and fucked that up.”

I roll my eyes because I don’t know what else to do. I did. He runs his tongue across his teeth as he thinks. “I reckon you should just kiss her.”

I scoff. “What?”

He shrugs. “When was the last time you actually kissed?”

I scrunch my face back as I pretend to try to remember, like the last time we kissed isn’t just singed into my memory, like I don’t drag it out like my favourite sweater every time I have a minute in my brain to spare.

Shrug like it means nothing. “About two years ago.”

He blinks twice. “What?”

I pull back, self-conscious. “What?”

“You haven’t kissed in two years?”

I give him a look. “You were there—it was at the movies after I—”

“That was the last time you kissed?” he yells.

“Yes!”

“Hold on, wait—are you telling me that all these years you’ve been having ‘sleepovers’, you’ve actually literally just been having sleepovers?”

“What? Yes, Jo—” I shake my head. “I tell you everything, man—you’d know if we’d—”

“Nah, Beej, it’s Parks.” He shakes his head. “You never talk about her like you do with other girls, you hold that shit tight to your chest.” He’s right. He looks at me confused. “Are you sure you haven’t shagged her once?”

“Jonah.”

“Wow!” He shovels both hands through his hair. “I mean really, wow.”

He’s so taken by this revelation. I can see him rewriting the last few years in his mind—eyes ticking like a clock as he lines things up, undoing his assumptions—

“That was really your last kiss?”

I nod, mouth tight. “Pretty much.”

There was one other time. Me and Parks don’t talk about it.

“Bro—” He gives me a look. “Kiss her.”

I give him a look, roll my eyes. “Come on.”

Jo walks over to me, half-baffled, half-amused. “What, are you scared?”

I scoff. “No.”

“Lad, I’ve seen you walk up to supermodels and kiss them.”

I shake my head. “Different.”

He gives me this exactly-my-point kind of look and he’s a pain in my arse.

“Oy, Beej—man to man—” He whacks me in the chest. “Fucking kiss her.”