Chapter Thirty
Chapter
Thirty
Later that morning, Dylan headed back to her house to change and face the proverbial music. She walked, taking shortcuts through the woods she remembered from last week when she’d sprinted to Ramona’s house after the first pictures of them appeared online.
She smiled as she passed by Nugget’s yard, not even sparing him a glance as he barked once at her and then simply watched her go by.
Ramona .
Her smile broadened, making her cheeks ache. She didn’t even feel panicked as she thought about all the texts and missed calls waiting for her when she got home. Both Laurel and Rayna were probably blowing up her phone, but it all slid off her back, at least for now. For this moment, walking through the sunshine on a June morning, the lake glittering in the distance, all she wanted to think about was Ramona.
Dylan couldn’t put it into words, what she was feeling. This fluttery, nervous, happy feeling. Or rather, she could , but the word was ridiculous, way too fast, so she just let herself feel all the word-defying feelings as she walked.
When she got to her house, though, all those feelings popped like bubbles in flat champagne.
A car she didn’t recognize sat in the driveway, Massachusetts plates. A rental, most likely, and from the bright red color and two-door convertible style, it had to be her parents’. Laurel used her firm’s car service here, and no one else Dylan knew would drive such an ostentatious vehicle through small-town America.
She stopped at the bottom of the porch stairs, staring at the front door. She knew she had to go in, but she needed a plan first.
Ignorance.
Now that word wasn’t ridiculous at all. It was perfect. She’d walk in, say a bright hello, gather her things and claim she had to get to the set, which was true. La-di-da. Nothing the matter here!
Except when she walked in, a fake smile already in place, the first thing she saw was her mother, perched primly on the edge of the couch, a glass of water in her hand.
She was just…sitting there.
No TV blaring, no music playing. No phone scrolling.
“Um, hi,” Dylan said.
Carrie offered a small smile. “Dylan.”
“Where’s Dad?”
“He’s at the house.”
“You rented a house here?” Dylan asked. Now the panic was surging, rising and cresting. There was no way she could deal with her parents being in Clover Lake for longer than a few days, not while she filmed, not while she tried to build something with Ramona that was more than a publicity stunt.
“We did,” Carrie said calmly. “Just for two weeks. Your dad wanted to get a sense of things for the soundtrack.”
Dylan clenched her teeth. “Is Jocelyn coming to town for her original song?”
Carrie just looked at her coolly. “At some point, yes.”
“What? Seriously?” Dylan rubbed her forehead. “Mom, I don’t want her here, and it’s not fair that you just swoop in and—”
“Dylan, stop,” Carrie said.
Dylan did, more from Carrie’s icy tone than the command itself. Her mother stood up, gold necklaces swaying on her pale chest. She wore a lacy maroon blouse and torn black jeans. Elegance and rock and roll, just like always. She walked up to Dylan, then put her hands on her daughter’s shoulders.
“Sweetheart,” she said softly.
Dylan looked down. She’d never known what to do when her parents showed her affection. On the one hand, she craved it like water. On the other, her skin felt too small for her body, and her jaw tightened without her consent.
“Look at me,” Carrie said.
Dylan sighed, forced her eyes on her mother’s matching set, icy green, nearly transparent.
“I know your dad and I messed up a lot when you were young,” Carrie said.
Dylan frowned. Because they’d never had this conversation. Not once. Not when all their separate therapists recommended family therapy. Not when Carrie and Jack got out of rehab or remarried or divorced. Not when Aunt Hallie took Dylan away from them for a month in the summer when Dylan was thirteen.
Never.
“Mom,” she said, unsure she wanted to have it now.
“Just let me say this,” Carrie said, then took a deep breath. “Your dad and I messed up a lot. And I get that you’re angry about that. You’re hurt. And you should be. I’m sorry, Dylan, I can’t express how sorry we are. If I could change it all for you, I would.”
Dylan’s throat went thick, aching as though a snake had curled around her windpipe.
“But at some point, baby…” Carrie trailed off, her lower lip bobbing. Her hands went to Dylan’s face, cupping her cheeks like she was a little girl. “At some point, you’re going to have to choose. You either forgive us, and you accept the life we’re trying to build now. Together. With you. The efforts we’re making, however imperfectly. The work we all need to put in to be a family. Or…” Her eyes filled with tears. “You don’t. And we’ll stop trying to make you.”
She leaned forward and kissed Dylan on the forehead, whispered I love you .
And then she left.