Page 101 of Dear Mr. Brody

“God, you’re not sleeping with your loser ex-husband again, are you?” Owen asked and she glared at him.

“No… I’m not.”

“For now,” I said, and she flipped me off.

“Do none of my children have manners anymore?” My mom threw up her hands, and my dad started to snicker.

He couldn’t stop. Laughing so hard his cheeks got redder by the second.

“James,” my mom admonished. “Have you lost your mind?”

He waved her off and caught his breath. Coughing a few times, he sputtered, “No, darling… but I have to say, this has been the best family meal I think we’ve ever had. Wouldn’t you agree, Van?”

I couldn’t stop the laugh from bubbling up my throat. I couldn’t believe Owen, or I, ever doubted our parents. The love they had for us, it smelled like peaches and cinnamon and laughter and smiles, and it wrapped around all of us like a warm blanket.

Definitely the best meal.

The best morning.

The best day.

Parker

“What if we leave Wendy out completely?” Rachel suggested as she slid my notebook across the table. She scratched red ink over the outline I’d been working on all morning, and I might’ve wanted to murder her. “The play is shorter this way, and will fit the ninety-minute window we’ve been given. I mean, she’s important, but Juno is a villain, too, let’s stick to a less-complicated storyline.”

I picked up my notebook and stared at the page, feeling overwhelmed again. The local high school was hosting the play this year, giving Pride House the biggest theater they’d ever worked in. “What if we just use thePeter Panscript you found online. The one all the schools use.”

Rachel was not impressed. Her disappointment was heavyset in the furrow between her brows. “You pitched this idea. And I know you have a lot on your plate, but you love this book. Don’t give up. Isn’t that what we preach to these kids every day?”

I looked over to the other table in the common room where Marcos, Jake, Denny, and Makayla were sewing costumes. Marcos was yammering, and Denny had a cautious smile. Makayla looked frustrated, but Jake was right there helping them. The other kids were out back with Chance and the two guys he’d brought with him from Florida, building props from the sketches we’d found online. Hell. If I didn’t believe in myself, how could I ever expect these kids to take what I said seriously.

“You’re right.” I sighed.

“About Wendy, or you being a whiny baby?” Rachel grinned, and I tore out the page with the outline on it. “What the hell, Park?”

“We’ll start over. No Wendy.”

“Wait… No Wendy?” Marcos glared at us. “Then, why the fu…” He stopped himself, his eyes darting around the table full of kids. Makayla giggled. “Why am I over here making a dress?”

“The Wendy arc takes up too much of the story.” Rachel stood and walked over to the other table. “But I’m sure the dress can be utilized in some way.” She lifted the sleeve and rubbed her thumb over the velvet material. “This is really pretty.”

“Thank you.” Marcos puffed out his chest with a dramatic flair only he possessed. “Your flattery will get you everywhere.”

She laughed and shot me a look. “I’m going to head out back, see how it’s going.”

With Rachel out of the room and Marcos occupied, I had a moment to focus. Keeping in mind what Van had said to me about the play not having to be a perfect adaptation, I scribbled out a rough outline, and was happy with what I’d come up with. I pulled my laptop out of my bag, popped in my ear buds, and lost myself inside the words on the page. I didn’t allow the negative thoughts to break through. All thoughts of inadequacy and fear were sequestered. I didn’t think about formatting, and how I had no clue about stage directions. Instead, I thought about stars and kissing in the rain, lavender, and hot hands. My head was filled with ships and magic, Pan and Silas, and at times, I pictured myself as Silas and Donavan as Pan. An hour had passed, and I hadn’t realized it until Marcos sat next to me and waved his hand in front of my face. I saved the document and pulled out my ear buds.

“You’re kind of creepy when you write,” he said. “You have this faraway look, and your lips move like you’re talking but there’s no sound. It’s like you’re in a trance or something.”

I shut my laptop and yawned. “I zone out and lose track of time. I can’t help it. Did you get a lot done?”

“We did.” He ruffled his fingers through his curls and smiled. “Now I’m waiting on your slow ass to see what other costumes we need to make.”

“You can write the play if you want.”

“Sure… I’ll get right on that. And you can slave away, hand sewing a dress for a character that no longer exists.”

“Still feeling bitchy about that, huh?”

---