CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE GABRIELLE
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
G AbrIELLE
D ylan, can I come in?” I ask.
“No.”
I crack open the door anyway and find him lying on his bed with his back to me.
“You don’t have to say anything,” I say. “But I want to talk to you.”
“Whatever.”
I step into his room and close the door behind me, then pad across the room to sit on the edge of his bed.
His room is decorated in blues and blacks, his father’s favorite colors. I used to tease Christopher that his whole wardrobe was blue and black. I’ve often wondered whether Dylan likes those colors or whether they remind him of Chris.
“Seeing you lying like this reminds me of when you were a baby,” I say gently. “I used to come to your room and check on you every thirty minutes. Your dad used to say I wasn’t leaving you room to grow. But if I didn’t get up and check on you in the middle of the night, he’d say he needed a snack. Then I’d catch him watching you from the doorway just like I did.”
I place my hand on his back and sigh.
“I miss him, Dylan. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of your dad a hundred times. We might’ve been divorced, but I talked to him every day. He knew things about me that no one else knew—not even Cricket. We shared so many things together. Every big, important moment until this point in my life was with your dad.”
My voice flows smoothly through the room.
“He was so excited when he learned he was having boys both times,” I say, smiling at the memory. “He literally leaped up and shouted in the ultrasound room. The technician laughed so hard she almost peed her pants.”
Dylan’s back shifts, and I wonder whether he’s smiling too.
“That man loved you more than anyone has ever loved another person,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “It absolutely kills me that he isn’t here to watch you grow up. It can’t be him in the yard playing catch with Carter. He’s not teaching you how to fix things around the house. Neither of you will go sledding with him or hear his stories from high school or learn to drive a car with him in the passenger’s seat.”
Tears trickle down my cheeks as I remember my ex-husband.
“He worked so hard, Dylan—sometimes twelve, fourteen hours a day when you were a baby, to save money so he could enjoy you as a teenager.” I laugh. “Oh, the irony in that.”
My son rolls over and faces me. His eyes are red. The front of his shirt is damp.
I want to cover him with a hug and try to glue him back together by sheer willpower. But I can’t. It won’t work. And the helplessness in that is the most angering thing in my life.
“No one in the world could replace Christopher Solomon,” I say, squeezing Dylan’s leg. “Anyone who tried would be a cheap replica.”
“I miss him so much, Mom.”
I reach for him, but he pulls away. It breaks my heart.
“It’s not fair that we move on like he didn’t exist,” Dylan says. “What if he’s watching us from heaven right now and sees Jay in our kitchen? What if Dad’s feelings are hurt? What if he thinks we forget or don’t love him?”
There’s no way to stop the pain ricocheting in my chest, nor can I stop the flow of tears dripping onto my shirt. But I would move heaven and hell to take the pain out of my child’s eyes.
“Do you know what worries me at night?” I ask.
He shakes his head, his T-shirt pulled up and over his nose.
“I lie at night and worry myself sick that your dad is watching us from heaven and is mad at me,” I say.
“For what?”
“Oh, for failing as a mother. For letting you and Carter be sad for too long. For not figuring out how to make you guys happy. For not knowing how to handle you when you get angry and forgetting vegetables at dinner.” I laugh through the tears. “He always wanted you to have vegetables.”
Dylan almost smiles.
“You and Carter were the apples of his eye,” I say. “And even though we were divorced, he wanted me to be happy. Hell, Dylan, that’s why we divorced. We divorced so we could be happier. We were best friends, but there was room for a different kind of love in our hearts. I wanted him to have that. And your dad wanted me to have that. He told me so.”
He sits up and scoots against the headboard. He watches me warily, unconvinced—but closer to accepting reality than before.
“I would never try to bring someone into your lives that I thought was unhealthy or dangerous. And I would never introduce you to anyone that I didn’t believe, without a doubt, that your father would approve of. Because he might not be here with us, Dylan, but he’s still your dad. And I will honor his wishes and make choices for you boys that I know he would want me to make.” I smile at him. “So no one is going to Ohio State—not even if it’s your life’s dream and you’ll pay for it yourself. I can’t let that happen. Dad was a big Michigan fan.”
Dylan’s shoulders fall, and he breathes deeply. The corners of his lips tip upward.
“I know seeing Jay here shocked you,” I say. “And maybe I underestimated you. I should’ve told you first or at least not assumed you wouldn’t notice that he and I are ...”
“Is he your boyfriend?”
My gaze falls to the blankets, and I think about it. “Honestly, Dylan, I don’t know. He and I enjoy spending time together. I think he’s a good man. I think, I hope , it has the potential to be something that lasts a long time. But it’s still too early to start slapping labels on it.”
He sighs, staring at the wall across the room. The wheels are turning inside his head. He’s thinking deeply; his bottom lip is between his teeth. It’s a quirk of Christopher’s, but I don’t mention it now. I’ll save that for another day.
“Well, what do you want me to do?” He pulls his gaze to mine. “What am I supposed to think about this?”
“I’m not telling you what to think. I’m asking that you respect Jay when he’s here and don’t act like a child. He’s done nothing to you and doesn’t deserve you acting like you did tonight. You’re better than that, Dylan.”
My son pulls in a long, deep breath. “I’ll try.”
Thank God. “Thank you. Sometimes, we have to respect people even when we don’t like them. Even if we don’t like who they are in our lives. And sadly, this is a part of life, Dylan. Showing respect even when it’s hard. And that’s the man your father would want you to be. So yes, please try. That’s all I want you to do, buddy. Try.”
He leans up and wraps his arms around my neck. His hug is quick and tight, before he drops to the bed and rolls away from me.
“Will you leave me alone now?” he asks, his voice muffled by the blankets.
I pat his leg and stand. “I will. Thank you for listening to me. And thank you for trying.”
“Go.”
Teenagers, man. “Good night. I love you.”
“Bye.”
I leave his room, shutting the door behind me.