When Parker smirks, I swear, I magically see stars for a minute in the line between her lips. It’s like I took a sack that drives me farther from the line of scrimmage. It knocks me back to over a decade ago because I swear, I’m seventeen with sweaty palms, trying to get the balls to confess, I don’t want to be friends anymore. I want you to be my girlfriend.

And I’m twelve, finding my cheeks burned when Parker smiled at me. I must’ve looked as though I had permanent sunburn for most of middle school.

I’m nine, when I realized I didn’t care if girls had cooties and I was at risk of catching them. I always wanted to be with Parker.

But really, I’m old enough to know better. Because even though those memories of our childhood ring true in my mind, their noise level is second to her absence.

Parker looks off at downtown Atlanta’s skyline, appearing calm and cool while I’m struggling to stand as I mentally trip over all the questions in my head. I don’t know where to start and that stings. There used to be a time when I didn’t know where Parker ended and I began.

“What have you been up to?” I blurt out.

Parker faces me completely now. Her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. She gives the gentlest shake of her head, as if she knows whatever answer she’s about to produce won’t be good enough.

“Not doing anything as exciting as winning Super Bowls.”

I’m not sure there ever will be an explanation that doesn’t make me not feel like shit. And then I feel worse, because I think of all the times I dreamed of seeing her again where I promised myself it didn’t matter where she went. It mattered she came back.

Parker fiddles with the strap of her purse. “Congratulations. I know you worked so hard⁠—”

“You don’t really know anything about how hard I worked.” Her words strike a nerve. After all this time, that’s it? “You don’t even know me.”

My harshness rebounds off Parker and punches me in the gut when she flinches.

“I know you’re mad at me. I deserve it. I just wanted to see you for a second,” she whispers, the way her voice trails off sadly tears at my heart. “I’m really proud of you. I’ve been really proud of you.”

I dip my head again. “You could’ve told me that years ago. I’m sure they had phones in boarding school or wherever you went after.”

Parker stiffens. “Is that what my parents told you?”