Dear Mr. Brody by A.M. Johnson

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 the Peter Pan script 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?”

He stared at the pile of fabric on the other table. “A little. It’s a great dress.”

I chuckled and bumped my shoulder into his. “I’ll make sure we use it. Thanks, Marcos, for all your help.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll never admit to saying this… but it’s fun. I wish there’d been a place like this when I was growing up. Maybe those teen years wouldn’t have been so difficult.

“Things could have been different for so many kids.”

“I mean, maybe there was something like this and I didn’t know,” he said. “Resources were shit back then. I’m glad Pride House is expanding.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Chance stood in the doorway covered in sawdust. “Rachel sent me in to tell you both, if you want food, you better get your asses in the kitchen.” He held up his hands when Marcos narrowed his eyes, and a small smile cracked through his rugged features. His sun-aged skin crinkled around his eyes. “Her words, not mine.”

“Thanks, man, we’ll be right there,” I said, and he nodded.

Chance rubbed his thick, dark beard, a habit I noticed he had, and sawdust sprinkled onto the floor. “We could use your help after lunch. The kids want to start building the ship.”

“As lovely as that sounds… I have… uh… a thing. Things, many things to do.”

Marcos flicked my knee under the table when I barked out a laugh.

“Marcos isn’t a fan of manual labor.”

“Bullshit, mijo. I can build shit just as good as this overgrown tree hugger over here. But I just got my nails done.” He wiggled his fingers. “Not wasting a perfectly good manicure.”

Jesus Christ.

“Overgrown tree hugger?” Chance asked, and by his deadpan expression, I had no idea if he was insulted.

“Sorry, my friend forgets social cues sometimes.” I stared at Marcos telepathically trying to tell him he’s dead to me if I get fired. “He doesn’t actually work here, he’s just a volunteer, we could throw him out.”

To my surprise, Chance chuckled, and I let out a relieved breath.

“It’s okay,” he said, pushing his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts. “I’m not offended.”

“See,” Marcos waved his hand in Chance’s general direction. “He’s not offended.”

“What about you?” Chance flashed his dark blue eyes in my direction. “Feel like pitching in?”

“Yeah… I can.”

His assessing gaze shifted back to Marcos, and then drifted to the table where the costumes were laid out. “We all have our talents,” he said almost to himself. The guy was kind of quiet, in a contemplative way. Not weird, but definitely an island unto himself. “Thanks for volunteering your time. I’m sure you have other things you could be doing on a Saturday morning.”

“It’s nothing.” Marcos attempted a bored expression, but I could see the pride in the way he held himself. Shoulders back, legs crossed. “I’m glad to donate my services for the greater good.”

Chance hummed and rubbed his beard again, his eyes trailing from Marcos’s cream-colored sweater down to his heeled feet. He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Don’t wait too long or the pizza will get cold.”

He turned to head back to the kitchen, and once he was out of ear shot, Marcos said, “Don’t look at me like that. That man looks like a bear, and not the fun, gay kind.”

“What if he fires me? You know he brought those two guys with him to work here. We’re overstaffed now.”

“He’s not going to fire you.”

“He could.”

Marcos flicked me again, this time on my nose, and I swatted at his hand. “He’s not going to fire you, drama queen. You told me the man traveled all over the world building houses for homeless people. He doesn’t have it in him to fire people.”

“Can you please just behave like a normal fucking human being for once and not be an asshole.”

“He’s wearing cargo shorts, Park. Cargo. Shorts.”

“You’re such a snob. He’s building a set, using power tools, what’s he supposed to wear?”

“I bet his closet is filled with torn jeans and flannel. Or worse, cargo shorts and old tye-dyed shirts that say stuff like Earth is our friend.” He wrinkled his nose. “He had dirt under his fingernails.”

“Oh my God, he’s been outside all day.” I shoved him in the shoulder as I stood. “Don’t be a dick. You know he’s kind of hot under all that sawdust. He’s tall… built… big blue eyes…”

Marcos gasped. “Not even.”

“Please,” I said. “He’s totally your type.”

“Now I’m insulted.” Marcos stood, his oversized sweater slipping off his right shoulder. “Enjoy your pizza.”

“Come on… don’t go.” I held back my laugh, my smile as apologetic as possible. “The kids will be sad.”

“They know I have to go, I told them earlier. I have plans.”

“You don’t have plans. You’re bailing.”

“Okay, fine, I don’t have plans, but I’m tired and I need a nap.”

“A nap sounds good right about now,” I said. “You think I could sneak out with you?”

“Even if you could, you wouldn’t.”

I groaned, hating that he was right. “I’ll see you back at the apartment later?”

“Not staying at Van’s again?” The smirk on his face was a warning. I wasn’t going to like what he was about to say. “Please tell me you finally…”

“If you say deflower,” I whispered. “I swear to God, Marcos.”

He looked back at the door before leaning in. “Well... did you?”

“No. Not really.”

“What the hell does that mean? Wait… maybe I don’t want to know.”

“I let him…” I scrubbed my hand over my face, wishing I wasn’t having this conversation in the middle of my place of employment. “He fucked me.”

“Really…” His smile grew. “Was it all romantic and fabulous?”

“Shut up.” I started to walk away, but he followed me like an overzealous cat.

“Did he cuddle with you after?”

I didn’t make it but a few steps into the hall before I stopped. Marcos gave me shit, but this was his way of checking in, his way of making sure I was okay. It was overbearing, but I would have done the same for him. I rubbed the top of my head and faced him.

“His daughter knows about us, she found out at the carnival last night. He accidently kissed me in front of her.”

“No way.”

“Yeah. And then she called me his boyfriend, I guess.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“He is.” My body betrayed me, and the goofy smile I’d tried to hide broke through anyway. I lowered my voice, my stomach all tied up as I told him the truth. “When I’m with him, hell, I don’t know. It’s crazy, but I can see this future, it’s all there in front of me. In front of us. And I know what you’re going to say.”

“What am I going to say?”

“It’s too soon, too fast. I’m being impulsive. That there’s a difference between lust and love, and I know...  I’m not in love with him, Marcos. But—”

“You’re in love with him.”

“Marcos.”

“Park.” He said my name and it was gentle. His usual snark was absent. “I know you. And it takes you forever to realize shit. And that’s fine. Process your little heart out. But I see what I see. And I’m always right.”

“Always?” I asked, grinning when he lifted his hand to his heart.

“Always, motherfucker. Now listen. I’m not saying you need to go and declare anything. You’re right. It’s too fast, and you’re infatuated, and you may see this future, but love isn’t a race. It’s a steady climb.”

“A steady climb? Christ, did you just make that up?”

“No… I remembered it from my daily affirmations app.”

I dropped my head into my hands and laughed.

“Take it slow, hermano. You always rush through everything. It was true back in basic, and it’s true now.”

I raised my head and met his eyes. “I thought I was supposed to be the smart one.”

“Um… No, that’s me. You’re the… no… I’m the hot one too.”

I laughed, but then the silence stretched out between us.

“He sees me… you know.”

“I know.”

“It’s a lot,” I said. “I didn’t think I’d care about him this fast.”

Marcos draped his arm over my shoulder and smiled at me. “Just take it slow.”

“A steady climb… got it.”

“You never said if you were hanging with your man tonight.” He lowered his arm. “If not, Davis and Alex invited us over.”

“Thanks, but—”

He started to walk away, waving over his shoulder as he went. “Have fun at Van’s.”

I chuckled, turning toward the kitchen when my phone chirped.

I pulled it out of my pocket, and was glad Marcos wasn’t here to witness my reaction when I saw Van’s name on my screen. Fuck, I was smitten.

Van: I tried not to text you like five times. My sister says I have no game.

Cracking up, I typed out a reply.

Me: Text me as much as you want.

Van: I’m supposed to give you space.

Me: According to your sister?

Van: No, my brother. I’m over at my folks.

My pulse accelerated.

Me: And you’re talking about me?

Van: I came out to my parents today.

“Holy shit.”

I pressed the call button next to his name and the phone rang once.

“Hi,” he said, and the sound of his voice sent a twist of warmth through my gut.

“You came out to your parents?”

His laugh rumbled through the speaker. “It’s not that exciting. My brother came out first. He’s engaged to his roommate.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m serious. He told them today, and then casually asked me about you in front of them. I figured since they didn’t freak out about Owen, I might as well be honest.”

“Damn. You seem okay? I’m guessing they took it well.”

“Yeah” he said, and I thought I heard his voice break a little. “They did. It was good. God, I feel… at peace. I know for some the outcome is very different. I’m grateful.”

I sagged against the wall in the hallway, wishing I was there with him. I wanted to tell him how proud I was of him in person.

“Hell, I want to kiss you right now.”

“You can kiss me as much as you want tonight.” In the background, I heard a female voice shout the word gross. There was a rustling sound, then laughter, and maybe a squeal. I laughed too. “Jesus Christ.” He was breathless. “You’d think my sister was the baby of the family. I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” I hoped he could hear the smile in my voice. “I’m just happy everything went like you hoped.”

“It was better. I’ll have to tell you more tonight because I have an audience now.”

“Hi, Parker.” A chorus of voices rattled through the phone, and my boyfriend groaned.

“I would like you to know that my siblings are both forty years old, but have evidently forgotten what it means to be an adult.”

Marcos had told me to take it slow. And it was good advice. But my mouth opened, and my heart spoke. “I hope I get to meet them.”

“My family?”

“Yeah. They seem fun.”

“I’d like that,” he said with a quiet laugh. “Though, I think you’d all gang up on me. So maybe not.”

“I would never.”

“I have a hard time believing that.”

“I’ve kept Marcos in check this whole time. Give me some credit,” I teased.

“Park.” Rachel stepped into the hall. “Shit, sorry. There’s like two slices left.”

I lowered the phone. “I’ll be there in a sec. Save them for me?”

“Only if you save me. Chance is talking sponsors again.” She rolled her eyes. “Hurry up.”

I raised the phone back to my ear. “Sorry, Van, I have to go. The new boss is stressing about sponsors again. Rachel won’t feed me lunch if I don’t divert his attention.”

She stuck her tongue out at me and headed back into the kitchen.

“Yeah, of course.”

“I’ll see you tonight.”

“Tonight,” he said, and I heard him exhale. “And hey, Park. If you’re short a sponsor, I can talk to Anders about having Lowe Literary pitch in.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I want to, and Anders would want to, as well. He picks a charity every year to donate to anyway. Why not this?”

I’d thought about asking Van for help, but like I’d told him this morning when he’d mentioned my assignments, I didn’t want to take advantage of him, or our relationship.

“Thank you… I mean it. But we should talk about it more when I come over.”

“You’re stubborn.”

“You have no idea.”

“We’ll talk later, then,” he said.

But before I could respond, I heard the chorus of voices again in the background singing, “Bye, Parker.”

I didn’t know my cheeks could ache from smiling.