Chapter 6 Dylan
DYLAN
ME: Frankie! How’s it going, buddy?
FRANKIE: RUOK? Is that code for something? Have you been kidnapped?
ME: No, I just need to know if your friend has any personal information about Dr. Shepard. The therapist.
FRANKIE: Nope.
ME: Did you ask her?
FRANKIE: No, and I’m not going to. Did you have your first session with her or something?
ME: Just ask her if she knows if Dr. Shepard has another last name. I’m not a stalker. I just want to see if I can find any pics of her that I can stare at until my next session.
FRANKIE: I should not have told you about her.
ME: You absolutely did the right thing. She’s going to be really good for me, I can tell. I just need to be able to see her face without her knowing I’m looking at her because she won’t date me. That sounds weird, but it’s actually respecting her boundaries.
FRANKIE: Look, I’m in no place to judge anyone because I’m the nanny who banged her employer that she obsessively hated because she thought she was a funnier comedian than he was and also because it’s just dumb how handsome he is. But I’m pretty sure this is more messed up than that.
ME: You ARE a funnier comedian than he is.
FRANKIE: Thank you.
ME: And I’m widely considered to be more handsome than he is.
FRANKIE: No comment.
ME: But this is definitely not more messed up than that. And you recently moved in with the guy you were obsessed with, so just ask Mia if she knows how I can find pics of our therapist online.
FRANKIE: *Pretends to text Mia to ask if she knows her therapist’s other last name*
FRANKIE: Sorry! She doesn’t know anything about her, other than what a great therapist she is.
ME: Could you just give me Mia’s number so I can ask her myself?
ME: Shit. I meant to say could you give me her number so I can ask her something totally unrelated to our therapist…
FRANKIE: Have a great night, buddy!
Balls.
This is the problem with liking someone who isn’t famous.
Or maybe the great thing about it.
I can actually get to know her the old-fashioned way—without checking her IMDB credits first.
I’m about to open up my food delivery app when I get a call from Miles’s home number. Frankie probably did a group text to everyone telling them that I asked her for intel about my therapist, and now he’s calling to give me shit about it. Asshole.
“What? There’s no harm in asking.”
“Hi, Uncle Dylan. I need you to come to my school on Monday.” It’s my eight-year-old niece, Macy.
“Oh, hi. I thought it was your dad calling me.”
“I know. It’s not. Can you please come? It’s really, really, really, really, really, really important to me.”
“This coming Monday?”
“Yes. After lunch. You aren’t allowed to eat with us though. I already asked. Can you come?”
“I don’t know. I mean, it’s kind of late notice. I don’t have any other plans for that time yet, but there are a lot of other things I could be doing then. Maybe if it’s really, really, really, really, really, really, really important to you. Then I’d think about it.”
“It is.” This kid has no sense of humor. None. “So can you?”
“What do you need me there for? It better not be as a math substitute because I hate math.”
“We only have one teacher,” she sighs. “Mrs. Bean. We’re supposed to invite someone we know to talk about their job and how they got to do it. You just have to stand in front of the class and talk and answer questions.”
“Your teacher’s name is Mrs. Bean?”
“Yes. She doesn’t like fart jokes, so don’t tell any.”
“I can’t make any promises.”
“Uncle Dylan!”
“Okay, I’ll try not to. Is Sam in your class?”
“Noooo! I’m older than him. He’s still in second grade.”
“Oh yeah.”
“You aren’t allowed to see him when you come—you’re just coming for me.”
“Okay, okay. I’m all yours, after lunch, on Monday.”
“Yay!” She sounds genuinely happy and excited. She will probably stay that way for about thirty seconds and then go back to her reign of terror.
“Does your dad know you’re asking me to do this?”
I hear my brother grumbling in the background before taking the phone from her. “Yes, I know she’s asking you to do this.”
“Exactly how jealous are you that she wanted me to talk to her class and not you?”
“Exactly not at all. I wouldn’t be able to in the middle of a workday anyway.” He’s so grumpy. It’s wonderful.
“Wow, you’re exactly as jealous as I thought you would be. I feel really good about this.”
“So you’re going? I have to email her teacher and get you put on a list.”
“Like a guest list for a club? The club for students’ favorite uncles who are cooler and have way more interesting jobs than their dads.”
“The club for unemployed actors who walk into the ocean wearing jeans and a leather trench coat.”
“Hey. I was paid to do that. And I’m not unemployed. I’m taking a break so I can carefully choose my next project.”
“Just don’t forget to wear a shirt to Macy’s school. And don’t hit on her teacher. She’s married. I’ll email you the information.”
“If Mrs. Bean is hot, I will probably still flirt with her…” Crickets. “Hello?”
He hung up.
What an asshole.
It was a joke. Of course I’m not going to flirt with Mrs. Bean. I don’t flirt with other people’s wives, even if they’re hot. I only flirt with one person’s ex-wife—until she tells me not to. Even though I can tell she really wants me to.