Please log in to recommend or discuss...
I was pretty sure I hadn’t sat still this long since med school.
The tick tick tick of the grandfather clock in the corner seemed incredibly slow, dust motes whirled in the shaft of sunlight that spilled through the leaded glass window into the wood-paneled room, and despite the way the hard-backed chair had made my ass go numb, I was so sleep-deprived that I was sorely tempted to fall asleep right there in the dean of admissions’ office.
“Dr. Brighton?” Dean Larson, a kindly older woman who reminded me of a Hollywood actress—I’d need to check with Brody to figure out which one—had glanced up from perusing the endless stack of paperwork we’d submitted weeks ago and was peering over her reading glasses at me from the other side of her mahogany desk as though waiting for the answer to a question.
“Hmm? Oh! Sorry. What were you saying?” I tried to look alert and engaged while also surreptitiously sneaking a peek at my phone to verify that I had no new updates from the hospital. One of my emergency surgical patients had been hypoxic when I’d left for this appointment, and I’d been tempted to cancel. But, Brody had reminded me, it had taken months to even get an interview with the Mountbatten Preparatory Academy, and it was important to make a good impression. My three girls already had friends at the elite private school, and Jacey, in particular, was desperate to join their theater program, which was “next-level, Dad.”
So here I was, exhausted but earning some much-needed father points…
Though I really wished I could simply write the school a check and be done with it.
Focus, Grant.
“I was saying that your application is extremely impressive. The girls have outstanding records from their previous school, and the recommendation from Jacey’s drama coach is remarkable.”
I nodded. Brody had prepared everything for me, and I’d only had to sign it, therefore I was confident everything was in order.
“But I did have a question…” she continued.
I licked my lips. I could do this. I answered questions from patients and concerned loved ones every day. I could absolutely answer questions about my own children. “Right. Sure. Fire away.”
“It’s about Mr., ah… Brody Kelly.” She nodded toward the paperwork. “He’s the other person listed as the girls’ emergency contact?”
“Oh. Yes. Yes, he is,” I said firmly, relieved to be asked a question I knew the answer to. If she’d been asking for the girls’ clothing or shoe sizes, I might have panicked like an intern presenting a patient to his attending for the first time.
Brody continually told
me that it didn’t matter that I didn’t know Cleo’s favorite lunchbox treats or whose turn it was to drive Mia’s gymnastics car pool. “That’s why you hired me, Dr. Brighton. Remember?” he’d say gently, his green eyes going soft. “It’s way more important that you’re trying to make it to Friday movie nights and Jacey’s lacrosse games and that you spend time talking with each of the girls every day. Focus on that stuff.”
I wasn’t sure he was right, but I really appreciated him saying so.
The dean lifted her eyebrows at me expectantly, but I wasn’t sure what else I was supposed to say. “Did you… need Brody’s phone number?” I guessed. “I’m pretty sure it’s on the form.”
“No. I wanted to know about Mr. Kelly’s relationship to you,” she prompted a bit impatiently. “Is he a family member?”
Oh.
I felt a smile tug at the corners of my lips without conscious thought.
Technically, Brody Kelly wasn’t family. I’d hired him to be our live-in nanny—or, as Brody teasingly corrected me, our “full-time childcare specialist”—four years ago now at my sister’s bidding, because she’d insisted I needed more support than the part-time babysitters I’d employed up to that point. But since then, he’d proven himself absolutely invaluable. The girls utterly adored him, and I…
Well. I liked him very much.
Professionally.
Because he was my employee.
And if I also had other sorts of thoughts about him—about how his eyes sparkled with happiness in a way that shouldn’t have been scientifically possible, or the way a fascinating little dimple popped on his left cheek when he was truly amused, or how the sight of him coming home from the gym in sweat-soaked, ass-hugging short-shorts made my heart rate
increase as though I’d been the one getting a workout—well, I forcibly ignored those, by mentally reciting a list of every bone in the human body, if necessary, because to do otherwise would be… unprofessional. Professionally speaking.
My cheeks went hot, and I squirmed slightly in the chair.
Occipital bone, parietal bone…
“Brody’s not exactly family,” I admitted, flustered.
But I didn’t want her to think that he was just a random name I’d put down as an emergency contact, either. I wanted her to understand that I trusted the man implicitly to make whatever decisions were needed for the girls… So I kept talking when ordinarily I would have kept my mouth shut.
“Brody is… he’s wonderful. He loves my girls so well—and I don’t mean that he makes sure they get their biannual dental cleaning and brings them lemon honey tea when they have a cold.” Though he did those things, too. “Brody’s genuinely interested in what they have to say, and he gets enthusiastic about what they’re enthusiastic about. Do you know, when Mia wanted to take up archery because she saw it in a Disney movie, Brody started taking lessons with her?” I chuckled to myself. Mia had been a quick study, but Brody’s aim was objectively terrible to this day. “When Cleo became passionate about ichthyology, Brody helped her research fish tanks and got us one on Facebook Marketplace. And when Jacey’s musical theater group did Hairspray last spring, he learned all the choreography so he could help her practice. All while managing a full college course load of his own for a software engineering degree. Brody’s the best thing that ever happened to the girls and me. He’s an incredible role model, and he helps me to be a better dad. So, I—” I broke off, a little horrified by my own rambling. Shit. I was way too tired for this meeting. “I’m so sorry. What was the question?”
Dean Larson’s face had morphed from its earlier businesslike mien into something liquid-soft and approachable. It was the sort of face my girls made when Brody showed them cute kitten GIFs. The sort of face Brody himself made when we’d encountered a golden retriever puppy gamboling around the playground last Saturday. I wasn’t sure what I’d said to put that OMG-look-at-the-cuteness expression on the dean’s face.
“I think you’ve answered my question perfectly, Dr. Brighton.” She beamed. “And, might I add, Mr. Kelly is a very lucky man to be spoken of so highly."
“Oh.” I returned her smile uncertainly. “Not at all. We’re the lucky ones to have him.”
“That’s lovely. Just lovely.” She gave me a quick wink. “You know, we’re supportive of all kinds of families here at Mountbatten. We embrace diversity.”
I nodded. That was one of the things I’d considered carefully before agreeing to Jacey’s request that we apply. I’d read several peer-reviewed journal studies about the importance of diversity to improve outcomes for children across the board, particularly with their mental health. More than that, it was something I felt strongly about on a personal level.
I hadn’t figured out I was gay until surprisingly late—as in, not until five years ago, when my ex-wife had already decided she was unfulfilled by our quiet suburban life and suggested exploring what would make each of us truly happy… separately. I wasn’t sure that having access to an LGBTQ+ alliance like the one Mountbatten offered back when I was in high school would have changed that outcome in the slightest, but it couldn’t have hurt.
“We simply like to make sure that all applicants come from a family environment that will enable their families to be active in our little community,” she went on. “Fundraising, intramural sports and extracurricular activities, social events… they don’t just happen. To best support our children, ...
