Page 77 of Dear Mr. Brody

Parker: Good morning.

I laughed at the sleeping emoji he sent.

Me: Did I wake you?

Parker: No, just getting out of the shower.

An image of him standing fully nude in my own shower assaulted me.

Me: Thank you for that visual.

Parker: Anytime… Question?

Parker: Did you really spend $400 on a pair of sweats?

I laughed again and my shoulders shook.

Me: No, they were a gift from my sister. She can be… excessive.

Parker: No shit.

“Dad,” Anne whined, and I glanced at the clock.

“Aw, hell.”

I had to leave in fifteen minutes if I wanted to get Anne to school and arrive to work on time. I gulped down my coffee, singeing the tip of my tongue. Slipping my phone into my pocket, I washed out my coffee mug and finished knotting the tie around my neck. I grabbed my keys and laptop bag before heading for the door.

“Let’s go, little monster.”

The morning air was cool, the heavy cloud bank overhead threatening more rain. I looked forward to fall every year, not that it got very brisk in Atlanta, but the change from the overbearing summer heat was nice. The rain I could do without. I unlocked the car as Anne complained about the weather.

“We have time, go grab a jacket,” I offered as I opened the back door for her.

“It’s not that cold,” she grumbled, brushing past me, and slid into the back seat.

The radio host warned of a traffic jam on I-85 as the engine came to life.

“You’re gonna be late.” She flashed her gray eyes at me in the rearview mirror.

“Nah,” I said, backing out of my driveway. “It’ll be fine.”

I wasn’t fine. There’d been an accident a few blocks from Anne’s school, and everything was gridlocked.

“Should have left earlier,” she said.

“I know.”

“Shouldn’t have slept in so late.”

“Anne,” I warned. “I’m sorry, alright.”

I’d hit snooze on my alarm clock one too many times this morning. In my sleep-hazed head, I had time. Which I would have had if I hadn’t needed to take Anne to school. But it wasn’t her fault I’d stayed up late. Nope. That was on me. Would I change a thing about last night? Absolutely not.

“It’s okay,” she said as the car in front of me inched ahead. “Mom is always late.”

“She’s not always—”

“Dad.”