Page 13 of Merry Little Hate Notes

“Of course I don’t. No doubt the guy is pendejo, but maybe he feels bad about what he did to you.”

“Then why doesn’t he just apologize?”

“That’s a valid point. And listen, if you want me to think of a revenge plot, I’m your girl. No questions asked.”

“I appreciate that more than you know. Right now I’m just trying to ignore him the best I can. By the way, I got the lowdown on Rita and Amy in the bathroom yesterday. They plastered Joel’s desk with transcripts of the texts he’d sent them, with the dates highlighted to make sure everyone knows he was seeing both women at the same time.” I also learned from Nadia in accounting that Brandon is quote,Fresh meat ready for the taking, unquote, and there’s a bet among several women in the company to see who lands a date with him first. I’ll tell you this: It won’t be me.

“Classic,” Carmen laughed. “That’s good. I’ll have to remember that one in case I ever need it.”

“How goes it with Marco?” I walked over to the ancient mustard-colored refrigerator to retrieve a container of hummus.

“Ugh,” she groaned. “So many women throw themselves at him after class, I hardly get a chance to talk to him. I was planning on disappointing my parents for Christmas this year with him. I suppose still being single will have to be their gift again this year. It’s the gift that keeps on giving,” she grumbled.

I sighed, feeling her pain more acutely now that Brandon was back in town. As he’d so rudely reminded me, I was a gray sprinkle with RGF. Did all men seeme that way?

“On that depressing note, I need to go. I’m teaching an early class this morning.”

“Have fun. While you’re chaturanga-ing, I’ll probably be in the bathroom hiding from the man I hate most in the world.”

“Well, good luck with that. Let me know if you find out any more about Amy, Rita, and Joel.”

“Oh, I will. See you later.”

“Bye.” She hung up.

“Did I hear you say you hate someone?” Dad strolled into the kitchen with his tablet in his face, reading the news like he did every morning. He believed it was a travesty that newspapers weren’t delivered anymore. And don’t even get him started on typos. He loved to say, “Abandoning the practice of precise language is asking for a civilization to crumble.”

“Umm ... yes.” I swung open the fridge, grabbed the hummus, and scooted back to the counter where I was making our lunches, waiting for Dad’s view on hatred. He’d expressed it many times before.

Dad stood next to me and lowered his tablet, revealing his gray man bun and stubbly salt-and-peppered cheeks. He totally had the Sam Elliot vibe going for him. “Honey, hate has played a role in every lost civilization. To hate is tantamount to death and destruction.”

Yikes. Well, I guess I was going to die.

“So, tell me, whom do you hate?”

Oh, I did not want to tell him—Dad loved Brandon. For this very reason, I hadn’t mentioned that Brandon was in town. “I made you a green smoothie.” I pointed at the small white Formica table I’d found at Goodwill. It went well with the tiny old kitchen that smelled musty no matter how many times I sanitized it.

Dad looked between the smoothie and the bento boxes I was filling for our lunches. “Holly,” he said tenderly. “You, my dear daughter, need to stop taking care of me. I’m not your responsibility.”

“I don’t mind.” More like if I stopped taking care of him, I was afraid of all the bad things that would happen. I’d seen the charts in my mind, and it wasn’t pretty.

Dad rested a hand on my cheek. “I do mind. You have done fartoo much for me. It’s time I earned my dignity back. Please, let me do that.”

Oh. Wow. When he put it that way, how could I refuse? Yet my palms started to sweat as I considered whether I could stop worrying. What was my life without worry? Once upon a time there had been a non-worrying version of me, but I wasn’t sure she still existed. She went the way of Holly Hollydays. “All right,” I stuttered out, a tear rolling down my cheek. This was a big deal. I wasn’t sure I would ever see this day. I felt like a mother sending her child off to kindergarten for the first time.

Dad’s thumb swiped the tear on my cheek before he kissed my head. “Thank you. For everything.”

“You’re welcome. Now go drink your smoothie. Might as well not waste it.” I grinned.

He smiled and headed over to the table. “Now tell me whom you hate.”

Dang it. I hoped he might have forgotten. I refused to look at him while scooping hummus into the bento boxes. “If you must know, it’s Brandon Cassidy. He’s in town, and I’ve been assigned to work with him until the end of the year.”

“You’re not still holding on to childhood grievances, are you?”

Childhood grievances? You mean the one where he ripped my heart out and then stomped on it for good measure? And I hadn’t even mentioned how, if it weren’t for him, Christian might still be alive. Christian had sworn to me he would spend that day with me. He said he’d missed me while he was at college. I missed him so much too. I’d just found out what a liar our mom was, and I really needed to talk to him—he was the only person I felt I could tell. But Brandon called and said, “Let’s go skiing.” That was all it ever took for Christian to ditch me, even though I’d begged him to stay. It hurt even worse because he knew how much Brandon had humiliated me. So, yeah, I guess if those were childhood grievances, I was still holding on to them.

“I wouldn’t say that,” I responded, thinking of Brandon’s recent notes. Those were enough grounds to hate him in the present.

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