“It looks good.”
When Erin finally took a step away from Cassie, the rest of the world came hurtling back, Parker looking between them, her brow furrowed. Erin pretended not to notice.
Cassie took a different, more direct route. “What?” she snapped.
“There’s the Cassie I know,” Parker said. “You don’t let anyone but Acacia touch you.”
Cassie ducked her head and Erin pressed her lips together. She was definitely going to freak out about this at her hotel later, but for now, she let herself enjoy the way Cassie’s cheeks reddened.
“I just met your mom. Didn’t want to be rude.”
Parker laughed. “When has that ever stopped you from doing anything?”
Erin took the opportunity to change the subject. She didn’t want to give Parker too much time to think about the way Cassie behaved around her.
“It was lovely to meet you, Cassie.”
Cassie’s smile was free of hunger for once. “You, too.”
“I’ll see you tonight at the concert?” Erin asked. “Promise you’ll show me which one is Parker’s crush?”
“Mom!”
“I will,” Cassie said, eyes sparkling. “But Erin? Parker makes it obvious all on her own.”
Parker grumbled as Erin laughed.
Parker met Erin in front of her dorm after dropping Cassie off at her apartment. Erin had seen the room when she and Adam had brought Parker to school, but it hadn’t been decorated then. And though she’d caught glimpses while video chatting with Parker, it was better in person. Twinkle lights lined every wall. Parker’s half of the room was orderly and clean, posters perfectly straight and evenly distanced. Acacia’s side wasn’t messy so much as less controlled—a giant corkboard with photos and sticky notes and ticket stubs tacked all over it. Erin didn’t mean to pry, but her eyes snagged on a picture of a much younger Acacia, braids in her hair instead of the shaved head she had now. Beside Acacia in the picture, unmistakable even though the photo was from maybe ten years ago—
“Is that Cassie?” Erin asked.
“Yeah,” Parker said. “She and Acacia grew up together.”
Cassie was just a kid in the photo, her straw-blond hair piled on top of her head in an absolute rat’s nest. She was too skinny, like she hadn’t been well fed or had just had a growth spurt. Erin felt like she was intruding, somehow, looking at the picture. She turned to Parker, who nodded toward the photo.
“That’s like their first picture together, I think,” she said. “They’ve been best friends since they were like nine and ten.”
Erin went rigid. Cassie had said she was a senior. “Cassie’s only a year older than you?”
“What?” Parker said, distracted as she put her breakfast leftovers inside the mini fridge under her bed. “No. She’s a year older than Acacia, who’s two years older than me.”
“Acacia’s not a freshman?”
“Oh,” Parker said like she only just understood Erin’s original question. “No. Didn’t I tell you she transferred in as a junior? We’re just both first-year students. That’s why they put us together.”
Erin let out her breath, relieved. Fucking a college student was bad enough, but fucking a sophomore was unthinkable.
“So you met Cassie through Acacia?”
Parker stood and straightened her comforter, her back still to Erin. “Sort of.”
Erin chewed her bottom lip and waited, hoping for more without having to pry. Parker sighed and turned around.
“That guy I met who I thought … whatever. That guy from the beginning of the semester—”
“The guy you punched?” Erin cut in. She secretly loved that Parker had given the asshole what he deserved. “The one with a girlfriend?”
Parker nodded. She crossed her arms in front of her.
“Cassie was the girlfriend.”
Erin didn’t say anything.
“I told you I didn’t know,” Parker said, defensive. “I ended it as soon as I found out he had a girlfriend. And even after they broke up, I’m not—”
“I know, baby, I know,” Erin said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t judging you. Just taking in the information.”
“Okay.”
What Erin had been doing, actually, was wondering if that made it better; was it less of a betrayal, somehow, that she and Cassie had slept together, given that her daughter had had a thing with Cassie’s boyfriend? She hated herself for the thought.
“So whatever, this is my room,” Parker said. “It’s just a dorm. C’mon, I wanna show you the studio.”
Magnolia trees lined the path from the residential to the academic side of campus. Parker called hello to some kids lounging in low branches of the tree closest to her dorm. They told her to break a leg tonight.
Erin loved the way Parker fit in easily here, even with how different it was from where she grew up—plenty of southern accents and a smaller student body than Parker’s high school. The campus stretched from the freshman dorms on the farthest edge of one side to the library on the other, that magnolia-lined path all the way through. Buildings branched off from it, many with white columns in the front that made them look more like mansions than academic buildings. Walking the entire path took less than fifteen minutes.
Parker talked the whole time, and Erin wasn’t going to remember half of the facts and stories told in rapid-fire succession, but she wasn’t about to interrupt. It was harder being an empty nester than she liked to admit. Erin had gotten the house in the divorce. The big, silent house. Not that Parker didn’t call—every Sunday, like the dutiful, perfect daughter she was. Erin just missed her, missed her voice in person, not over a tinny cell phone speaker.
That voice went quiet, reverent, as Parker led Erin into the art building. Their footsteps echoed in the empty hallway. Erin felt a little reverent herself, getting to see the place where Parker spent so much of her time.
Large windows filled two walls of the studio and provided plenty of natural light. Empty easels took up most of the room, individual drop cloths under each. A counter with a huge sink in the middle of it ran along one wall. Splotches of paint marked the countertop. There was an old-school boombox that Erin imagined got plenty of use. At home, Parker had always listened to music at ridiculously high volumes when she painted.
Parker led Erin to a group of tall skinny cubbies in the corner of the room.
She pulled a canvas out of one, the tips of her ears going red.
“It’s gorgeous,” Erin whispered.
She’d told her the same thing about every piece of artwork since before Parker was coloring inside the lines. It was true, every time.
“Maureen—the professor—she’s been trying to get me to major in art.”
“You’ve barely been here a month,” Erin said. “You’ve got time to decide.”
Parker slid the canvas back into the cubbyhole labeled with her name. “Yeah. Right.”