“Let’s do it.”
We caught up over plates of organic spaghetti squash in creamy pesto sauce with asparagus tips. I told him about the prep work I needed to do for my practicum the next day, and he told me about the latest drama with his IT department and its failing director, Alan. And all the crises he’d had to avert from four hundred miles away. “Are you going to fire him?” I asked, sipping from my glass of sweet red wine.
He shrugged. “Alan has been with me since the beginning. Almost as long as Jordan. His life is a disaster, and that can happen to anyone. But I’ve decided to give him a timeline and some ultimatums. If he doesn’t meet his deadlines, yes, he’s gone.”
“Isn’t that up to the board of directors to decide, though? Can you make that type of decision without them?”
His features darkened, and he glanced away, taking his last bites and cleaning his plate. I frowned at him. Something was up. The way he clenched his jaw, the slight flush at his collar. He looked angry.
I pretended not to notice. I’d wheedle the truth out of him later, sure enough. “Well, I guess you could fire him. You fired Jordan, after all…”
“Did not. He quit when I refused to fire him.”
“Meh. Jordan’s a pain.” I grinned. “Shoulda tried harder.”
We both laughed.
“Guess what?” I asked, once my glass was empty.
His eyes were on the glass in my hand as he laid aside his fork and knife. “Hmm. Let’s see…you want another glass of wine?”
“No.”
“You are feeling super horny after that glass of wine?” His dark eyes danced with humor and, maybe, a little hope.
I stuck my tongue out at him. “You wish.”
He smirked. “So what am I guessing, then?”
“I finally cracked open that envelope of Glen’s.”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise, and I recounted what was in it.
“And his letter? What did it say?”
“I haven’t read it yet.” I shook my head. “I was contemplating it when you walked in the door.”
“Well, you should read it.”
“Not now…you’ve been gone for four days.”
He covered my hand with his, twining his larger fingers through mine. “It’s not going to take you that long to read it. Aren’t you the least bit curious about him?” He leaned toward me almost as if imploring me—as if my mom wasn’t the only person sad that I had very little family. “Especially after looking at all the info he collected for you?”
I smiled. “Okay. You’ve finally talked some sense into me…”
We put our dishes away, and he followed me up the stairs and into my study. He plunked down on the couch under the window. I grabbed the letter off the desk and then plopped down beside him. He settled an arm along the back of the couch, and I leaned into his shoulder.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Yeah…give me a sec.”
He rested his head against the cushion and stared up at the ceiling to allow me privacy while I read the letter. With not the steadiest of hands, I held it up and read.
Hi Mia,
This is probably the most awkward letter I’ve ever written, especially considering it should have started with the sentence: “I’m your brother. Nice to meet you via this letter.” I’m not sure what is going through your mind right now, but I’ve had a chance to speak with your mother about you, so I think I can guess.
First, let me say, most importantly, that I am not my father. And I strongly feel that he has not done right by you, and this knowledge saddens me. But this note is not about him. I’d be glad to answer any questions you may have about him should you ever decide to meet with me in person. But he is not the reason I’m writing to you, beyond the fact that we are related to each other through him.
I have a sincere desire to meet you and a concern for your welfare. I know that you are in remission from cancer. I can’t even imagine what going through that must have been like, but I can empathize, especially at your young age. I’m pained to learn of all the challenges you’ve had to overcome.
In the interest of keeping this brief, let me close with this… I would love to get to know you better, but I also realize that you may not be ready for this step in your life. That is completely understandable. You may reach out at any time you want to. Don’t do it because your mom wants you to or because I’d like you to. Do it for yourself only.
I wish you nothing but happiness, great health, and success in all of your endeavors.
From your older brother,
Glen Dempsey
With a long sigh, I handed the letter to Adam, and he read it at his typical breakneck speed.
When he was done, he looked up, black eyes revealing nothing. “So what do you think?”
I shrugged. “First impression? He seems like a nice guy.”
He tilted his head, watching me while also indicating in his subtle way that he agreed with my conclusion.
“And it seems like he really wants to meet me.”
“Yeah. Are you going to?”
I shrugged. “I guess I have decide if I really want to. Maybe?”
Adam nodded and handed the letter to me.
I skimmed it again. “I could email him for now…to thank him for the files and the trouble he took to get all that together. Thanks to that, I probably know more about my father’s medical background than most people who grew up knowing their father.”
“Yes, the biological sperm donor is no longer a mystery.” Then his voice died out into a long pause. He cleared his throat and shifted on the couch to face me. “Did you…did you find any cancer history on his side?”
He asked the question so quietly. So calmly. With a practiced nonchalance that I knew was his typical mask behind which he hid a certain level of anxiety—in particular, about this subject.
“No cancer that I could see.”
He nodded, face still blank. “Anything else to worry about?”
“Only the same things that afflict much of the American population. Diabetes. Heart disease, all that fun stuff.”
He frowned briefly before getting up and moving to the folder on the desk. “Mind if I have a look?”
“It’s fascinating reading,” I said drily.