24. Watch ‘Milk’ first #2
Dylan didn’t let go. She held her for a few more moments, before finally pulling away just enough to catch Greta’s eyes.
Keeping her gaze fixed there, she directed her voice toward her mum.
Margaret was sitting up in the hospital bed, a single tear rolling down her cheek.
The words were trapped, but the sheer joy on her face as she watched her daughter falling in love communicated what she couldn’t.
Dylan’s lips curved into a wide smile. ‘Did you hear that, Margs? I’ve got a girlfner,’ she boasted.
Greta laughed, rolling her eyes at Margaret before turning back to Dylan for another kiss.
***
Dylan glanced down as Greta picked at a loose thread on the hem of her shirt dress. Lifting her hand from the gear stick, she reached over, covering Greta’s fidgeting fingers while keeping her other hand firmly on the steering wheel.
‘Don’t worry, G,’ Dylan said softly.
‘I’m not worried. Who said I was worried? I’m not—’
‘Okay. Alright. You’re clearly not worried,’ Dylan smiled over at her before returning her eyes to the road.
‘Do I look worried?’
Dylan chuckled. ‘Err. A bit. Yeah.’
As Dylan caged Greta’s hands with her own, Greta looked down at the tattoos, brushing her thumb over the art covering the back of Dylan’s hands and fingers.
Her nerves induced a retched nausea as she traced the inked lines over her knuckles.
She adored Dylan’s hands; the way they looked splayed against her own pale skin, the confident way they held and moved her.
She loved the physical power of them and the emotional weight they carried, but a sudden, cold dread tightened in her chest. The fear of judgement she’d managed so well over the past day or so was back.
The feeling was made worse by the thought of her parents.
Would they judge Dylan? Would they judge them?
Greta tried to bury the thought but the worry gnawed at her, despite her knowledge that their love was unconditional and had always been devoid of judgement.
Would Dylan’s age, status, her tattoos even, be the tipping point?
Would the fact that she was so different to Muriel be the thing that made them question Greta’s decision-making, her sanity even?
A wave of self-reproach washed away the thoughts as she brought Dylan’s hand to her mouth, inhaled the scent of her aftershave and kissed the back of it.
Dylan gave her an approving sideways glance and moved her hand to cup Greta’s bare thigh, with Greta’s on top, fingers intertwined.
Dylan left it there for the rest of the journey, moving her hand only to change gear.
Smiling as she refused to loosen her grip, Greta kept her hand clamped over Dylan's even as it moved.
Every gear change became a clumsy, awkward dance between them, but Greta wouldn't break the contact.
***
‘I love that they’re only round the corner from me,’ Dylan said as they pulled onto the gravel driveway of Greta’s parents' house. ‘We’re practically neighbours. It’s nice.
’ She pulled up the handbrake and switched off the engine, turning her attention to Greta, who was distractedly staring out of the window.
‘G?’ Dylan said softly, giving her thigh a squeeze.
‘Hmm?’ Greta hummed, gaze fixed on the house. ‘Yeah the neighbours are lovely.’
‘I didn’t ask about the neighbours, but I’m glad they’re nice.’ Dylan dipped to snag Greta’s gaze.
‘What?’ Greta said softly, snapping out of her trance. ‘Shit. I’m sorry.’ She huffed out some air.
Dylan smiled. ‘It’s gonna be okay, G. I’m just a human being…they’re human beings. Nothing’s going to go wrong, I promise.’
‘Fucking hell,’ Greta said under her breath. ‘Why can’t she wait inside like a normal person?’
With a full beaming smile, Elaine stepped through the porch door and onto the driveway in her apron, waving at them both with a tea towel clasped in her grip, as though it were D-Day.
Dylan laughed. ‘Because she loves you.’ She squeezed her leg again. ‘And they’re going to love me.’ She threw a confident wink at a now very pale Greta.
Greta pulled the door handle and swung out of the car. ‘Hi Mum,’ she said softly.
Standing perfectly still, Elaine held her arms open as Greta walked into them.
Eyes fixed on the two women, Dylan slid out of the other side of the Jeep.
She watched the way Greta’s mum held her, gently rocking her from side to side, her lips pressed into her temple.
There was a sudden, annoyingly familiar tang of salt in Dylan’s mouth but she drew in a long breath, exhaling slowly as she calmed herself.
Meeting Greta’s extraordinary parents through a blur of snot and sobs was not the plan.
Elaine held Greta out at arm's length, her fingers clasped around her daughter's shoulders as she scanned her. ‘Your father’s inside,’ she said softly.
Greta reached an arm back toward Dylan. ‘Mum,’ she took a steadying breath. ‘This is Dylan.’
Elaine darted across the drive at a speed that made Greta’s jaw drop—leaving Dylan to conclude that her mother had probably never moved faster in her life—before Elaine scooped her into the warmest hug she’d had in years.
She smelled like fabric conditioner and Mums, the wool of her cardigan was soft against Dylan’s chin.
Dylan turned her head to rest her face on Elaine’s shoulder, closed her eyes and reflexively squeezed.
Blushing and giddy, Elaine pulled back, hands resting on Dylan’s biceps. ‘Oof! That’s quite the strong cuddle!’
‘Sorry, Mrs Vincent,’ Dylan chuckled as a slight blush suffused her cheeks.
Elaine playfully swiped at Dylan with the tea towel.
‘Oh, don’t call me that—I feel like an old bag as it is!
It’s Lainey. And please don’t apologise.
I quite enjoyed it.’ She gave Dylan’s arm a surreptitious squeeze.
‘Just don’t tell your father,’ she giggled, then winked at Greta, who looked utterly mortified.
‘Mother,’ Greta groaned, rolling her eyes as the volume of Dylan’s laugh was steadily increasing, while held in Elaine's vice-like grip. ‘We’ve only been here for thirty seconds and you’re already—’
‘Oh, be quiet! I’m kidding!’ Elaine chided, winking again, but at Dylan this time.
Greta began herding Elaine toward the door with her arms. ‘Get inside,’ she urged, prompting a loud tut and an audible eye roll from her mum, who was shuffling over the gravel in her slippers. Greta mouthed a quick sorry to Dylan, who just smiled as they followed Elaine into the house.
As they entered the blue wood-panelled hall, Elaine tottered off into the kitchen, rambling on about a new Victoria Sponge recipe she had tried.
She told the two of them that she was pleased Dylan wasn’t a vegan because as much as she respected it, she couldn’t understand it, and that it was lucky that she wasn’t a vegan as they didn’t have any nuts milk in.
Standing in the hallway, the panels adorned with pictures of The Vincents throughout the years, and an impressive gallery of graduation photos, Dylan reached for Greta’s hand.
Catching her gaze, she leaned to Greta’s ear.
‘I really like you, Girlfner,’ she whispered softly, before placing a chaste kiss on her cheek.
Just as Greta’s face lit up completely, her dad reached the bottom of the stairs, stopping dead at the sight of her vibrant gaze fixed on Dylan.
He held out his arms as Greta walked toward him, wrapping her in a bear hug.
The emotion pushed and tugged at Dylan; it was fast becoming almost too much to suppress.
She could see the love Greta had spoken of in full, beautiful bloom.
Dylan had missed this. She had missed parental love; the physical touch, the warmth, the pure unconditional love emanating from the souls of good human beings.
She smiled as she watched Greta’s dad hold her and whisper something about her beautiful eyes, which made Greta rise to the balls of her feet and squeeze him even harder.
When he eventually let her go, Greta pressed her hands to her face and wiped away her spent tears.
‘Dad, this is—’
‘Dylan!’ Edward interrupted, his voice shaky as he scooped her into an equally reverent hug. ‘It is so, so good to finally meet you, sweetheart.’ He squeezed tighter, until Dylan felt potential stress fractures threatening her body.
‘Okay, Lenny. Put her down,’ Greta joked after a few moments. She rubbed her dad’s arm as if she were pressing a release button. ‘Gentle now,’ she coaxed.
‘Okay, George,’ he said, adopting a low Southern American accent that made Dylan burst out laughing.
‘Dylan!’ Elaine hollered from the kitchen. ‘Come and slice this cake with those big tattooed muscles!’
Dylan smiled as Greta and Edward shared a long inhale and conspiratorial eye roll. Edward leaned in, lowering his voice, ‘Just don’t be alone with her, sweetheart. That’s all I’m saying.’
‘I heard that, Eddie!’ Elaine shouted.
‘Oh, funny how you heard that from all the way in there, but you can’t hear me when you’re sat right next to me, and I’m asking for a bloody brew,’ he muttered to himself, padding toward the kitchen.
Smiling fondly, Dylan kept her eyes on Edward as he shuffled off, still disgruntled and mumbling under his breath.
Standing beside her, Greta gave a silent, affectionate shake of her head before reaching out for Dylan’s hand.
With their fingers intertwined they fell in step behind Edward and walked down the hall together.
***
Sitting in the conservatory, or the “Good Room” as Elaine liked to call it—a space reserved strictly for special occasions—the four of them finished two pots of coffee and a rather spectacular Victoria Sponge, served on Elaine’s best crockery.
The handmade embroidered napkins, that usually only saw the light of day on birthdays, had been freshly ironed—a touch not lost on the couple.