Page 62 of Dear Mr. Brody

“I’m not,” I said, trying to think of a detail I could give him that wouldn’t give anything away. Van hadn’t ever mentioned his daughter in class. “He has a kid.”

“Umm… what?” He rubbed his temples with his fingers. “I’m sorry, I think I just had one of those fever-induced hallucinations, because it sounded like you said he has a kid.”

I exhaled a long sigh, and flipped my hat backward, settling in for the lecture.

“He has a ten-year-old daughter.”

“Nope… veto, veto, veto.”

“Veto? Since when do you get to veto who I date?”

“We’re best friends, it’s implied.”

“I like kids.”

“Sure, you do,” he said, his tone laced thick with sarcasm. “And tomorrow, I’ll magically wake up and start wearing basketball shorts every day.”

“I like kids, Marcos. I work with kids. I might even want to have my own kids one day.”

“One daybeing the key words in this little horror show.” He stared at me, waiting for an explanation I didn’t have.

It scared me that Van had a kid. I’d never been in a serious relationship. Never dated a guy for more than a few months. I was only twenty-four, kids weren’t on my radar yet. But I liked him. I couldn’t explain it, and it sounded far-fetched in my head even thinking about it, but there was something pulling at me from the inside. And I had no words for it, but it was the same feeling I’d had when he’d walked away from me last night at the brewery. Like a tether ready to snap, I had to hold on to it. I had to let it take me where it wanted me to go.

“I like him, Marcos.”

“You sure that’s not your dick talking?”

I didn’t dare glance around the room. My cheeks on fire, I shook my head. “No… this is different.” Shrugging, I pulled at the frayed piece of fabric on the chair. “The kid thing, yeah, I get it. It’s big. But we’ve only hung out once. I want a chance to see where it goes before jumping ship. Who knows, she could be sweet as hell.”

“Or the spawn of Satan, but no big deal.” He exhaled and dropped the attitude. “You like him?”

“I do.”

“Just promise me you won’t do that people-pleaser bullshit you pull.” His brown eyes lost their edge as he spoke. “If it’s too much… walk away, alright?”

“Yeah... okay.”

He turned in his chair, seemingly satisfied for the moment, but I should have known better.

“Did you guys fuck?”

The cyclist dropped her phone.

“Jesus,” I said in a gruff whisper and sank even lower in my chair, like somehow, I could find a hole in the floor to fall into. “Can we not talk about that here?”

“What? You don’t want to tell me how big—”

“Marcos Basulto?” A lady in scrubs called out, holding open the office door with her foot, and if I could, I would have hugged her. Employee of the fucking month right there.

“This conversation isn’t over,” he said as he stood, and even with a fever he walked away like he was on a runway in heels.

Once he was behind the office door, I pulled out my phone and found a missed message from my mom about mowing her lawn tomorrow. I sent off a quick reply before scrolling through my contacts for Van’s number.

Me: I’m thinking of sending you a present.

I opened my email and attached the two documents I’d saved to the cloud today while I was at work. I’d never shown anyone what I’d written about my dad. When Van had said he wanted to read it, I didn’t know in what capacity. Was it as a teacher or… Shit, I didn’t know what to call him. Boyfriend seemed too official. Either way, I hesitated to press send. This wasn’t an assignment, and yet I feared his critical review. These were profound pieces of my life, my father—my memories. Writing them had been hard enough, sharing them terrified me. I deleted the email and then opened a new one. I did this a few times, my anxiety preventing me from pressing send. I was about to delete it all over again when a text notification came through.

Van: Is it NSFW?

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