Page 169 of Glitched Play

Dad: Thought you’d want this one.

Dad: Want me to bring it over?

I stand and stare out the window.

The last letter.

Me: No. I need to get out of the office anyway.

Dad: Good. I need help with something.

Me: Be there in twenty-three minutes.

I can see my dad shaking his head. I think it’s funny that he expects perfection from the players he coaches but when I give him a precise answer, he thinks I’m too uptight.

I shove back from my desk, slide my phone into my pocket and tell Dara I’m out for the day.

“Without Maci?”

“Yes.”

“But the last two times…”

I raise my brow. “Dad needs me.” She accepts those three simple words. Maybe because they’re around the same age and maybe sometimes she would like her kids to come help her.

“Maci can put out any fires.”

“She can,” she says with a smile.

My stomach is flipping and flopping. I don’t quite know if I’m excited or scared. It’s been so long. Why now? Is she hurt? Is she getting married? Did she get her dream job and want me to know?

Relief.

Curiosity.

Anxiety.

My brain tries to file each emotion into its own box, but none of them stay there.

When I get to Dad’s, I try to act unconcerned. Why? I don’t know. Dad knows how important these letters have been in my life. Not once has he ever pried.

I wonder if my mom would have.

Would she have sat on my bed and patted the comforter with her gentle hands? Would she have said, “Witt, my perfect baby, are you in love?” Or “Son, I think it’s time we got to know her in real life. Not just through chat rooms and headsets.”

Dad is quiet like me and that alone makes me feel connected. Maybe I’m not so different than everyone in my family. I’m different than my siblings. But even Noelle is quiet around people she doesn’t know. But God forbid, you’re in her circle of trust. She will talk your ear off about things that don’t matter.

About things that do.

And about things you don’t want to talk through.

I park around the side and when I open the door, I hear a saw buzzing.

“Hey,” I say, keeping my tone even. It takes a minute but he finally notices me.

“Hey, you’re late.” He lets out a laugh that he doesn’t mean to.

I nod. Not wanting to seem anxious, I don’t immediately ask for the letter, instead I ask, “What are you making?”