A Brush with Love(45)
Before Dan even answered, Alex threw open the door.
“Sorry, man, but I can’t wait. I got that gas station sushi again for lunch,” he said, frantically shuffling for the toilet.
Dan closed his eyes and did a quick calculation on how many weeks until his lease was up. Alex was a great friend but a disgusting person to live with.
“Was last time not lesson enough?” Dan asked, setting his razor down and moving into the hall as Alex found noisy relief. Maybe finding a sublease wouldn’t be that bad?
“I know but it’s so cheap. And it tastes good going down,” Alex said, the sentiment emphasized by an exceptionally loud fart.
Sleeping on the streets might even be something to consider. He was glad the door was closed, but noise still traveled.
“So, you excited for tonight?” Alex asked.
“No, don’t worry, make yourself comfortable. Let’s chitchat while you destroy our bathroom. Not like I was doing anything in there. I wanted a half-shaved look anyway.”
Alex wasn’t perturbed. “Think you’ll finally get lucky tonight with Harper?”
“We’re just friends,” Dan said, sounding unconvincing even to himself. He wasn’t about to tell Alex how desperately he hoped tonight changed things.
“Sure, dude,” Alex responded dryly. “Seriously, how long are you going to wait it out with her? You need to get laid. Bad.”
Dan sighed. “I’m sorry, Alex, but it bothers me that I’m the only one uncomfortable with us having this conversation while you’re bottomless. Can you hurry up?”
With a flush and brief handwashing, Alex emerged, looking relieved and a little sweaty. “All I’m saying is, there are plenty of hot girls out there. You can’t wait on one woman forever.”
Dan shrugged as he went back into the bathroom. For Harper, he could.
After he finished shaving, he went to his room, flicking through his closet. He pushed to the back, retrieving his nice suits and dress shirts.
He used to dress up every day for his job, and he missed the way the suits always made him feel purposeful and put together. He pulled out his favorite black suit—a classic cut, tailored to sleek perfection.
It used to be his lucky suit. He’d wear it to important meetings or lunches with big clients. Pulling that jacket on in the mornings in his shoebox-sized apartment gave him a sense of purpose, like he was suiting up for a battle he was guaranteed to win.
The version of Dan who’d worn that suit had felt alive, fulfilled—every day a chance to do what he loved: talk to people, manipulate numbers, make decisions, put together all the moving pieces.
Dan hadn’t felt like that man in a long time.
His phone buzzed with a text, and he jumped on it, expecting it to be Harper. He frowned down as he saw his mom’s name on the screen. He slid open the message.
I can’t believe you didn’t call me today.
Dan’s blood froze in his veins as he looked at the date then reread the message.
December 20th.
Fuck.
Dan dropped the suit as memories from the last time he’d worn it, one year and two weeks to the day, flooded through him.
He’d been heading into the office early, a cocky grin plastered on his face at his perfect call on an alternative scenario outcome for the passing of a tax cut bill that many senior managers had overlooked. It was a risky move for a junior manager to contradict those above him, but Dan had advocated for a change in the company’s stop prices, and his plan ended up saving the company, and its clients, ridiculous sums of money—making Dan the office hero and inflating his usually minor ego to supersized proportions.
He’d worn his nicest suit in preparation to present a debriefing, explaining what the past forty-eight hours had meant for the company, and offering suggestions on where to go. He’d been a few blocks from the building when he’d gotten the call from his mom.
Now, with numb fingers, he dialed her number.
It rang twice, then went silent, his mom’s breathing coming across the line as she waited for him to say something.
“Hi, Mom,” he finally managed to push out.
“Hello, habibi,” his mom, Farrah, said, her voice steady, trying to hide the pain that crackled right below the surface.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner. I didn’t realize what day it was.”
“It’s been a year, Daniyal,” she shot out, using the Arabic pronunciation of his name. “Not ten. How could you not remember?”
Dan did remember. He remembered his mom’s crying on the phone as she told him his father had been rushed to the hospital. The way he’d taken the first train to Philadelphia. He remembered holding her in the hospital waiting room as she cried into his shoulder, pressing the words ‘cancer’ and ‘a few weeks’ into his nicest suit.
He remembered feeling both numb and shattered. Angry and relieved. Confused by how something like cancer could take down Dr. James Craige, pioneer of the dental field, savior of teeth, frigid father, emotional tyrant. But most of all, he felt worried for his mom and how this would rock her world.
“I … I haven’t been paying attention to dates lately,” Dan said. “It was a mistake.”
Farrah sniffed. “Do you not mourn for him? He was your father.”
“No, he was an asshole.”