Author's Note: I substitute the at sign with (&), and period with (comma) for the e-mails because it wouldn't acknowledge the other.
Chapter 4: Disciplinary Actions
Jimmy's suspicions should have been raised when he saw that all of the lights were out in the house before entering. However, he was under the impression his parents were home asleep upstairs in their room, so you imagine his surprise when he came face-to-face with them in the kitchen.
"Jimmy," came Michael's voice from the dark. His son let out a girlish scream before flipping on a light switch. "You better have a damn good reason for why you lied to me and your mother about your sister."
His parents stood there waiting for their son's explanation, but he honestly couldn't give them one. Jimmy looked over at his mother with pleading eyes. Between both of his parents, she was usually the one who would defend or stand up for him, but it didn't seem like she was going to this time. Amanda gazed right back into her son's eyes, and she could see the "Help Me" in them.
"Hey!" Michael said, repeatedly snapping to redirect his attention. "Don't look at her; she's not gonna help you. You look at me. Why'd you lie, Jim?" Jimmy searched his mind for an answer, but the longer he took, the more furious his father grew. "What's the matter? Did your mouth quit working all of the sudden?"
If ever there were a more appropriate time for Jimmy to be angry with his sister, it was right now. He was so pissed he was taking the fall for something he had no control over. "I didn't know she was gonna ditch coming with Franklin and me to the concert just so she could go over to some guy's house!"
His father didn't mean to, but Michael slapped Jimmy across the face out of pure rage. Amanda gasped, covering her mouth with her hands, shocked at the sight of her husband striking their son.
Michael's demeanor softened eyes filled with regret at the realization of his actions. "I'm sorry I..." He attempted to say, watching as Jimmy ran away to his bedroom. Michael was left alone in the kitchen with Amanda. He turned to look at his wife, who's shaking with fear; the closer he stepped towards her. "Mandy.."
Amanda slowly backs away from him, taking her hands away from her mouth. "Don't," she cried. "How could you?" Her husband tried to respond, but she interjected. "Of all the horrible, traumatic, and unforgivable things you've ever done. How could you do that?"
Michael tried to speak again. "Listen, I..."
She cut him off. "NO, you listen to me, it's one thing for you to hurt me with your self-destructive behavior, but it's a whole other thing when you come after my son."
He corrected her. "You mean our son."
Michael didn't like what she was implying, especially when Amanda didn't respond. It caused him to question the paternity of his own son, a part of him always had, and with good reason, the most obvious being their son's red hair. Amanda took off upstairs, heading in the direction of their bedroom, her husband following close behind. He stood in the doorway; not wanting to come any closer for fear it would further upset her. She went to their closet, retrieving an empty suitcase proceeding to fill it with clothes.
"Don't do this," begged Michael standing there watching her pack.
Amanda flipped the lid open, tossed in the clothes, and zipped it shut. She took it off the bed, walked past him and down the stairs. "Watch me," she replied matter-of-factly.
Michael tried pleading with her once more. "Please, Amanda, don't go."
They made it to the front door before she turned around, shoving the suitcase at him. "I'm not going anywhere."
He had to call a cab because his car was in the garage and the keys were still on the hook in the kitchen. The cab driver asked him where he wanted to go. The last time he found himself in this predicament, he stayed with Trevor, so he strongly decided against that as an option.
"3671 Whispymound Drive, Vinewood Hills," replied Michael.
Once the cab arrived at the destination, Michael paid the driver then knocked on the door. Franklin wondered who it could be at such a late hour, considering the time was 3:57 AM.
He looked through the peephole. "Damn, this can't be good," he commented, opening the door to the sight of Michael standing on his doorstep, suitcase in hand.
"Can I stay here for the night?" asked Michael.
Franklin didn't give it a second thought stepping aside allowing him in. At least not until after he heard Michael explain what happened over drinks in the kitchen.
Michael concluded his story. "So after she kicked me out, I had nowhere else to go. Sure I coulda stayed at a hotel, but..."
Franklin stood there shaking his head, looking at him. "That's a lot of shit to process, and I don't wanna think about it. Man, I'm starting to regret letting your ass in."
Michael took another sip of his beer. "Yeah, well, I'm glad you did."
Saturday, October 25, 2014
That morning, Patrick awoke, having forgotten where he was. He slept in the guest bedroom because Tracey fell asleep in his room. The professor walked down the hallway to check on her, but when he looked inside, she wasn't there. Suddenly, the smoke detector sounded in the kitchen, so he raced downstairs to see what set it off. Smoke poured from the oven as Tracey opened it in an attempt to retrieve whatever she made, but he stopped her.
"Careful, don't touch it," he said, grabbing a fire extinguisher to put out the flames. "Stand back," he warned. Once the fire was out, he opened the windows to help circulate the smell and the smoke. "Tracey, are you hurt? Let me see." He examined her for injuries thankful she wasn't burned.
"No, I'm fine, but your breakfast isn't," she grieved, staring at a burnt pan meant to be waffles. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to do something nice for you since you let me stay here last night."
Patrick takes her by the hand. "How's this? Go upstairs, take a shower, freshen up; you can borrow my bathrobe in the meantime to cover up, and I'll go and buy you something to put on."
Overjoyed at his suggestion Tracey practically threw herself at him while they embraced in a hug. "Thanks, I'll start getting ready."
It took her all of fifteen minutes to race upstairs, take a shower, and wrap her hair in a towel then put on his bathrobe. Tracey went back downstairs to close the kitchen windows, happy that the smell and the smoke had mostly cleared. Only then did she realize he hadn't left yet spotting Patrick in the study checking his e-mail on the computer. As Tracey approached, the sunlight shining through the window caught the reflection of something metal on the carpet, so she bent over to pick it up. It was a shell from the stray bullet her mother had accidentally fired the other day.
"What have you there?" asked Patrick averting his eyes from the computer screen.
"A reminder of how much my parents hate me."
"Nonsense, they don't hate you, they just..." he began but was interrupted midsentence by a notification alert. Someone had just sent him a new e-mail. He clicked on the inbox to read it.
TO: patrickjefferies&uls,edu
SUBJECT: Disciplinary Action
FROM: roberthall&uls,edu
RECEIVED: 10/25/2014 at 10:00 AM
MESSAGE:
Dear Professor Patrick Jefferies,
It has been brought to our attention that you have recently engaged in misconduct resulting in disciplinary action. According to the University of Los Santos Faculty Code of Conduct as approved by the Assembly of the Academic State you are in clear violation of the university part II - Professional Responsibilities, Ethical Principals, and Unacceptable Faculty Conduct. Specifically, the Ethical Principals, Section A: Teaching and Students, Types of unacceptable conduct, part 7. Entering into a romantic or sexual relationship with any student for whom a faculty member has or should reasonably expect to have in the future academic responsibility (instructional, evaluative, or supervisory).
As stated in the book, the pedagogical relationship between a faculty member and student; must be protected from influences or activities that can interfere with learning and are consistent with the goals ideals of the University. When a faculty member is responsible for academic supervision of a student, a personal relationship between them of a romantic nature or sexual, even if consensual, is inappropriate. Such a relationship jeopardizes the integrity of the educational process.
In your case, this includes the inappropriate relationship you formed with your student Tracey Marie De Santa. Despite having developed and taken place off-campus, it is still considered a violation. Although we are aware that this is your first instance of disciplinary action due to its severity, we cannot let you off with just a simple warning. No disciplinary sanction has been imposed until after you've had the opportunity for a hearing before the Board of Governors, subsequent to the filing of a charge by the appropriate administrative officer. A hearing will commence in 90 days of the date on which you have been notified of the intention to initiate a disciplinary proceeding in order to determine the next course of action regarding the future of your teaching career.
Sincerely, Robert Hall
President of the University of Los Santos
Tracey watched Patrick's facial expression change; his smile faltered as he read the e-mail causing her to wonder what's wrong. "You okay?" She came around to the other side of the desk.
He minimized the window, not wanting her to see quickly shutting down the computer. "It's nothing," he said, not wanting to lie but not wanting to worry her either. "Stay here. I'll see about getting you something to wear, and then we'll go out to eat."
Patrick backed his Intruder out of the driveway, choosing to turn left rather than the right heading up the block instead of down the street, finding himself parked outside the De Santa residence. On the drive there, he had practiced an entire speech on what he wanted to say to Michael; how he won't allow himself to be threatened, intimidated, or bullied over his relationship with his daughter no matter how much he disapproved. The professor stood on the doorstep, rang the doorbell, and to his surprise, Amanda answered the door.
"Professor Jefferies, what are you doing here?" She looked like she had been crying.
"Is your husband home?"
"Um," Amanda contemplated her answer then opens the door. "Please come in."
Patrick was astonished as he walked through her home; the inside was just as impressive as the outside. At first, he thought that the stories Tracey told him were just tall tales; maybe she was exaggerating that her parents and home life were that bad. But after the events that took place the other night, being held at gunpoint, he knew that it was all true. The professor took a seat on the couch in the living room.
"Have a seat anywhere you'd like," said Amanda, offering, "Would you like something to drink?"
Having been distracted observing the art that hung on the wall, he didn't hear her. "Hmmm? No thank you, I'm fine."
Amanda joined him. "You're here to see my husband?"
"Yes, I wanted to speak with him."
Amanda scoffed, remarking under her breath. "That makes one of us."
"Come again?" Patrick asked, confused.
She let out a heavy sigh. "Forgive my langue professor, but I could honestly give a shit less if I ever speak to Michael again," she stated crossly.
"You can just call me Patrick," he replied, offering a weak smile, sensing she was upset. "I'm sorry it would appear I've caught you at a bad time; I'll just come back when he's here." Patrick got up, intending to leave until Amanda began crying.
"Oh God, look at me, crying like an idiot in front of a complete stranger," she said, fanning herself in an attempt to calm down.
Patrick didn't feel right leaving Tracey's mom in such a state with no one else around to comfort her. "Miss De Santa?" he said calmly.
She sniffled, smiling. "Call me Amanda."
"Amanda," Patrick began. "Forgive me if I'm speaking out of turn. As an outsider looking in, from my perspective, you're not an idiot; you're just under a great deal of stress. As is your husband, I imagine." He offered her a tissue.
She used it to wipe her tears, pausing, trying to find the right words. "Everyone but you seems to be stressed out about..."
The professor put it bluntly. "Tracey being pregnant."
"Well, yeah, how is it you're so calm about all of this?" Amanda wondered.
"I'm just as surprised as you that I've managed to "keep my cool." He elaborates. "Everyone reacts differently to things, and it's hard to know for certain how someone will react until they're in that said situation."
Like being held at gunpoint?" Amanda asked for instance.
Patrick smiled at her. "Yes, like that." He admits, "I was terrified, but two waves of panic don't make a calm, so I tried my best to remain as such in hopes you wouldn't shoot me."
Amanda chuckled at his last remark. "I'm glad that I didn't because I see now that you're a genuinely good guy, which is more than I can say for my husband."
"I wouldn't say that," replied Patrick, "you hardly know me."
"Oh, but I do," said Amanda. "If you don't mind me saying so, you're smart, charming, you've got your life in order and a good head on your shoulders, that's saying a lot compared to Michael."
Patrick laughed. "I don't know him that well, but I wouldn't belittle him if I were you. Your husband's intentions, although misguided at times, are good. I can tell he just wants what's best for his family, including Tracey."
Amanda sighed, thinking it over. "Yeah, I guess you're right. How is she?"
Patrick set himself up for that one. "She's fine. I'm supposed to be getting her something to wear because her clothes smell like smoke."
Amanda was alarmed, aware of her daughter's secret nasty habit for a while, but thought she had stopped once Tracey learned she was pregnant. "Oh my God, she shouldn't be smoking while pregnant."
Patrick was baffled. "What, no, she burned some waffles that she tried to make in the oven. Tracey smokes?"
Amanda grew flustered. "She did, does, oh that's not the point Tracey shouldn't be smoking at all."
Patrick rose from the couch. "Calm down, I understand."
Amanda got up too. "I'll go upstairs to collect some of her things." She returned with a duffle bag full of Tracey's clothes handing it to Patrick. "These aren't going to fit her forever, you know. Eventually, she'll need to go shopping for maternity clothes."
"I'm acutely aware of that," Patrick replied, heading out the door to leave. He loaded the duffle into the front seat then took off.
At the sound of Patrick's car pulling into the drive, Tracey's heightened with anticipation getting up from the couch to peer through the blinds in hopes of catching a glimpse as he came down the walkway. She couldn't wait to see what he'd bought her to wear, but her spirits dampened when she saw that all he brought back was a duffle of her clothes.
"What's that?" she inquired.
"Your things your mother gathered for you. I'll take this upstairs so you can get changed."
As he lugged the duffle up the steps, Tracey followed behind. "Wait, you went to my house!" she said, shocked.
Patrick placed the duffle on his bed, stepping out of the room, allowing Tracey her privacy while she changed. He spoke to her through the door. "Yes, I'm sorry I didn't tell you otherwise to deceive you; I just wanted to have a chat with your father."
Tracey sorted through the clothes in search of undergarments hoping her mother remembered to pack some. "What did he say?"
"He wasn't home, so I didn't get the chance to speak with him, but I did talk to your mother." Patrick paused, waiting for Tracey's response, but when she didn't give one, he continued. "Contrary to my expectations, I found your mother rather pleasant, a little stressed, I'll admit, but who could blame her given all that she's been through recently."
Tracey opened the door. "Please tell me you're not taking her side in all of this." He stood there gawking at her; she cut a slightly fuller figure now that she was pregnant. Tracey waved a hand in front of his face. "Patrick Hello?"
Patrick blinked, shaking the thoughts from his head fumbling over his words. "What, sorry, I don't take sides; it's not about taking sides."
They both descend downstairs. Tracey spoke in a tone equal to her father's. "That's right! You're new here; you haven't been present for the last twenty odd years of my life like I have; that's kinda like all it's ever been about with my parents is taking sides."
Patrick understood now where she picked up such bad habits and behavior, but he was willing to see past it, for now. "No, it's not. See, you're still at the age of naivety when it comes to situations that are larger than yourself."
Tracey was reaching for the door, but his last remark made her stop, taking offense. "Excuse me?"
He elaborated. "It's no longer just about you; it's about family and the ability or, in your family's case, the lack of ability to communicate effectively. At the end of the day, we all just want to be loved and understood anyhow, am I right?"
"Wow," she said, impressed. "I've never heard such a messed-up situation described so beautifully."
Patrick cleared his throat. "Yes, well, we should get going; at this rate, I'll be taking you out to lunch."
It was late afternoon when Jimmy finally decided to emerge, having spent the past ten hours cooped up in his room. He went downstairs to grab a snack catching his mom crying in the kitchen. As much as it pained him to see her that way, he didn't want to be bothered with her emotional problems right now; he just wanted something to eat; so he attempted to back away slowly in hopes she wouldn't notice him. To his dismay, she did.
Amanda looked up from the table, spotting her son. "Jimmy, I didn't hear you come down."
"Shit," he muttered under his breath, disappointed he'd been caught. "Yeah, just wanted something to eat; I'm not as hungry as I thought, so I'm just gonna..." he lied, trying to talk his way out. Jimmy almost managed to walk away until his mom sobbed loudly, hinting she wanted to be bothered. He let out a groan, "ARGH, what's wrong?"
"Your sister's runaway, your father's gone."
"Wait, what?" Jimmy asked. He wasn't up to speed on what transpired between his parents last night. "What do you mean he's gone, gone where; is this like the time he had to hide out with uncle Trevor?"
"Well... no. I kicked your father out," Amanda shamefully admitted.
Jimmy was fed up with his parent's behavior. "Mom, you've gotta stop doing this to yourself!"
"What, what is it that I do?"
"You fight with dad because you don't have anything better to do, and kick him out just so you have something to bitch about." Jimmy mimics her voice. "Michael, I hate you. When are you going to stop acting like a childish, self-destructive asshole and grow up?" Then when you kick dad out all I hear is, "Michael, I miss you. I'm sorry I kicked you out, please, come back home." Every time it's like what is it with you people?" Jimmy takes his dad's car keys off the hook heading towards the garage.
"Where do you think you're going?" Amanda asks.
Jimmy pops his head back into the kitchen. "To check every bar, strip joint, and hospital in town; so I can bring dads drunk, miserable, old ass home. Because I know you won't stop crying until you get what you want, and for some fucked up reason, both your and dad's idea of happiness is having everyone under the same roof feel just as miserable as you!" On that note, he leaves before his mother has the chance to argue.
Across town at Franklin's house Michael finishes up in the bathroom; he took a shower, shaved and redressed, then went upstairs. "Man, that's a great shower, walk-in, dual rainfall showerhead, and great water pressure, not bad."
Franklin sat watching television, impatiently waiting his turn. "Oh yeah, I wouldn't know your ass took thirty minutes now there ain't no hot water and, I hope you used your own damn razor to shave 'cause some things men ain't suppose to share."
"Geez, you sound like my..." Michael began then the doorbell rang.
Franklin walked up to him. "Don't even compare me to your wife," he mumbled under his breath, answering the door, relieved to see it was Jimmy. "Dog, I'm glad you're here. Your pops is getting on my last nerve. I've taken about all I can of his whiny bullshit." Franklin imitates Michael. "I'm mad because Tracey's pregnant. I'm sad because my wife kicked me out." Man, this shit is pathetic."
Michael sees his son walk in. "Jimmy, how'd you know I was here?"
"I followed the trail of misery, and this is where it led," his son replied sarcastically. Michael glared at Jimmy. "Chill pop, I'm just busting your balls. I didn't know. Franklin sent me a text telling me to come to get you."
Michael glanced in Franklin's direction. "If you didn't want me staying here, all you had to do was say something."
"Yo, I let you stay here 'cause that's what friends do, but one thing fo' sho you need to work out your domestic issues and to do that, you need to go home. Plus, you bumming me and Chop out coming in here with your negative-ass attitude."
Chop lay in his dog bed, lifting his head, ears perked up at the mention of his name. Franklin knelt beside him, petting Chop on the head. "I'm sorry, boy." Chops tail began wagging from the interaction.
"I'll come home on one condition," said Michael. "On the off chance, my son forgives me for raising a hand to him."
Michael looked at Jimmy to gauge his reaction to what he had said so far, but his son's face offered very little emotion.
"I'm sorry," continued Michael. "I never understood how a parent could hit their kid, and I certainly never wanted to be one of them that does. My father did that shit to me growing up, and I resented him for it. Be better than I break the cycle."
Jimmy scoffed. "Yeah, I think we all know that's not gonna happen. Being a dad, I meant it's not something I can see myself as."
Michael placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "I thought the same thing about myself. Give it time."
Patrick drove out to Del Perro Pier, parking in the lot just south of the beach. He thought the fresh air would do Tracey some good. They hit up a hotdog vendor then decided to walk the length of the beach as they ate while playing twenty questions. She had finished eating her hotdog and was now walking barefoot, carrying her shoes in her hands. He took another bite of his hotdog just as she prepared to ask him another question.
"Okay, I've got one!" exclaimed Tracey with excitement. She'd already gotten the lesser questions out of the way, including his favorite color (blue), favorite music (Rock), and favorite food (he described warm, hearty, meat-related comfort foods).
Patrick finished chewing and swallowing. "I admire your enthusiasm, but you only have five questions left, so you might want to be prudent about what you ask me next."
"What does that mean?" Tracey asked, quickly recanting. "No, that doesn't count as one of the questions!"
The professor laughed. "That's okay. I won't count it," he assured her, explaining, "Prudent, it means, uh, acting or showing care and thought for the future."
It got her thinking how serious he was about being there for the baby. Tracey contemplated his response then asked, "Am I in your future?" He coughs on his last bite of hotdog. "Oh, you're choking!" she said, patting him on the back. "You okay?"
He cleared his throat, struggling to speak, so he just signaled her a thumbs-up.
Tracey apologized. "Sorry, that was a dumb question. I don't know what I was thinking; it wasn't even something I thought about asking until never mind, you don't have to answer."
Patrick caught his breath, finally able to respond. "Nonsense, it's not a dumb question; you were thinking of the future, you thought about it because I mentioned it, and you deserve an answer." He pondered while looking out across the ocean at a boat sailing off in the distance. "Are you in my future? That's a good question."
"You're stalling," she teased.
Patrick grinned at her. "No, I'm not; I'm thinking carefully about my answer I'm going to answer."
Tracey walked ahead of him. "Just drop it. You don't have to..."
"Yes," Patrick replied." She quit walking then turned around to face him. "My answer is, "Yes." He walked up alongside her. "The way that I see it, we'll always be a part of each other's lives."
"Really?" Tracy asked, enthused.
"Yes," he replied earnestly. "Hopefully, we remain amicable, so in the future, we can effectively co-parent our child."
She frowned. "You don't see us getting married?"
Patrick acted coy. "Does that count as your fourth question?"
Tracey snapped at him. "No, we're done, playing twenty questions; answer me!"
He quit walking then stood still, able to tell from her tone she's serious. "Oh, you meant that."
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Yeah, you don't see us getting married?"
"Do you?" Patrick retorted incredulously. Tracey grew aggravated with him walking away in the opposite direction. He heads after her in an attempt to catch up. "Tracey, wait, I do want to be with you," he asserted. "Fine, hypothetically speaking, let's say I do propose to you. Do you honestly think that your father would give me his blessing?"
She shakes her head. "No, I know he wouldn't, but it shouldn't matter."
"Let me ask you this," said Patrick gazing into her eyes. "Have you ever seen yourself getting married?" He quickly added, "In general, I mean not to me necessarily."
Tracey averted her eyes from the professor's gaze, looking out at the water. She stepped closer towards the shoreline so her feet could touch the water as the tide pulled in. Patrick took off his shoes and rolled up his pant legs so he could join her. Once the waves stopped, they both got out of the water, claiming a spot for themselves in the sand to watch the sunset.
Patrick reminds her, "You still haven't answered my question."
"I know," she replied, playing with the sand scooping up a handful, letting each grain run through her fingers. "What little girl doesn't fantasize about being married, or having kids, or a home of their own surrounded by people that they love in a place that feels safe." Tracey turns to look at him. "We could be so happy together if we were married."
The professor points out, "We don't have to be married to be happy. Plus, not all married people are necessarily happy."
Tracey suggests, "You mean like my parents?"
Patrick frowns. "That's not what I was insinuating; this isn't about them; it's about you and I and where we stand and our baby."
Her face lit up. "You really care about me, don't you?"
"Yes," he replies. "It shouldn't matter if we're married or not; there are plenty of people out there who have kids and aren't married, and if they can make it work, then so can we." Patrick leans over to kiss her.
As they pull apart, Tracey caresses his face with one hand while surreptitiously rubbing her belly with the other. "I love you, you're right; we don't have to be married to do this."
Patrick gazes into her eyes. "I love you too." At that moment, a part of him desperately wanted to tell her about the e-mail he received, but he decides against it, not wanting to ruin the tender moment they just shared. Knowing he would have to tell her eventually, he had the next ninety days to figure out how, but instead, he opted to get personal with her.
"My parents got married too young," he revealed. Tracey listened intently to what he had to say. Patrick continued. "My mother found out she was pregnant dad wanted to do the right thing, so he proposed. She said, "Yes," they wed, and nine months later, my mom gave birth to my older brother. A few years later, they had me. They kept trying because my mom desperately wanted a girl; it took four years, but eventually, they had my sister." Patrick let out a sigh. "My parents got tired started blaming each other for all the things they missed out on. With three kids and a wife to support, my father started working harder, becoming more and more absent, my mother became depressed, and she started drinking."
Tracey could tell how difficult it was for him to open up to her. Patrick began choking up. Swallowing hard, he finished his tale. "She, uh, tried to hide the fact that she drank from us kids, but we knew so did our dad. He tried to get her some help. She refused. He threatened to divorce her, and my mother thought he was bluffing. He wasn't. They split my dad got custody of us kids, and my mom drank herself to death."
Tracey sympathized. "I'm so sorry I had no idea."
Patrick shook his head. "No, don't be everything worked out in the end." He sniffled, cleared his throat, trying to lighten the mood. "Hey, you want to see something?" He pulls out his wallet, taking out a picture to show her. "That's my older brother Mark, his wife Amber, and my nieces Charlotte and Sophie."
Tracey took the picture from him. "Wow, I can definitely see the resemblance between you and your brother." Mark looked like the blond version of Patrick. "Which ones which?" she asked, referring to the girls.
Patrick points them out. "The one on the right smiling is Charlotte; she's six, and the one making a face is Sophie; she's four."
"They're adorable!" Tracey comments, handing the picture back to him.
"I know I love them to death. Hopefully, you'll get to meet them one day; I especially want you to meet my sister; I know the two of you would get along great."
"I'd like that," she states, smiling. "You mentioned that your sister is four years younger than you, so that makes her..."
"She's 28; her name is Alexandria, but she goes by Alex. My brother is 35."
Tracey grins with glee at Patrick. "Thank you for sharing with me; I already feel like I know you a little bit better."
