Page 47 of Merry Little Hate Notes

However, I did fear my dad would get more crazy ideas in his head about Brandon and me mixing our genes together. No doubt any baby with half of Brandon’s DNA would be beautiful, but we should probably verify if he could still make my foot pop before we crossed that bridge. Then there was the little matter of us living on opposite sides of the country. Also, would it be wise to date a coworker? Had I learned nothing from working in the bathroom?

“I would love to see him again too. Let me get your door.” Brandon hopped out like a man on a mission and ran around to the passenger side. He wore the biggest, goofiest grin. You would have thought I’d just told him every single one of the deals we had in the works just closed. Oh, please let some of them close. As crazy as Carmen could be, I really wanted to be her roomie and live out one of my dreams. Besides, I probably needed to keep a better eye on her. My brain would surely make more charts for her tonight and give me new scenarios to worry about. I pictured my best friend living on the run in a motorhome with pot smoke billowing out of it and Marco spreading lots of light and love around, just like ol’ Tiger Eyes used to.

I slipped on my coat while Brandon opened my door. It felt very date-like. I suppose it was, considering how our fingers touched a lot earlier. It had been pretty romantic. It was reminiscent of Mr. Darcy helping Elizabeth Bennet into the carriage and doing the hand flex. Oh man, could I watch that hand flex over and over again. Carmen and I loved to send each other all the hand flex memes.

I hopped out of the car into the lightly falling snow. The magic of Christmas was getting to me, or maybe it was Brandon affecting me. Somehow, they seemed to be one and the same. It made sense, since Brandon was part of my best Christmas memories. I had this urge to have a Christmas movie marathon with him while we drankpeppermint hot cocoa and ate popcorn drizzled with white chocolate and peppermint.

An empty pang hit me when I looked at our darkened house with not even a wreath on the door. We were the only house on the street without any holiday decorations. Brandon and his wingman were getting to me, even if we’d lost the present-wrapping contest today. Krista had failed to mention in the bathroom that she put herself through college working at a department store as a gift wrapper. Not once had she flinched when I was smack-talking in the bathroom about my expertise. From now on, I wouldn’t discount her or reveal any of my holiday skills.

Brandon grabbed my hand as we ran across the snow-covered lawn and up the concrete steps leading to the bare door in need of a coat of paint. It was nothing like the grand double doors of my childhood home.

Sadly, I had to drop Brandon’s hand to fish the keys out of my bag. Before I did, I took a moment to peek at him. He was cute with snowflakes in his hair, but his adoring gaze made him wildly attractive. It dawned on me he’d looked at me like that several times when we were kids, but I’d been too young, and probably too self-conscious, to understand what it meant. Maybe my dad was right—could it be I fascinated Brandon? According to his TED Talk, it was true, but I needed some solid empirical evidence.

It didn’t take long for me to open the door so we could head inside. I watched as Brandon entered our cramped, non-luxurious accommodations. No signs of pity appeared on his gorgeous face. Instead, he looked around and smiled at Dad’s bookcases stuffed with books and journals.

“I missed those books.” Brandon grinned. “I remember often walking into your dad’s study, where he took the time to tell Christian and me about his latest adventure. I always loved the pictures and stories he shared.”

“It would make his day if you asked about his research and old adventures. I think it gives him hope there may be more adventures in the future.”

“I’ll be sure to, then.”

Something about sharing Dad’s struggles with Brandon made me feel lighter. “Dad,” I called out. “Brandon’s here.” I hadn’t said those words in forever. I remember calling out to Christian, letting him know his best friend had arrived, and I would often end up hanging out with them. As much of an egotistical jerk as Christian could sometimes be, he never once told me to get lost. I’d always hoped we would stay close as we went through life. I probably called him every day he was away during his first semester of college. Now, more than ever, I was so glad I had. I’d never have thought we wouldn’t navigate adulthood together.

The sound of Dad’s footsteps echoed through the narrow hall that led to the bedrooms. Dad soon appeared, smiling wider than I’d seen in a long time. He didn’t question why Brandon was here or why we were together—it was like he’d expected this turn of events. “Brandon,” he said with such tenderness, as if he were speaking to his long-lost son. I suppose in some regard he was. Christian and Brandon had been cut from the same cloth—brothers from different mothers, they used to say.

Dad walked across the creaky wooden floor toward Brandon with a spring in his step and his arms open wide. “Brandon, it’s so good to see you.”

“Dr. Harry,” Brandon said with some emotion.

Dad and Brandon embraced, clinging to each other as if they needed this. It made my eyes water as I watched them hold on to each other, seemingly unwilling to let go. It hit me how much Dad must have missed Brandon. Maybe he needed him the way I was finding I needed him. Perhaps Dad also felt more like himself in this moment, holding on to an important piece of our past and who we used to be—our best and happiest selves.

Before my tears got out of control, I said, “I’ll be right back.” I wanted to at least throw a sweatshirt over my sports bra and maybe dab on some lip gloss. I rushed back to my tiny bedroom and shut the door behind me with a soft thud, taking a minute to breathe deeply once I was alone. Part of me still couldn’t believe Brandon was here, and that I liked it. Even more, I felt comfortable with him seeing me in this life and not my old one.

I quickly rummaged through my disorganized closet, grabbed anold blue sweatshirt, and threw it on. I dared a look in the standing mirror set in the corner. My hair was plastered down from all the sweat during yoga, but my cheeks had a flush of color, so I counted that as a win. At least I didn’t look like a vampire blood donor.

Yet I still felt the need to freshen up. While I did my best to fix my hair, I listened to my dad and Brandon chat. The walls in this house were paper thin. Through their muffled voices, I could hear Dad express how much he’d missed Brandon. Brandon returned the sentiment. They spoke of Christian and how much they loved and missed him. All the tenderness made me cry hard enough that I had to fix my eyes along with my hair.

After fixing my hot mess, I flitted back into the living room to find Dad and Brandon on the couch. Dad already had an old photo album on the coffee table, filled with faded pictures capturing the excavation process of one of his first dig sites, in France. As Dad flipped through the pages, the musty scent of aged paper filled the air. I loved that smell. He spoke like a man who had been given a second chance at life, remembering who he was and who he could be again. Maybe memories weren’t so bad and didn’t need to swallow us whole—perhaps we even needed them to help us move forward.

Maybe that meant Brandon and I needed each other.

“Do you see the limestone walls there?” Dad pointed to a picture. “See the striations? We call them finger flutings. We believe Neanderthals made them almost sixty thousand years ago.”

“That’s amazing,” Brandon commented before patting the space next to him, inviting me to join them. “Do you know what they mean?”

I took the invitation and joined him on the couch. Close, but like first-date close. The kind of close where you are testing out the situation but you have a good feeling about it ... And your date smells fantastic, like cedar and sage, even though he just worked out ... and is as handsome as they come.

“We aren’t sure,” Dad responded before smiling over at us.

I begged him with my eyes not to tell Brandon that, anthropologically speaking, we were a good match and that our offspring would improve society’s gene pool.

Thankfully, he got that memo, but apparently my eyes should havesent additional memos. “It’s good to see you two together again. Past connections are important. They are a great tool for happiness.”

Wow. That was subtle.

“I agree,” Brandon chimed in, nudging me with his shoulder.

“I thought you would.” Dad winked at Brandon, then turned to the next page of the photo album. “Perhaps,” he said casually, “you could convince my daughter to make some new connections.”

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