Magnolia Parks: Chapter 44

Kiss her, is what Jonah said.

I don’t know why it was such an insane suggestion to me—it’s not like I don’t want to do it all the time, it’s not like our relationship up until now hasn’t been dotted with an infinity of almost-kisses—it’s the permission, maybe?

Someone telling me to do it, validating my feeling that I should have actually just done it all along.

I chew on it for a few days.

Pretend like I’m mulling it over but actually, I’m just finding my balls because I think I know it’ll probably be the most important kiss of my life.

I know where she is on a Friday.

Likes to round her week out with a little shop on New Bond Street; of course, “little” is relative to her. Anywhere from a new handbag or two to buying out a whole store. Depends on her week, depends on me probably—how shit I was, how happy we were…

I walk into Gucci—it’s the first store I try and she’s there because she’s predictable—I stand by the counter, watching her file through the racks. Do my best to keep my face in check, not look like a massive knob who’s too in love for his own good. Hard not to smile when she’s wearing my black bomber though. From here, got it a few weeks ago. She picked it. Red and blue on the shoulders—I wondered where it got to… It found a higher purpose sitting on the shoulders of the best girl I know.

She’s standing in the mirror, staring at herself in these indigo blue denim flare jeans and cropped T-shirt with cherries on it that I immediately want to take off of her because she looks so good in it.

“You’ll never wear the jeans,” I tell her and she spins around, eyes wide, cheeks pink as soon as she sees me. I walk towards her and she tugs at her clothes almost feverishly which is stupid because she looks so hot it’s insane. “Get this though,” I tell her as I slip my thumb under the hem of her top, rubbing it between my fingers.

I don’t need to stand as close to her as I’m standing, but sort of I do.

She takes a conscious step away from me—forces herself to do it. She blinks a lot, looks flushed. I try not to smile about it. She pushes her hair over her own shoulders, trying to control what she can. “So you don’t like the jeans?” she asks, squinting at herself in the mirror.

“No, I like them,” I say and nod. “You just won’t wear them.”

She snaps her head in my direction. “Will too.”

“Won’t.”

“I will! You don’t know me,” she tells me, nose in the air, and even before the sentence is out of her mouth completely she looks like she might laugh at it.

She doesn’t. She’s too proud.

“I know you, Parks,” I tell her as I walk over towards her, my eyes softer than they are for anyone else ever.

I stand behind her.

Our eyes catch through the mirror and she swallows, nervous.

She’s flustered. Her chest is rising and falling quickly.

“You here for your weekly Gooch?” I nod at her through the mirror and she turns around quickly with a scowl. I’m already laughing.

“I have asked you repeatedly not to call it that—” She eyes me. “So has Alessandro Michele for that matter.” She gives me a stern look.

“Sorry.” I shove my hands in my pocket. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

She moves to a different rack, picks out half a dozen pieces and hands them to the shop assistant wordlessly, waiting for them to leave before she speaks.

“He flew out yesterday for a few days.” She tilts her head at the jacket I’m wearing. Squints. “Oversized-checked, cotton-flannel bomber jacket?”

Jut my chin at her. “Who by?”

“Balenciaga,” she says, without looking at me. “And your jeans are from TAKAHIROMIYASHITA TheSoloist.”

I sniff a laugh, shaking my head at her a bit.

She looks up at me and her eyes pinch a bit. “I’ve heard you’ve been a busy boy.”

My face falters, surprised. “Have you?”

She watches me closely. “Lots of girls…”

I frown. “Who told you that?”

She shrugs all coy and shit and then whips shut the heavy, velvet curtain in the changing room. Probably sprains her little arm she does it with such force. She emerges a minute or so later in a short, little blue and gold dress. Not my favourite thing she’s ever worn but I’d still take her in a heartbeat.

I swallow, fold my arms over my chest. “Have you been busy?”

Her eyebrows curve up. “Not as busy as you.”

My brow drops a bit. “Busy at all?”

Her eyes go a bit round, cheeks go pink. She swallows, nervous.

“Yes.”

I stare at her for a couple seconds not blinking and then I yell “Fuck!” Loud. It startles her.

“Sorry—” I look over at the shop assistant. Shaking my head. “Sorry,” then look back at Parks, whose eyes are round and alarmed. “Sorry—but fuck.”

Her bottom lip looks like it could go any second. It’s not full-blown trembling, but the tremble is there. “Sorry,” she says in a tiny voice.

I shove my hands through my hair as I shake my head.

“Fuck—no—it’s your… I mean, I—”

“Yeah.” She frowns, defensively. “You—”

“—You’re killing me, Parks.” I cut her off.

“Am I?” she asks, eyes heavy.

“A bit.” I nod.

“Just a bit?” She tosses me a quarter smile. “That’s not so bad then, is it—”

I sniff a laugh. “I’d like it better if you weren’t killing me at all, to be honest—”

Our eyes lock. She’s the deer and I’m the wolf and there’s a massive truck headed right for us in the middle of a dark night.

She swallows. “Me too, actually.” Then she pulls the curtain shut again.

I breathe out big, lean against the wall outside, knock twice.

“Oy.”

“What?” Even though I can’t see her face, I know it’s huffy.

“Can I come in?”

“What?” She sounds nervous.

“I want to come in,” I tell her.

“Why?” She sounds urgent.

I toss my head around, thinking for a decent excuse.

“I want to see how you look in those clothes,” I lie.

“Well—no!” she sputters.

“Why?” I ask with a shrug, even though she can’t see it. “I’ve seen you without clothes on before.”

“I thought you wanted to see me in the clothes.”

“Oh,” I snort a laugh. “Well, I was lying before.”

“You don’t want to see me in the clothes?” She pouts.

“I want to see you… not… in clothes.”

“Well,” she huffs, “you can’t.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before…”

“Well, that was different!”

“How?” I roll my eyes. “Besides, you can’t have a real conversation with someone through a curtain—”

“We’re having a real conversation right now!”

Pause. This is it. Make or break. Proceed with caution. But definitely proceed.

“Oy, Parks. Do you really not want me to come in there, or are you pretending that you don’t want me to come in because you like to play hard to get because it makes you feel in control of me, or us and whatever the fuck we are but actually, you’d be fucking stoked if I jumped in there and felt you up against the wall?”

There’s a pause. A long pause.

Fuck.

And then, from the other side of the curtain… a small crestfallen voice.

“The second one.”

I slip inside the change room, and there’s a space between us. I stare at her, shyer than I want to be for a couple of seconds. Her eyes look like big windows on a stormy day; she’s scared. It’s all over her. Me too.

My breathing’s gone to shit; I can see my own chest moving… Stomach feels like there’s an animal burrowing into it.

She’s blinking a lot, sucking on her bottom lip which is a thing she does both when she’s afraid but also when she loves me extra.

My eyes fall down her body—and she stands there, waiting for me.

I’ve probably never been this fucking nervous about anything in my life. I shake my head at myself. “Fuck it.”

And then I rush her. One hand in her hair, and with the other I lift her up onto my waist—bang her backwards into the wall. She laughs as she looks down at me, her gaze flicking between my eyes and my mouth.

I give her a crooked smile, and I can’t fully believe that I have her pressed up against a Gucci change room.

She gives me an exasperated look. “Come on, then…”

“Alright, alright.” I roll my eyes. “I will when I want to.”

“You don’t want to now?” She blinks. “Are you serious? Are you completely insa—”

“Parks,” I interrupt.

“Mmm?” She frowns.

“Shut up,” I tell her and then it feels serious.

I move my hand down to her face, pull her in close to me and our mouths brush.

Then I kiss her, slowly at first… slowly like how you drink a top shelf whiskey—feel it in your mouth, let it roll around for a couple of seconds before you go back for more. Bask in the flavour of my old, always love. Slowly, slowly, and then more. I kiss her deeper and her breath gets caught in her chest, and I remember how much I used to love it when that would happen, so I do it more.

We’re like a broken faucet where the water’s drip-drip-dripping out and then full force—but we’ve always been like this. It’s one choked breath and a heavy swallow from her and I’m pulling the dress off her body. She scrambles for my shirt, undoing the buttons with unfocused fingers.

I drop her from my waist, and she tugs my shirt from my body. We’re good at this. Years of practice, I guess. And even though we haven’t practiced in years, we haven’t seemed to have lost any ground—just time. I wrap my arms around her, bang her backwards into the wall again as she fumbles the button of my jeans. Undoes the zip and just as she’s about to reach for me…

And then—a knock.

My head drops a bit defeated on top of Parks, but I hold her tighter still because I’m not done with her yet.

“Um,” Magnolia clears her throat. “Yes?”

“Hi, um.” The shop assistant coughs nervously. “I think—uh—whatever you’re doing in there is, I think, maybe against company policy?”

I’m about a second away from keeling over with laughter and Parks can tell, smacking her hand over my mouth to shut me up.

“Um, I’m not doing anything,” Magnolia says, airily.

“I know there’s a boy in there,” the girl says, getting a bit more confident.

“No,” Parks sings, unconvincingly. “There’s not—”

“I saw him go in there,” the shop girl says.

And I accidentally snort.

Parks scowls at me, shaking her head. “That was me! Are you saying I look like a man?”

“I can hear him!” she says, sounding nervous.

I lean into Parks, kiss her big time, feel her tense, little, uptight body relax as I do—how much control I have over her has always been something I love and I’m scared of at once. Suppose that’s how I feel about her in general though.

One sec, I mouth to Parks and then I walk over to the curtain, poke my head out.

“Hello,” I grin at the shop girl—give her what Parks calls “the magic smile.” Girls do weird shit when I flash them the magic smile. One time a girl fainted.

“Hi,” she says, shyly, instantly blushing.

“Just clarify for me,” I say, pushing my hand through my hair. “What exactly is the company policy? Is it one person per change room? Or is it no sex in the changing room? Because there’s a lot of wriggle room in between those two, if you know what I mean… Like, can I feel her up in the changing room? Can we go to third in the changing room? What are we working with here?”

I don’t even need to look at Parks to know she’s blushing—she is—but so is the shop girl, who eventually manages to wring out of herself an apologetic smile.

“It’s a one person per change room policy, I’m afraid.”

“Fuck.” I frown. “Just my luck,” I look back at Parks, nod my head. “I’ll wait out here.”

She touches her mouth, nodding, thinking, blinking.

I sit out there, waiting for her, grinning from ear to fucking ear. I don’t know what it means. Don’t know what any of it means.

All I know is that kissing her felt like a shower after a particularly brutal rugby game.

Mum would drive me home, I’d be so wrecked, so mudded up, sore and shit—and every week the shower would blow my mind.

Like I hadn’t showered in years is how it felt.

Sometimes Parks would join me. That’d blow my mind extra.

But kissing her just now, I could feel the mud coming off.

She emerges ten minutes later with her yes pile. I take them from her, take them to the front.

“You don’t have to get them,” she calls after me.

I throw her a look. I pop them down on the counter. “How’s your day going?” I ask the shop girl.

She smirks, looking from me to Parks. “Probably not as good as yours.”

And I go, “Hah. Well.” I cock an eyebrow playfully at her. “Don’t worry, day’s still young. One of your ex-boyfriends might dander on in and give you a snog in a change room.”

She blushes and laughs. I take the bags and Parks follows me out.

She stands on the street, looking up at me—eyes big and round, chewing on her bottom lip like I wish I was.

“I’m sorry we were interrupted,” she tells me.

I nod with a small laugh. “Me too.”

I load her bags into her town car.

She gestures at them. “Thank you.”

I swat my hand at her, and she stands close to me. I don’t even mean to do it when I slip my arms around her waist. Just happens, like holding her is the most natural thing in the world.

“Do you want to come home with me now?” she asks in a small voice.

“I do, actually.” I nod. “Yeah. Very much—but you have—”

“A Tom.” She nods.

I give her a strained smile. “I don’t even know what that means.”

She lets out a tired laugh, but she looks a bit sad and confused behind it. “Neither do I.”

I take her face in both my hands and press my mouth against hers. Kiss her twice. “You figure it out and let me know,” I tell her.

And then I walk away.

21:42

Beej

Hi

Hey

You good?

Yes, are you?

I am.

Weather okay over there, Parks?

Very good.

And the bees?

Oh, they’re grand.

Yeah?

Yes. I actually think they’ll never go extinct. I’ve no idea what Attenborough is prattling on about…

Never hey?