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Chapter Three

Parker satin front of his pen tablet computer in a row of ten other artists all doing the same. He stared blankly at the revision e-mail that'd just come in for the illustration he was currently working. "We'd like it to be happier, brighter," it said. "Focus more on the soda can. The product needs to sing. Family value. Bigemotion!"

"What the fuckdoes that even mean?" he muttered to himself. The way the higher-ups spoke about design revisions was always like a completely foreign language.Bigemotion?

He openedup the illustration file and picked up his stylus. Time to redo this whole thing, then. He was more exhausted than usual, not just from splitting time between this project and the last school project, which had been more intensive than most, but because he'd been fretting all day about the dinner he was going to have with Mom and Dad that night. They'd all but cut contact since he'd taken in his brother William and his son six monthsago.

His parents had disownedWilliam when he'd gotten pregnant four years ago with Nate. William was seventeen, and he'd gone to live with his alpha boyfriend, who'd promised he would take care of them. That situation had gone downhill almost immediately. Surprise, the man was a piece of shit, and William had held on living with him for four years before calling up Parker for help. Parker had gone to his rescue, extracting him and Nate and bringing them to his luxury condo. Of course, because Mom and Dad owned the condo, they weren't too happy to find that out. He'd had to vacate, and the three of them moved into a cramped one-bedroom apartmenttogether.

Parker'd senthis parents e-mails, written letters, made calls, and left messages pleading their case and asking for them for assistance. The responses had always been sparse. It wasn't until the night before that they'd contacted him, asking him to meet them fordinner.

He broughthis stylus to the screen and started to make adjustments to the illustration. The office was mostly silent, with soft clicking of keys as everyone around him worked on their projects. He hated this job. Not because of the ridiculous revision demands; those were expected with pretty much any client. He just hated what he was creating. Advertisements for junk food. He was capable of way more with his abilities, he knew that for certain. He wanted to be creating work that reallymovedpeople. Challenging, beautiful work. That was what he expected out of his artwork—and everyone else's, too, especially those who had real skill. And there were very few who he thought had realskill.

Lots of peoplecould imitate styles, could paint by the numbers, could replicate light and render in a pleasing way on a canvas or piece of paper or computer screen. But very few could inject life and meaning and real passion into the work. Very few could make things that could touch people. And that was what Parker strived for. That's what he wanted to be doing with his life. Anything less was just... infuriating. It seriously pissed him off to think aboutit.

He finishedup with his revisions to the project and dropped it into the network folder for review. He'd upped the saturation and changed the position of the soda cup in the composition to make it even more dominant. He had no clue if he'd achieved "big emotion." Chances were the people giving the okay on the work probably had no idea what they meant by it,either.

He opened up his e-mail.The inbox was stacked with revision requests for dozens of other projects he was working on. He sighed and clicked on the next one.Just fucking end me,now.

After work,Parker got stuck in traffic driving to the opposite end of the city to meet his parents at an Italian restaurant they’d chosen for dinner. Of course, they'd refused to meet closer to his apartment. "Oh, but Beverly Hills is so much nicer," Mom had said. "And we know the restaurants there." He knew she really meant—his new neighborhood was too poor. Too frightening for her to deal with.Ridiculous.

He pulledinto the parking lot and a valet attendant opened his door for him. He sighed, wishing he didn't have to pay for something so excessive, but at least it was on his parents’ dime. He forked over some cash and jogged up the steps to the restaurant. The host led him inside to where his parents were seated. Mom was staring into a glass of wine and Dad was looking off somewhere, probably dealing with an awkward silence. Parker couldn't remember the last time he saw them have a normal, friendly conversation. They only talked at each other, barking out opinions about this person or that thing, or about chores that needed to get done around thehouse.

When he approached the table,his parents glanced up at him. He paused for a moment, waiting to see if they'd rise to greet him, but Mom only smiled thinly at him. Dad nodded and uttered a gruff, "Parker."

"Hi, Mom, hi, Dad,"he said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. His heart throbbed loudly in his chest. He was nervous, more than he'd expected. It wasn't the reunion he'd been hoping for, and he sensed bad newscoming.

"Traffic coming here?"Dadasked.

"Yeah,"he said. "Sorry I'mlate."

"Itriedto convince your mother to change the reservation to Zangaro's. It would've been a little closer, atleast."

Huh.A concession. Maybe that was a goodsign?

"Zangaro's has horrid service,"Mom said. "And the last time we went, the valet scratched the car. Don't tell me you'veforgotten?"

"No, of course I remember,"Dad said,irritated.

Parker glanced through the menu,not feeling very hungry. He just wanted to get to the point. What had they called him here for? The waiter came and the three of them made their orders, and after he'd gone, a silenced descended on the table, like everyone was trying to figure out what tosay.

"How's work?"Mom asked. "I hope you're doing your best. You know your father had to call in a favor with Mr. Lansing to get you thatjob."

"Work's fine, Mom,"Parker said. "It's busy. Lot's todo."

She and Dad exchanged a glance."Good. So, you have a secure positionthere?"

"It seems that way,"he said. It was just like them to ask about work and not about his art. It'd been that way for nearly his entire life. In fact, if his conviction to become an artist had been any weaker, his parents would've probably convinced him to give it up when he was just a kid. They'd tried multiple times to get him to do something more 'practical', but he'd always known he wanted to do art. "They've got my team working on a big marketing campaign for Bingo Soda. Looks like there's going to be more projects withthem."

"Fabulous,"shesaid.

Amoment of silence,again. Weren't they going to ask about William? Or about their grandson? Didn't they care to know how they were doing? He waited until it became too irritating tobear.

"William and Nate are doing well,"he said. "We're talking about using some of my funds to put Nate in preschool. He's a great kid. You'd lovehim."

His parents exchanged another glance."No, Parker, we can't allow that," Dadsaid.

"What?"