Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter
Forty-Two
Dylan stood outside on Griffith Observatory’s deck, the white stone cool under her forearms. She had on light-wash jeans, a plain black baseball cap over her long hair, and a fitted black T-shirt with the word Nonchalance spelled across the chest in white capital letters. It was a David Rose shirt from Schitt’s Creek , one of her favorite shows ever, but it was also incredibly ironic.
She felt anything but nonchalant right now.
This was her fifth night in a row at Griffith. Her fifth time using her parents’ annual pass to get into the observatory. Her fifth time watching the sun set over the city from the deck. Her fifth time waiting…waiting…waiting, jumping every time someone came out onto the deck. And as it was summer, the town swollen with tourists, this happened approximately every five seconds.
Still, it wasn’t the waiting that bothered her. She’d always loved it here. She remembered her parents bringing her here once or twice during the more stable times in her childhood, and her aunt Hallie loved the observatory too. She’d bring Dylan any time she was in town, and they’d spend hours on this deck after the sun went down, staring at the night sky through the telescopes, dreaming up stories for the constellations.
But on this fifth night, the last night she’d told Ramona she’d wait for her—the last night she’d told herself she’d wait for her—her stomach was in knots. Suddenly, this entire plan seemed silly and childish. Too hopeful for reality.
Of course Ramona didn’t pine over Dylan’s Instagram.
Of course Ramona wouldn’t come and meet her here, even if, by the smallest of chances, she did happen to see Dylan’s posts.
Dream on , Dylan Monroe , she told herself.
Still, she would wait. She’d wait and wait until ten p.m. when the observatory closed, and Harold, the night security guard, found her on the deck once again and escorted her from the building, tipping his hat and saying, Have a good night, Ms. Monroe , even though she had covered most of her face and he never let on that Ms. Monroe was anyone all that famous.
She sort of loved him for that.
“Good ole Harold,” she whispered into the evening air. It was nearly dark now, a Friday night, the observatory busier than usual. Families and couples wandered over the deck, holding hands, laughing, and still she waited.
She sighed, started thinking about what would come next, about how she’d have to give this up after tonight. Give Ramona up. Move on and all that. The thought made her feel lonely, a hollowness in her chest she could physically feel, but she could do it.
She could do anything.
And maybe, that was the point of all this, in the end.
Dylan Monroe could do anything she wanted. She could act in a rom-com. She could act in a horror film or biopic or a miniseries about spies. She could recognize her mistakes and own them. She could become friends with Blair Emmanuel.
She could forgive her parents.
She could forgive herself.
She could start fresh, remake, redo, be, become.
She smiled a little and gazed out at the city, a sort of contentment mingling with that cavernous feeling in her core. But still, she waited.
She waited, and she waited, and she—
“Dylan?”
At the sound of her name, she didn’t react. Not right away. There were so many people out here, someone might have recognized her despite her best efforts. Best to ignore it. Still, those two syllables sent her stomach fluttering. And then…
“Dylan.”
Not a question.
A statement. Wrapped in a soft, familiar voice.
She straightened, turned just a little, just enough to see her.
Ramona .
She stood about five feet away. Her hair was loose and wavy, bangs a little longer than the last time Dylan had seen her, sweeping over her forehead.
She wore a cherry-print T-shirt.
“Hi,” Dylan said.
“Hi,” Ramona said. She folded her hands in front of her.
“You’re here,” Dylan said.
Ramona’s chest lifted with a deep breath. “I am.”
Dylan took a tentative step toward her. “I was starting to think it wasn’t meant to be.”
Ramona didn’t refute it, she simply tilted her head, her eyes liquid and deep brown. “You really came here every night for the last four nights?”
“Five, if you count tonight,” Dylan said.
Ramona shook her head, looked down, her lower lip trembling. Dylan let her have a minute. She needed one herself, because for all her dreaming of this very moment, she had no idea what came next, how to tell Ramona everything in her heart.
But then suddenly, she did. And the next step was so simple, so perfect. So right.
“Ramona,” she said. Another step.
Ramona looked up, her eyes shiny.
“I’m so sorry,” Dylan said. One more step, and she was right in front of Ramona, close enough to touch. She didn’t though. Didn’t dare. She hadn’t earned that privilege yet. “I’m so, so sorry for everything. I should’ve told you what my publicity team wanted. I should’ve told you that I’d agreed to it. But I swear on every single weird mushroom that resembles a brain on the entire earth”—Ramona cracked a smile, but it was small and fragile—“I wanted to date you.”
Ramona didn’t say anything for a second, so Dylan went on.
“I wanted you ,” she said. “Yeah, it started casual, some summer fun, but that changed so quickly for me.”
“It did?” Ramona asked.
“God, yes,” Dylan said, her throat going a little thick. “You…” She took a shaky breath. “You are impossible not to love, Ramona Riley.”
Tears spilled down Ramona’s cheeks, silent and beautiful. Dylan wanted so badly to wipe them away, take Ramona’s face in her hands, but she still didn’t dare.
“I’m sorry too,” Ramona said. “I should’ve told you about costume design, about my dreams. I just…” She took a deep breath. “I never wanted to make you feel how so many other people had made you feel in the past. I did want to meet Noelle. And I did think you could help me with that. But from the moment you walked in Clover Moon Café that day, walked back into my life, I knew it was never about Noelle or costume design or any opportunities that knowing you might get me.”
“No?” Dylan said. Her heart felt huge and tender in her chest.
Ramona shook her head, took a step closer. Their chests brushed, and she placed her hands on Dylan’s wrists, slid her hands down until they tangled with Dylan’s fingers. Dylan nearly cried in relief, the contact, the physical touch like a gasp of air.
“It was about us,” Ramona said. “You and me. Cherry and Lolli.”
Dylan smiled, her own tears breaking free now.
“Ramona and Dylan,” Ramona said.
“Dylan and Ramona,” Dylan said, and then she did take Ramona’s face in her hands. And she did wipe away her tears. And she did kiss her. And she kissed her and kissed her and kissed her, until Harold came up to the deck and escorted them both out into the world.