Dear Mr. Brody by A.M. Johnson

Parker

A bright crack of lightning lit up the sky as I ran toward the front door of my apartment. By the time I made it inside, I was drenched from head to toe, even my socks squished inside my shoes.

“Goddammit. It’s a fucking disaster out there,” I said, and set my backpack down onto the floor.

“Shh, I’m watching a movie.”

Marcos was spread out on the couch, rolled up in a big fuzzy blanket with wadded-up tissues strewn all around him. Several empty mugs and a couple of bowls littered the surface of the coffee table.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” I asked.

“I’m sick, asshole.” He was congested enough that his speech sounded almost slurred, making it hard to take his attitude seriously. “I have a fever and I hate the world, and men, and possibly you too… depending on a few things.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Will you make me a cup of tea and a bowl of that Lipton noodle stuff I like?” He stuck out his bottom lip, pouting like a five-year-old. “I think I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying.” I rolled my eyes as I kicked off my soggy shoes.

“Gross, go put those in your room. I can smell your feet from here.”

“I doubt you could smell your own shit right now. You sound awful, by the way.” I removed my socks and walked over to the laundry closet between the living room and the kitchen.

“I feel like death.”

I pulled off my shirt and threw it into the washer with my socks. “I’m about to start a load, got anything you need me to throw in?”

He raised his arm and weakly pointed toward his bedroom door. “My basket is in there.”

Marcos’s room was surprisingly spotless for once, except for the old vintage vanity table he had in the corner. It was covered with make-up, jewelry, and some sort of lacy shit I’d never seen him wear. He had pictures and postcards pinned on the wall with silver star-shaped tacks, framed by a white string of Christmas lights. I loved the lived-in quality of his room, it was such a contrast to mine. All I needed were the basic necessities, nothing special. I had a couple of framed pictures on my desk of my mom and my sister’s family, but the rest of it was cast in a monochromatic shade of gray—a blank slate. My most prized possession was my large bookshelf, and the books it held the only real bit of personality I’d added to my room. I liked my space to feel quiet, but I had to admit, even after two years, it didn’t feel like a home.

“What the hell? When was the last time you did laundry?” I asked as I hauled his clothes basket from his room. The thing weighed a ton.

“Two weeks ago.”

“I don’t even have two weeks’ worth of clothes,” I said, shoving everything into the washer and pressing the start button.

“Yes, you do… but you choose to look like a homeless gym rat half the time. You’re hopeless. If it wasn’t for your abs, you’d always be single, hiding in the corner, reading a book with a finger up your ass, trying to remember what real sex used to feel like.”

“Wow…”

“I only speak the truth.”

“You’re speaking man-flu.” I plopped down into the recliner and kicked a few of his snotty tissues toward the coffee table. “This is next-level disgusting, but I’ll give you a pass since you’re being so nice to me today.

“My bones hurt,” he whined. “What about my tea and soup?”

“I don’t know,” I said, fighting my smile. “I have a busy day planned, reading… and pegging my prostate.”

Marcos’s laugh turned into a coughing fit, and for the first time since I’d gotten home, I started to worry.

“Shit, you need to see a doctor, man. What if you have pneumonia or something?” I leaned over and touched his forehead with the back of my hand. “Marcos, you’re burning up.”

“I know… I need tea and soup.”

“No, dumbass, you need meds and a medical professional. Come on.”

I stood but he waved me off. “It’s raining.”

“I’m sure the doctor’s office is open even when it rains.”

“And I’m in the middle of this movie.”

“Hocus Pocus? You’ve seen this a billion times. Up… let’s go. I’ll carry you if I have to.”

He stared at the television and fucking ignored me.

“Marcos, stop being a toddler. What if it’s serious?”

He groaned and burrowed deeper into his blanket. “Go away.”

“Not happening,” I said, and blocked the view of the television. “I’m not messing around. I will put you over my shoulder.”

“Move your wide ass, this is the best part.”

He glared at me, calling my bluff. My best friend and I didn’t have much in common, beside our ability to be stubborn to a fault. I stepped toward him, and he held up his hands.

“Don’t you dare, Par—”

I reached down and tried to scoop my arms underneath him. He wasn’t a big guy by any means, but he sure as shit wasn’t as light as a feather. It wasn’t easy with him fighting against me, and it didn’t help that I couldn’t stop laughing, but eventually I was able to lift him.

“Are you fucking crazy? Put me down.” His laugh sounded more like wheezing as I tried to get a better hold on him. “If you drop me, Parker… So help me God...”

“Stop squirming, then.”

“I’m not playing. Put me down.”

“Go to the doctor.”

“Jesus, fine…” He stopped fighting, going completely limp in my arms. “Now put me down, before I pop a boner. All this aggression. I can’t be held responsible for what my body likes.”

I dropped him onto the couch like his body had burst into flames. “I can’t believe you just said that to me.”

A shit-eating grin spread across his lips as he readjusted his blanket cocoon. “I like to be manhandled. Don’t kink shame me.”

“Are you going to let me take you to the doctor’s or not?”

“Ugh… I hate you,” he said as he kicked off his blanket. Clad in only a pair of pale blue boy-short underwear, he brushed past me, clipping me in the shoulder. “When we get back, you’re making me that fucking tea.”

There was nothing worse than being stuck in a waiting room at an urgent care. A bicyclist who’d probably seen better days sat across from me in her rust-stained shirt, dried blood on her chin and neck. Little kids with runny noses ran up and down the hall, screeching, while their parents fucked around on their phones. But the biggest drama queen happened to be sitting next to me, moaning like a sick cat.

“Marcos,” I said under my breath. “People are staring at you.”

“They’re probably staring at the bite mark on your neck.” He spoke loud enough the receptionist could probably hear him. The bicyclist lowered her eyes when I caught her staring at me. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“Could you not—”

“You dragged me here, I might as well have fun with it.” He waved, wiggling his fingers at the guy sitting across from him. “He’s cute.”

“And married to the chick sitting next to him.” I shifted in my seat with a tight smile on my face as the guy scowled at us. “Please stop being you for like five seconds.”

“Tell me about your date with the app guy, and I promise I won’t make a scene.”

He drew an invisible halo around his head with a finger.

“There’s nothing angelic about you, my friend.”

He reached up and touched the mark Van had left behind. “Hooking up on a first date… didn’t your momma teach you to be a lady?”

We had the entire attention of the doctor’s office by this point, and I actually contemplated waiting in the car. I hadn’t had a chance to text Van yet, and after everything that had happened last night, I didn’t want him thinking I’d blown him off. But the rain hadn’t let up, and if I left, Marcos would follow. Pain in the ass or not, he needed to be here.

“You got home late… I’m assuming it went well?”

“It did.”

“What did he look like?” Marcos asked, lowering his voice this time. “I’m guessing by the bite mark he wasn’t a total troll?”

I’d never kept anything from my best friend. He was more like a brother to me. If I lied to him, he’d see right through me. Van hadn’t seemed too thrilled about Marcos knowing about us, and even though Marcos would take this secret to his grave for me, I needed more clarification from Van before I said anything.

“Definitely not a troll.”

“Details, please, I could be dead by tomorrow.”

I decided I’d skate as close to the truth as possible. Lies by omission were the easiest to forgive, right?

“Dark hair, light eyes…” Those light eyes were my favorite thing about him. The color of rain and storm clouds, and as deep as an ocean when he came. “He has a nice smile.”

“A nice smile?” He hummed and turned to face me. “You’re being vague.”

“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 day being 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?

Me: Are you working?

Van: I’m grading papers in my home office. Does that count?

Me: It doesn’t. But unfortunately, it’s not a dick pic.

The three dots popped up at the bottom of my screen, and the smile on my face would have made Marcos nauseous.

Van: The real thing is better anyway.

Me: I think this is where I’m supposed to say something humble, but my dick is pretty awesome.

Me: Are you blushing?

Van: See for yourself.

He sent a selfie and I laughed. His cheeks were, in fact, pink, and I wanted to kiss the shy smile on his lips.

Me: If I wasn’t stuck at the Urgent Care with Marcos, I’d invite myself over.

Van: Is everything okay?

Me: He has the man flu, or pneumonia. I’m not sure yet.

Van: That sucks, I’m sorry.

Me: He’s a miserable prick when he’s sick. Would I be a terrible friend if I left him to fend for himself?

Van: I wouldn’t say terrible, but...

Me: You’re supposed to convince me to come over, not be my moral compass.

Van: I’m not sure how accurate my moral compass is these days.

Me: Are you having regrets?

Van: No and yes. But that’s my own battle. It has nothing to do with you. I don’t regret you, Parker. Just the circumstances.

I lost nothing if we got caught, but Van, he had everything to lose.

Me: I feel selfish for wanting you. For asking you to risk your job for me.

Expecting a text and not a call, it startled me when my phone rang in my hand. Van’s name, in bright blue, lit my screen.

“Hi.”

“You’re not selfish,” he said, and fuck, I loved the quiet, low rasp of his voice. “I want this as much as you do.”

“It’s three months until the semester is over,” I reminded him. “I can handle three months of take-out if every date ends like last night.”

His chuckle was soft and warm, and I wanted to wrap myself in it. In him.

“We can go out on dates, but probably not near campus. Atlanta is a pretty big city.”

“When do I get to see you again?” I asked, not giving a shit if I sounded needy.

“Is tomorrow too soon? “

“Hell no. If my stupid ass roommate wasn’t dying of the flu, I’d be there right now.”

“You think he’ll feel better tomorrow?”

“Probably not. But I can only handle so much.”

His laugh scratched through the speaker. “When are you going to tell me about this present you have for me?”

“Oh… that.” I stood and headed to a quiet corner of the waiting room, hiding by a giant fish tank. “Were you serious about reading the stuff about my dad?”

“I’m serious about anything you write.”

“I don’t think I want a critique on this. It’s too personal.”

“That’s understandable, and you don’t have to send it if—”

“I’ll send it.” I leaned my back against the wall, wishing it was Sunday already. “What time tomorrow?”

“Does six work for you?” he asked.

“I’ll see you at six.”

“Park?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t send it if it’s too hard.”

“I want to.”

“Then, I’m looking forward to reading it.”

We said goodbye, and as I opened my email again, I thought about all the risks Van had to take for us to be together. If I wanted more than what I’d had in the past, if I wanted a chance at a real relationship, I could risk this. I could let someone in. He understood what it meant to give yourself to the page, and these memories, these words, were part of me. If I couldn’t trust him with that, then I shouldn’t trust him at all.