Page 47 of No One Like You

Brad nodded and kept his mouth shut.

“I could do this all day, but I’d rather not.” Tasha tapped the two envelopes. “Let’s talk about why you’re here and why I’m here, because I’d rather be anywhere else. Megan’s divorcing you, Brad.” She spread the two envelopes apart. “What happens now depends on you and me. Megan, bless her wonderful heart, wants you to be part of Sophia’s life. She wants Sophia to have a good father. Someone that she can love and trust as she grows up. Personally, I think that you’re a pile of shit and that you’ll always be a pile of shit. That’s why there are two envelopes. See, Megan doesn’t trust you, and we all know why, but you’ve fooled her before. You’ve never fooled me, Brad.”

“So, I have to convince you that I’m not a pile of shit. If I do that, then I get the good envelope. If I don’t, then I get the bad envelope.”

“I mean, you’re never going to convince me that you aren’t a pile of shit who cheated on my best friend at least twice, but maybe you can convince me that you can change.”

“I’m not sure how I can do that. You already hate me. With reason.”

“You’re right. Megan gave me a bunch of questions to ask, and I’ll use a bit of that, but really, we’re doing things my way. I have a list. Think of it like the labors of Hercules, except not nearly as heroic. Now, which envelope would you like?”

Brad wasn’t feeling optimistic. This hadn’t gone well, but it could have been much worse. He worried that “worse” was coming real soon.

“I’d definitely prefer the good one.”

“Good choice. First, I’m gonna give you a couple of books to read. You’re going to read them and then send me a book report, and that better be an A+++ book report. I’m gonna write them on the good envelope. Lemme make sure that I get this 100% correct for you.” She whipped out her phone. “Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents, by Isabel Wilkerson and The Half Has Never Been Told: Slavery and the Making of American Capitalism by Edward Baptist. I am putting my email address on there, too. I expect your first book report in my inbox next weekend.”

“Yes, I can do that.”

“That wasn’t on Megan’s list, but I’m here and you pissed me off, so it’s on the list now. I’m glad to hear that you’ll do that. Next item. Based on Megan’s questions, you aren’t vaccinated for COVID. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“What the hell, Brad. Really. Get the damn shot.”

“I’ve done all this research?—”

“Brad, you ain’t done shit. You went on Google and typed in words. Actual research involves highly educated and trained scientists running tightly monitored experiments with control groups, and then other groups of highly educated and trained scientists successfully replicating the work of the first group. Did you do any of that, Brad?”

“No.”

“Did you just type some shit into Google?”

“Yes. But those scientists are all getting paid by big pharmaceutical companies.”

“Not the government ones, Brad, and so help me, if you say one thing about the Deep State or a globalist cabal, you will absolutely get the bad envelope right now.”

Brad wisely kept his mouth shut.

“And of course the drug companies are making shitloads of money off this. Jesus, Brad, you’re a banker. Your entire job is to suck on the teats of capitalism. This is America. Nothing gets done to benefit regular folk if billionaires can’t find a way to make money off of it.”

Brad actually agreed with that last point, even if it sounded vaguely progressive.

“Here’s what you’re going to do.” Tasha gave him a hard look. “You’re going to get the shots, and I want proof. If you send me a fake vax card, then you will get the bad envelope.”

“I’ll do it, I swear.”

I might have to come back to Portland to get vaccinated. I don’t need my neighbors knowing that I got “the jab.” That’s as bad as wearing a mask back home.

“Next, you’re gonna stop banging homewrecking skanks.”

“I can do that.”

“I mean it, Brad. What if that had been Sophia walking in on you banging what’s her name?”

“Margar—”

“I don’t need her name, Brad.”

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