My father and Tristan's were almost a head taller than my mother, but as the three of them crossed the park lawn, it was my mom who seemed to be leading the crusade.
My first instinct was to jump from the bench and away from Tristan. I mean, no parents liked finding their daughter embroiled in an octopus embrace, let alone in the arms of the son of their archenemy.
But I realized that was pointless. If I was going to profess my feelings to my varsity soccer team, to the school—to the world—shouldn't I start with the people who loved me?
I untangled myself from Tristan and stood. A moment later, I felt him beside me, his hands at his sides, too.
“Mom,” I said, knowing from my years of soccer that the best offense is a good defense, “you need to listen to me. Tristan has been there for me—really there—lately. Don't judge us until you know the facts.”
“And nobody makes me happier than Parker,” Tristan said.
An “Awww …” sounded from somewhere deep inside me, and I turned to him with a smile. He grinned back—and I think we both lost a few seconds just looking at each other.
Then my dad cleared his throat. Bringing us back to the makeshift courtroom where I was about to be tried and found guilty of consorting with the enemy.
I met my dad's eyes. But oddly, the fire that normally raged over the mere mention of anything Murphy seemed to be simply smoldering.
“Parker,” he said, “I'm not here to reprimand you. Your mother and I and George—”
George?
“—want to explain something,” he continued. Then he glanced at my mother, as if handing her a microphone.
She took a breath that seemed to start at her gut. “I'm the one,” she said. “The one who made that first call to the city.”
The world spun before my eyes.
“I knew your dad was building the wall too high,” she said, “and that in the long run, it would cause problems, especially when we went to sell. But he was under so much stress at work, and having such a good time building it, I didn't want to shake things up at home by telling him he was over- the- top.”
Over-the-top? My dad?
“So,” my mother continued, “it seemed one anonymous call to the city would take care of everything. He'd be forced to comply, and no one would be the wiser. And when he put the blame on George here, well, at first it seemed innocent enough. We barely knew the Murphys, and so what if Dad grumbled a little when he waved hello? But as you know, it soon turned ugly. And the bigger it got, the more worried I felt about confessing, afraid a war of the same magnitude might break out in our marriage.”
She ran a hand across her face. “But lately … well, despite what you've been saying, I've suspected you and Tristan had become more than friends. You kept slipping out with him. And those clothing bills! Something had to be up.”
I flinched. Busted there.
“Seeing you leave with him tonight, I realized your father would never permit your relationship—for the wrong reasons.”
Emotion seemed to catch in her throat. “It was bad enough, what my lies had done to your father, and to George. I couldn't have it spread to our children. So after you left, I broke down and told your dad the truth.”
She shuddered until my dad's hand came to rest on her shoulder.
“After the shock wore off, I forgave her,” my father said. “To be honest, I was relieved to find a way to put an end to this whole thing. It was eating me up. So I suggested we go talk to George.”
“And I can't say I minded an apology, or putting this thing to rest,” Tristan's dad admitted. “And I understand about the lengths some people go to, to keep their marriages together. Sometimes I wished I'd done more of that myself.”
My mother nestled back against my father, and he slipped both arms around her in a bear hug. (Which was a weird way to see your parents, but I guess since they found me in Tristan's arms, fair was fair.)
“So I'm hoping we can forget this whole thing,” my mom said, “and get on with our lives.”
Then, in a surreal moment, the three of them headed back across the lawn, as if riding off happily ever after into the sunset.
Tristan and I turned to each other.
“Did that just happen?” I asked.
“Man, who would have thought our dads would be so willing to make peace?”
He grabbed both my hands and planted a big one on my lips. Then we fell into step, bringing up the rear of the Stanhope-Murphy parade.
Nobody's life was perfect, and we still had mountains to climb. But so much of what we wanted was right here in our hands … so why not—for the first time since Hartley went all heartless on me—just relax and enjoy the feeling?