Page 11 of Dear Mr. Brody

As I predicted, the minute my alarm had gone off, I regretted every last sip of gin I’d had last night. I sat on the edge of my bed, my face in my hands, groaning at the sunlight like I was seventy-three instead of thirty-three. My throat was raw as I tried to swallow past the sour taste in my mouth. I had a half an hour before Anne was supposed to be here, and all I wanted was a shower and a cup of coffee. I stood and my head throbbed as I walked to the bathroom. My body wasn’t built for late nights and booze anymore. And I hadn’t even gotten drunk. I wished I’d gotten drunk, maybe then I would’ve blacked out and forgotten about the uncomfortable run-in with my student. I scrubbed a palm down my face, scratching at the stubble on my chin, and turned on the hot water. Giving it time to heat up, I brushed my teeth and stripped out of my sweats. Once I was in the shower, I let the water pour over me, supporting my weight with my hands against the tile, and closed my eyes.

I thought about last night, about the guy I hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to. Would I have woken up alone if we’d actually met? I wiped the water from my eyes and laughed at my overactive and sex-deprived imagination. Of course, I would’ve woken up alone. It would’ve been a miracle if I’d even managed to get through a conversation with him, let alone go home with a stranger. I wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of guy. Or at least I didn’t think I was. I hadn’t ever dated anyone besides my ex-wife, and that was over a decade ago. I had no idea how to be single. The Internet freaked me out, but in some ways, it seemed less aggressive than the club scene. At least online, I could take a chance without revealing who I was like Wilder had suggested. I could ease myself back onto the market. Jesus, it wasn’t like I was a piece of real estate. Thoroughly discouraged with myself, I quickly cleaned up, shaved, and got ready for the day, tabling my bi-curiosity and dating life for more important topics, like what Anne would want on her waffles this time.

I’d barely switched on the griddle when my doorbell rang. Lanie didn’t wait for me to answer the door, most likely knowing I’d unlocked it for her like I usually did when she dropped off Anne. Some people might’ve thought it was weird that my ex-wife and I got along as well as we did, but we’d both wanted to be a united front for Anne. Giving her as much normalcy as possible. Our relationship wasn’t hostile, and after seeing some of my friends and their bitter divorces, I was grateful Lanie and I weren’t at each other’s throats.

“Dad,” Anne squealed, running toward me with her arms open. Her dark blue backpack almost bounced off her shoulders as she threw herself at me.

“Hey, little monster, I missed you.” I picked her up and squeezed her until she growled. When she was a baby, she used to snore loud enough we never needed the baby monitor to tell if she’d stopped breathing. I started calling her little monster because she’d sounded like a bear. It stuck. “You ready to make waffles?”

“Hey.” Lanie smiled and leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. As I set Anne onto her feet, she handed me a small bag of strawberries. “Here, I grabbed these at the market yesterday, they looked too good to pass up.”

“Thanks,” I said, setting them on the kitchen counter.

“You don’t have to work today?” Lanie asked, her gaze roaming over my cotton t-shirt and jeans.

“Anders figured we’d all be hungover after last night.” I chuckled. “But I’m grateful for the time off, I can get ahead on my lessons for class.”

“How was it last night? Did you have fun?” she asked, and like so many times, I toyed with the idea of telling her I wanted to try dating men.

But I chickened out.

She’d been my best friend for so long, I missed having someone to talk to, someone to tell everything to without fear of judgment. But now I wasn’t sure what she would think. Besides, this wasn’t one of those topics you dropped in casual conversations.

“Yeah. It was good.”

“Good,” she said, looking down at her watch, distracted. “I need to get going.”

She reached for a hug, but it was empty. I didn’t love Lanie anymore, at least not romantically, and sure, we got along well enough, but there was this loneliness I couldn’t explain. It settled in my stomach like a brick whenever we had these fill-in-the-blank moments.

“Bye, baby,” she said and kissed Anne on the top of her head. “We can get smoothies after school, okay?”

“Sure, Mom.” Anne was busy dividing the strawberries into two equal piles on one of the plates I’d set out earlier.

Lanie pulled her bag up higher onto her shoulder, giving me a small smile before she turned to leave. Six months later, and it still felt odd watching her go.

“Can we have powdered sugar?” Anne asked, once her mom was out of sight. “Mom said powdered sugar is bad for me, but I think it tastes good, so I don’t care.”

Laughing, I pulled the powdered sugar from the cupboard along with the waffle mix. “Sure, kiddo. But she’s right. Too much sugar can be unhealthy. But every once in a while, it’s nice to have a treat.”

She scrunched up her nose. “I guess.”

“Will you grab the syrup while I mix the batter?”

“Yes.” She hopped down from her stool, her long braid bouncing as she skipped toward the pantry. If only waffles made everyone that happy. “Mom told me you went dancing with friends. How come you never dance with me?”

“You never ask,” I said, smiling at the irritated crease between her brows. “I’m kidding, little monster, I’ll dance with you whenever you want.”

I took the syrup from her hand and placed it on the counter before twirling her in a circle. The long blouse she had on billowed around her waist and she giggled.

“This isn’t how you dance, Dad.”

“No?”

“You’re supposed to shake your booty,” she said, and I choked back a laugh. “What? That’s what Jess says.”

“And who is this Jess?”

“A girl in my class.”

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