Hate Notes

by Vi Keeland

On Tuesday, the worm had taught me how to backdate the postage-stamp machine so the IRS would think his late tax check was timely and wouldn’t charge him a penalty. Good stuff. That needed to be added, too. Thrives within deadline-driven conditions.

“When God was making the mold for good-looking men, he asked one of his angels what else he should add to make a man more attractive in her eyes. The angel didn’t want to be disrespectful by using foul language, so she simply said, ‘Give him a big stick.’ Unfortunately, the added piece was put on backward, and now all good-looking men are born with a large stick up their tuchus.”

“Start at the beginning, dear.” I snorted. “You’ll be here until next week.” She smiled warmly. “I’ve got as much time as we need.” “Are you sure? You look like you’re about to go to a board meeting or get honored at some charity event.” “It’s one of the only perks of being the boss. You set your own hours. Now, why don’t you start with dog surfing. Is that actually a thing? Because I have a Portuguese water dog that might be interested.”

“We almost died? Isn’t that a little bit of an exaggeration? It was a chain-reaction fender bender at best. What would we call our demise . . . like . . . Death by Squirrel?”

Not expecting her to stop when she reached me, I took a cautious step back, anticipating getting reamed out. Instead, her eyes closed, hands raised, and her fingers frantically began typing in the air. Seriously. Fucking. Nuts. And so beautiful when her nostrils were flaring. She hit what I presumed was the imaginary “Enter” button, took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and walked out of the office without another word. I might’ve watched the sway of her ass the entire way out. We both needed goddamn counseling.

“You stopped translating my schedule right at that spot. It was like the second-to-last item, and you decided to stop right there. That was random. Is there no French translation for ‘blind date’?” Shit. How was I going to explain that one? Well, Charlotte, I stopped translating because the idea of you going out with some random man makes me feel violent.

“I made a bargain with Reed. It’s not something I’m at liberty to talk about, but my end of the deal was cancelling the date. So I’m cancelling it.” “You’re cancelling the date that never existed. Gotcha.” “Yes. And thank you, by the way. I owe you one.” “How about dinner next week?” “You’re relentless.” “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

He stood and held out his hand. “But until then, keep the application and take some advice from an old man who has learned from more mistakes than you even realize you’re capable of making yet. One man’s overlooked blessing is soon another man’s gain.”

Iris stopped me on the way out. “Charlotte?” “Yes?” “One last thing. If we ever have the opportunity to slap that Allison, you’ll have to get in line behind me.”

There was probably only one thing cuter than present-day Charlotte Darling, and that was the red-faced cherublike version of herself from twenty-seven years ago. I might have printed the photo and tucked it away. And I’d take that fact with me to the grave.

“Okay. I’ll also order a double of pigs’ knuckles and roasted squirrel.” When I looked over at her, she responded, “That sounds good.” She’d had no idea what I’d just said.

“I know it mustn’t have been easy for you to give me up. My brothers said you always felt like I took a piece of your heart the day you left me at that church. Well, I feel the same way right now. A piece of my heart that I’d just recently found is missing again. It disappeared when you took your last breath. Someday, we’ll meet again and make each other whole.” I leaned down and kissed her cheek one last time. “Until then, I’ll have an angel watching over me.”

“Do you believe in heaven?” “I think so.” “Do you think dogs are there?”

I would have been there for Reed if he’d let me. I thought of my birth mother. True love was also about forgiveness.

And the sight I was witnessing was Reed and his children—a life he might have had if it weren’t for his fears. A life I might have had if it weren’t for his fears.

It was funny how sometimes the universe placed something in front of you that was exactly what you needed to see at exactly the right time. God, I sounded like Charlotte. Pointing my index finger up at the sky, I said, “Damn, you’re good. Almost have me convinced.”

Note to self, never trust Max to take me seriously when I ask him to translate something into Italian for me. Instead of finding myself at the nearest train station, I ended up at the nearest whorehouse.

“I love you, Charlotte. I love you so much, and I’m so sorry that I don’t know how to stop. I can’t fucking stop. I’m a selfish bastard. And I need you by my side even if it ends up ruining your life. I need you.” “You’ve saved my life, and I don’t ever want to live without you.” “As long as I’m breathing, you won’t have to.”

My hand trembled as I placed the ring on her finger. It gave her pause. She looked down at me, and I smiled reassuringly, refusing to believe it was a tremor and convincing myself it was just nerves. Not now. Fuck you.