Dear Mr. Brody by A.M. Johnson

Donovan

The pat of butter sizzled in the hot pan, my damp hair falling into my eyes as I bent down to grab a pot for the pasta. I filled it with water and set it on the stove to boil while I finished chopping the mushrooms. I didn’t even know if Parker liked mushrooms. For all I knew, he could be allergic to them. I exhaled, edgy and anxious, my hands shaking as I picked up the knife. I thought I wouldn’t be this wound up after the other night. Mutual orgasms should have been enough of an ice breaker, but evidently, the more I liked a person, the more my mind found ways to make me nervous. I’d spent most of my day trying to catch up on work. I had two manuscripts I needed to finish, and a few more papers to grade, but my eyes kept drifting to my damn couch. From my office, I had a straight view through the living room. My mind kept recalling every sound he’d made, every touch, every kiss, and I’d end up reading the same page over and over again. I wondered if it had been enough for him. Or if he’d want more tonight. I was ready for more. All these thoughts had inevitably ruined my ability to focus. Instead of doing what I was supposed to, I’d opened the files he’d sent me last night and reread the stories he’d written about his father for a third time.

Parker had a brilliant mind. His writing voice mature beyond his years. I’d considered sending his stories to Anders, but I needed his permission first. His prose was vivid and alive, every sentence a reel of film rolling across the page. His life, in his words, played out like one of those old family home movies, steeped in sepia-colored tones, where everything seemed slightly out of focus and sped up, and as I’d read, my eyes and chest burned with a sentiment that only the past could create. By giving me those stories, he’d opened a window, lifted the shade, and let me in. I might not know what food Parker preferred, but I’d felt his pain, his loss, the pieces of his past. It wasn’t all of him, but it was enough to know I’d made the right choice by taking a chance on this. On us.

Distracted by my thoughts again, the butter started to smoke.

“Shit.”

I removed the pan from the heat, setting it in the sink. The stench of burnt butter filled the room and I cracked open the window, hopefully saving my ears from the smoke detector in the living room. After a few minutes, the room cleared out, but as I turned on the water to wash the pan, it splashed back, splattering brown grease onto my shirt.  I tried to clean it off with a dish rag, but it only made it worse. Pissed at myself, I turned off both burners, and left the mess in the kitchen. I walked back to my bedroom to change, and with the way my night had been going, I thought it might be better if we went out for dinner, instead. And because I couldn’t catch a break, the doorbell rang after I’d barely taken off my shirt. I checked the clock on my nightstand realizing how far behind I’d gotten. It was almost six o’clock and I was half-dressed, and nowhere near ready for Parker to be here. I hadn’t even finished cutting all the vegetables for the sauce I’d planned on making. The bell rang again as I opened my closet door and grabbed the first shirt I could find. Pulling it over my head, I made my way to the front of the house. I ran my hands through my hair, hoping it wasn’t a mess, and took a deep breath before I unlocked and opened the door.

“Thank God, I didn’t think you were home,” Lanie said, sounding as frazzled as she looked. She released Anne’s hand, and my daughter took off toward the kitchen without saying hello. “I tried calling you a thousand times.”

“You did?” I asked, looking over Lanie’s shoulder, my anxiety and confusion tangled in my stomach.

Parker would be here any second.

“My mom was supposed to watch Anne for me tonight.” She walked past me without invitation, and I shut the door. “But she and my dad got food poisoning and I have to work.”

“What’s that smell?” Anne asked, holding her nose. “It smells like burnt popcorn.”

“Close… I burned butter.”

“You’re making dinner?” Lanie reached across the counter and picked up a mushroom, popping it into her mouth. “Is Olive coming over?”

“What?”

“It’s Sunday, doesn’t she try to con you into making her dinner on Sunday nights?” She smiled and ate another one of my fucking mushrooms.

“Lanie, why are you here?”

Her brows knitted together, my tone sharper than she was used to hearing. But she couldn’t just barge into my house whenever she pleased, with this air of familiarity like she still had some right to my life and my damn food.

“I told you I have to work. I have two classes tonight. One at seven and another at nine.”

“Since when?” The palms of my hands were sweaty, and I wiped them off on my jeans as I checked the time again.

“I picked it up, the money is too good not to.”

“Can we have waffles for dinner?” Anne climbed onto a barstool, sending a dubious stare at the cutting board filled with various types of vegetables.

Waffles…

Holy shit.

“Lanie, I…” This wasn’t happening. Anne couldn’t be here. “I can’t…”

What the hell was I supposed to tell her? My head ached as I stared at my daughter, her dark pigtails swaying as she hummed to herself, lining up the mushrooms in neat, orderly rows.

“I tried to call, Van. What’s the big deal? I can pick her up in the morning for school if it’s such a hassle.”

“My daughter is not a hassle,” I snapped.

“Our daughter.” Lanie scowled at me. “Why are you being difficult?”

“I’m not.”

“You are… I’m sorry if I’m disrupting whatever plans you had for tonight, but I had no other choice.” Lanie walked over to Anne and kissed her on the cheek. “I have to go, baby. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She pulled her keys out of her shorts, and I pinched the bridge of my nose, the trapped feeling in my chest smothering me.

“Do you need me to get her in the morning or not?”

Maybe I had time to call him. Even if he was on his way, he’d understand.

“I can take her.”

Lanie narrowed her green eyes. “Thanks for the help.”

I followed her to the door feeling like an asshole. I would spend every damn second with my daughter if I could. And Lanie knew that.

“Hey,” I said, and she turned to face me. “Don’t act like I don’t want her around. I’m always here for her. You caught me by surprise.”

“What do you want me to say? I tried to call.”

I reached around her to open the door. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“I’m sorry, too,” she said, and it sounded sincere. “I was stressed. I didn’t think you would mind.”

“I don’t mind. But—”

The doorbell rang and my stomach dropped.

Lanie cocked her head when I didn’t move. I was frozen in place, wishing I could throw up, or better yet, disappear.

“Are you going to answer that?”

I nodded, my tongue like sandpaper in my mouth as I opened the door. Parker smiled at me, and for a second, I forgot I was in the middle of a panic attack. God, he looked good. He had on a tight white t-shirt that stretched over his wide chest, and dark-fitted jeans. His cheeks were sun-kissed like he’d been outside all day, and he’d gotten his hair cut since the other night. The sides had been cleaned up, but he’d left what little length he had on the top. If I could have, I would have kissed him right there on my front porch, rubbed my fingers over the shaved sides of his head. But his eyes widened, his smile faltering as Lanie came up beside me.

“Hey,” I said and let out a shaky breath. “I, uh—”

“Hi there.” Lanie waved at him, totally oblivious. For someone who practiced energy work, she sure couldn’t read a room. “I was on my way out.” She glanced at me and back at Parker, when neither of us said anything, she laughed. “Well, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Parker’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as I tried to speak past my fat tongue. “Sorry… um… this—”

“Parker.” He fixed his smile. “It’s nice to meet you…”

“Lanie... the ex-wife.” She fucking giggled. I guess I wasn’t the only one here who found Parker attractive. “Do you work with Van?”

He said yes at the same time I said no. Lanie’s flirty smile faltered.

“I should say I’m hoping to work with him.” Parker chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m a writer.”

It wasn’t a complete fabrication.

“One of the best writers I’ve ever read,” I said, finally finding the courage to speak as I held his stare. “I think he could have an amazing career ahead of him.”

“I didn’t mean to ruin your dinner plans… I’m sorry,” she said. “It was nice to meet you, Parker. But I have to run. Thanks again, Van. You’re a lifesaver.”

Parker stepped to the side as she moved past him, and instead of inviting him in, I looked over my shoulder. Anne hadn’t moved an inch.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” I said and shut the door behind me. I watched as Lanie backed out of my driveway and pulled away. “She literally just showed up.”

Parker ran his thumb over my lips, moving closer he spoke in a low voice I felt down to my toes. “It’s okay… she’s gone now.”

With Anne only a few feet away inside, I should have stopped him. But my heart was all over the place, the adrenaline in my system overriding my common sense. He cupped the back of my neck, his firm fingers releasing all my anxiety as his lips tasted mine. I fisted my hand in his t-shirt, closing the space between us, and he backed me into the door, smiling against my mouth when I groaned.

“Hi,” he whispered before pulling my bottom lip through his teeth. “As much as I love a good public display of affection, are you going to invite me in sometime tonight?”

I rested my forehead against his. “My daughter is here.”

“No shit?” He dropped his hands from my waist and nearly fell off the porch as he tried to put as much space between us as possible.

“Lanie tried to call me, but I was in the shower, and I didn’t check my phone.” I raked a hand through my hair. “She has to work, and her parents are sick. I didn’t know what to do, and I wanted to call you, but—”

“Breathe,” he said, his lips lifting into a lopsided smile. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“You’re right… We can have dinner another time.”

But now that he was here, I didn’t want him to leave. Why did my life have to be this goddamn complicated?

“Oh… sure, yeah… another time,” he said, shoving his hands into his back pockets.

“Wait… do you want to stay?”

“Why would I want to leave?” he asked, his smile playful. “I’m capable of keeping my hands to myself long enough to have dinner with you and your daughter. I’m not a total heathen.”

“I thought…” I stuttered. “Isn’t it too soon?”

“To meet Anne? That’s up to you.” He exhaled, his hands falling to his sides. “I can’t make that decision.”

When Lanie and I had separated, I worried Anne would get attached to her mother’s boyfriends. Not in a jealous way either. I didn’t want a revolving door of people coming in and out of her life while Lanie and I tried to live our own lives. But Anne didn’t have to know the specifics of my relationship with Parker. She was ten. And as long as Parker and I were appropriate, she’d think he was one of my friends.

“I’m not ready to come out to Anne,” I said. “But, if you’re okay with being in the friend zone while she’s here, I’d love for you to meet her.”

“I can handle that.” Parker took the bottom hem of my shirt between his thumb and forefinger, his candid blue eyes searched mine. “Can I be honest?”

“Please.”

“I love kids, don’t get me wrong. But I’m nervous. What if I do something I shouldn’t, like swear or—”

“I swear all the time. Lanie and I have never been PG-parents.”

He laughed and leaned close enough I could feel his breath on my lips. “It’s going to be hard not touching you tonight.”

“It’ll be good practice for tomorrow when we’re in class.”

“Can I kiss you again before we go inside?”

Pulling me into his strong arms, he pressed his chest against me as I nodded. My heart thundered, a shiver spreading over my skin as his mouth melded to mine. The kiss was messy and fast, and when he pulled away, I licked my lips, savoring the sweet taste he’d left behind.

“Do you like mushrooms?” I asked and he laughed, the deep rumble of it vibrated against me.

“Not particularly.”

“What about waffles?”

“Who doesn’t like waffles?”

I smiled, his answer lifting the weight off my shoulders.

“I think you and Anne will get along just fine.”