13. Dylan #2
The head injury has also left its marks. He gets migraines, and even after a year, he still can’t really handle reading much of anything or looking at screens for more than a few minutes at a time.
But there’s progress.
He goes to work with Adrian every few days.
He sits at the table with us and chats and laughs and smiles when he looks at all of us.
Freya fits right in. She’s too friendly and nice not to. Harriet is enamored. Will laughs at all her jokes. She plays tag with the kids.
The only hiccup in the night is the moment we taste the cake. I don’t know what’s wrong with it, but it tastes horrible. By some wordless agreement, none of us says a thing. Freya takes a bite, blinks, then lets out a gurgling sound.
“Oh, God,” she says in a choked voice and hides her face behind her hands for a moment before she takes her water and drains the glass. She makes a face. “Oh my God. Please don’t eat that. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what went wrong.”
She looks miserable as hell, and I feel sorry as hell.
I’m honestly not sure what makes me do it.
“I think it’s great,” I blurt. “Really delicious.”
I go a step further than just trying to prop her up with words. I also take a huge bite of that cursed cake and barely manage to force it down.
The whole table is staring at me.
“Is Dylan going to die now?” Daisy asks from the other end of the table. She starts to cry immediately after.
There’s a second of silence, and then everybody bursts into laughter.
Freya meets my gaze from across the table.
“Thank you,” she says.
Considering how fervently I’ve tried to not like her ever since she arrived, the gratitude just makes me feel like even more of an asshole.
I avoid her gaze as I shrug and sneak a look at Adrian. He’s not looking at Freya like I expected, though. Instead, he’s looking at me.
Only you , he mouths, shaking his head with all the affection in the world.
I force a smile to my face.
This is good.
This has to be enough.
This will be enough.
Because it’s all I’m ever going to have.
I get to watch Adrian make a complete ass out of himself for days while he tries to get up the nerve to ask Freya out.
It’s awkward and painful and I want to run far, far away.
I don’t.
I don’t know how.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Adrian slams his forehead against the roof of his car. We’re hanging out in front of their house after work.
Will, who’s been finding Adrian’s girl troubles excessively amusing, throws a grape into his mouth and grins at Adrian before cuffing the back of his head.
“Just do it, you idiot. It’s not a big deal. You’ve spoken to girls. Unless you pantomimed your way into having a girlfriend before now, in which case I have to say, nice, even if it’s weird.”
Adrian holds his middle finger up without lifting his head.
“This is just sad,” Will says. “Oh, hey, Freya,” he calls out a second later, which makes Adrian snap his head up.
“Hey, guys,” she says, cheerful as ever. The problem with Freya is that she’s a combination of impossibly nice and impossibly cool. She’s pretty. She’s kind to everybody. She plays the bass. She’s good at soccer and loves to run. She’s kind of a dork. She’s kind of awesome.
It’d be even more awesome if she was less of all those things.
Oh, great. Petty Dylan is back.
“Hi,” Adrian says. “Hey.” His eyes move over Freya’s shorts and tank top. Her long, bare legs. “Hi.”
“Heading out?” Will asks.
“I was going for a run,” Freya says.
“Well, we have some great trails here. Oh!” Will slaps his palm against his forehead. “Hey, Adrian, didn’t you just say you were planning to go for a quick run before dinner? He could be your tour guide,” he tells Freya.
“That would be nice,” Freya says.
“It would,” Adrian says. “Totally… swell.”
Seconds tick by. Freya looks at him expectantly. Adrian looks back.
“When’s… when’s a good time for you?” Adrian asks. He tries to place his elbow on top of his car, misses, and almost topples over. “I’m free whenever.” He’s blushing furiously.
Freya laughs.
“Now would be good?”
“Yeah?” He’s so goddamn excited. His excitement chokes me. “Yeah,” Adrian repeats. “I’ll just go and change.”
A few minutes later, they jog down the street side by side.
Will throws another grape into his mouth before he wraps his arm around my shoulders.
“Look at us. We’re basically Cupid. This is great.”
“Yeah,” I say tonelessly. “Great.”
Freya and Adrian disappear around a bend in the road.
“Really great.”
I sound hollow.
I feel even hollower.
Adrian climbs into my bedroom through my window and stands in front of my bed, squinting at me in the darkness.
I’ve been hiding in my room ever since he and Freya went on their run.
I didn’t want to know how it went. I didn’t want to feel the sickening swirl of jealousy in the bottom of my stomach, wave after wave rolling around inside me.
I didn’t want to hear how great Freya was. I didn’t want to know what’s next.
I didn’t want to know .
I don’t want to know now either.
I could pretend I’m asleep.
Instead, I wordlessly throw the covers to the side and make room for him.
We haven’t had a sleepover like this in a while. We’re too old for that. You grow up and you grow out of things. Like casually sharing a bed with somebody. Because you don’t trust yourself not to do anything stupid when you’re asleep.
Seems we’re making an exception today.
He doesn’t say anything.
I don’t have the guts to ask.
I’ll just bury my head in the sand and pretend it’s a normal, boring day. One of those where nothing happens or has happened or will happen.
“How was your date?”
Maybe he’ll laugh it off. Maybe he’ll say nothing will come of it.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe.
“Good,” he says. “Really, really good.”
I’m happy for him.
I am.
Happy for him.
In despair for myself.
“She’s…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence. Maybe he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t have to. I can hear all that’s unsaid in his voice.
“It’s different,” he says in a low voice. “She’s different.”
My stomach twists and turns like it’s suddenly inhabited by snakes.
Remember this moment, Dylan. You’ll be recounting this story in your best man’s speech.
I don’t say anything. Couldn’t even if I wanted to.
He falls asleep soon after.
I stay up until the early hours of the morning and listen to him breathe softly next to me, his side pressed against mine.
I can smell his shower gel on his skin and his shampoo in his hair.
He turns on his side in his sleep and throws his arm over me.
It’s a miracle he doesn’t wake up with the way my heart is hammering in my chest, like it wants to get out.
Let me, let me, let me. Oh, please. I’m his. Always have been. Let me.
I press my palm against my chest and try to breathe.
This is temporary.
All the others have been.