Page 92 of The Americana Playbook

Now it’s Parker who grows quiet.

“Oh.” I read her lack of response. “You’renervous.”

I don’t know why. The idea of Parker nervous to see my mom has me all kinds of giddy, even though they’re not strangers. But maybe that’s the problem. The idea Parker has of my mother is that she viewed Parker as not fit to be myfriend,so in what world would it be okay for her to be mywife?

I shift side to side. My ass is falling asleep from sitting on the floor for so long. “Parker, your mother makes mine look like the Dalai Lama.”

A fit of hysterical laughter erupts over the call. “I know, it’s just?—”

“That was years ago,” I tell her, even though what I should tell her is that my mom really had nothing to do with me pulling away. “We were kids. I promise, it’s going to be okay. She won’t be nasty. Not to your face,” I tease before adding, “And I’ll be with you.”

The sigh of relief Parker lets out is so soft I nearly miss it.

“You didn’t tell me. What’s the bad news?”

I grimace, looking at the coffee table. “Oh. I was hoping you’d be so excited to see me you’d forget all of that.”

“Fitz. You’re making me more nervous.”

“Can we go back to you ordering me around?” I ask. “I think we both liked that better.” When she doesn’t answer, I continue, begrudgingly, “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Not before we get married,” Parker jokes. “Come on, tell me.”

I shift my jaw back and forth. “I kind of lost a piece to the puzzle we started before you left.”

I don’t exactly expect Parker to getangrywith me, only annoyed since I promised I wouldn’t work on it without her. But she’s got this ability to keep me on my toes.

“Open the camera.”

I raise my eyebrows. “So phone sex isn’t entirely off the table. I knew you’d be a great wife.”

“Just do it.” She lowers her voice. “But keep your eyes closed.”

Pulling the phone from my ear, I swipe up on the FaceTime notification and cover my eyes with my other hand, only peeking throughjusta smidge, but I can’t really see anything.

“Okay. You can look.”

I drop my hand from my face. It takes my brain a few minutes to register what I’m seeing.

“I take it back about you being a great wife. You’re an asshole.”

Parker lowers the puzzle piece she’s held up to the phone, and her face comes into full view, her mouth open. “I’m the asshole? You promised you wouldn’t work on it without me! You lied!”

“Who said I was working on it.” I jump up so she doesn’t see where I am.

“How did you realize you lost a piece then?”

I think for a moment. “I counted them.”

“All two thousand? Liar.”

“Okay, fine.” I rotate the camera, showing her the puzzle with the one small hole in it. “But I only did it because I really do miss you.”

I meant for it to be light and funny, but the serious way the words just left my mouth makes me worried I’ve just changed the mood of the call.

But it doesn’t seem to. Because when I look back at the screen, I see Parker lie down, her dark hair a stark contrast against the crisp white cover of the hotel pillow beneath her head. A soft smile grows on her face, and she turns the missing piece between her fingertips.

“I miss you too.”

---