2. Dylan
Chapter two
Dylan
“Hey, this place could be great,” Dom says with too much enthusiasm, it’s practically bubbling out of him.
When my landlord told me he needed to sell the apartment I was leasing, I understood. He’s moving out of state to take care of a relative.
Being given a short turnaround time to find a place to live in downtown Columbus kind of fucks me over though. Now I have thirty days to find somewhere to go. Well…more like twenty days now.
This is probably the seventh apartment I’ve checked out, all with issues or no immediate availability. I’m facing at least a four-month waitlist for anywhere decent that won’t include a pain-in-the-ass commute to my job downtown.
Most nights, I work late. Being a manager at the Bridge, the oldest concert venue in the city, requires a flexible schedule. And being close is a necessity for me to have any semblance of a work-life balance.
I considered making an offer to buy out my current apartment, but the guy’s selling the place to family, which puts me shit out of luck.
“Could be being the important part of that statement.” I check the paper the receptionist handed me in the leasing office.
“Waitlist is at least five months.” I step up to the window, looking out over the arena district.
It’s an incredible area to live in, with a fun nightlife and close proximity to work.
Which is probably why all of Columbus is ahead of me on the waitlist.
“Shit, man. You know you’re always welcome to stay with Ellie and me. I know it’s not ideal with the commute…”
“Dom, you are the most selfless guy I know. But I promise, you don’t want me on your couch for five months.”
“We have a guest room. You should at least consider it.”
I roll my head around my shoulders, fighting off the stress that threatens to tighten my muscles into knots so big I’ll never be able to tilt my head again.
“I did. And I love both you and Ellie for it. But you have a family. I’m not going to disrupt your life with my insane work schedule.
Besides, coming and going from suburbia to downtown isn’t exactly ideal. ”
He stuffs his hands into his pockets and rocks onto his heels. “I don’t think you’re going to have the luxury of ideal. I think you’re going to have a shitty emergency plan followed by a hopefully not-so-shitty, long-term solution.”
“Why do you have to be the voice of reason?” I ask with a groan.
“Eh.” Dom shrugs. “We all get to take turns being stubborn and stupid. It’s a fun day for me when it’s someone else.
Now”—he plants his hands on my shoulders, steering me toward the doorway—“all this apartment shopping has made me hungry, and I’m pretty sure we hit the end of your list. Let’s grab some food, call and set up a few more tours, and go see a few more apartments before you agree to move into our place. ”
“You’re hovering, Mom,” I say with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
“I’m being realistic. Come on. You know I’m right.”
“You, more than most, know I’m not the easiest person to live with.”
He waves that off and gives me a disappointed look. “Stop. You have never been difficult to live with. The offer stands, even if you don’t take it today.”
He means well. But rooming with me, he learned more than I typically want to share with anyone. Saw more than I want people to see. I don’t struggle as much as I used to, but it isn’t something I broadcast. It’s easy to hide when I’m out in public, but at home? It’s simply not possible.
“Thanks, Dom. I promise I’ll keep that in mind. I’m honestly surprised Ellie let you make that kind of offer.”
“Oh yeah.” He senses my redirection, but allows it, the mood lightening a bit. “Well, she said it’s conditional.”
“Do I even want to know? What are her terms?”
“Free concert tickets for the rest of her twenties.”
I laugh, but I’m also relieved to hear Ellie is even interested enough to strong-arm me out of concert tickets.
She and Dom have had a difficult time adjusting to the demands of parenthood, and for a while, we were all pretty worried about them.
But now, they’ve put in the work this last year, and their marriage and their family are stronger than ever.
Getting out of the house with friends has become a rare occasion for them, because of course parenting comes first. I’m always happy to see them make time for themselves too.
“Ellie has a complimentary ticket any day of the week for any concert.”
He shoves my shoulder as we enter the elevator, heading down toward the lobby. “And me?”
“Eh, it’s conditional.” His affronted look makes me chuckle.
“On what?” he demands.
“On you beating me at Distant Galaxy.” The new video game has had the guys and me in a chokehold for weeks, but unfortunately for Dom, he sucks at it.
“Not fair. I’ve got a wife and a kid. I don’t get nearly as much game time as you.”
I shrug. “Don’t blame your family. I’m just naturally gifted. What can I say?”
He grumbles his grievances as we head to my car. We agree on our favorite burger place for lunch, and after we place our order, he asks, “Any word from the Bridge’s owner lately? Is he still planning on selling the venue this year?”
I shake my head, taking off my hat to swipe my hair back before sliding my hat back into place. “Who the fuck knows? I’m pretty sure I’m getting dicked over.” I lean back, relaxing into the cushioned booth seat, one arm reaching across the table, spinning my glass.
His voice drops into that concerned tone, sounding more paternal than ever. That dad life really takes over and never eases up, does it?
“Fuck, I’m sorry. What happened last time you two spoke about it?”
The sigh that puffs from my chest leaves me deflated.
I’ve told the guys and my family all about my hopes of someday purchasing the Bridge.
Back in college, when I was barbacking nights and weekends, Ed would tell me all about his elaborate retirement plans and how selling the venue would make it all possible.
This was the year he always talked about turning that possibility into reality.
But now? Not a word.
I worked my way up over the years, learning as much as I could about the business.
When he brought me on as the general manager, I made my intentions clear: when he wanted to sell, I wanted to be the buyer.
I’ve been planning my life around this. Saving and scraping every last penny for this goal. This dream.
“We’ll see, I guess. My suspicion is that he has another interested buyer.” It’s the only explanation for why he’s freezing me out of the conversation when I’ve made my intentions crystal fucking clear.
“But you know that place up and down. You’ve been working there since sophomore year of college.”
I shrug, pressing my lips together in a What the fuck can I do gesture.
Dom shakes his head. “I think you’re counting yourself out before you even know what’s happening.
” He leans in, voice dropping lower. “Don’t let your anxiety run with this.
You don’t know what his plans are. He could just be delayed in retiring.
A lot of people get shy when it comes time to make the call. ”
“It’s out of my control,” I say, sounding an awful lot like my therapist. I haven’t spoken with him for over a year.
When my undiagnosed OCD peaked in college, I finally made my first appointment with Nick.
He gave me a name for everything I was struggling with, helped me recognize my triggers, provided resources to combat my persistent thoughts and compulsions, and told me to call him anytime once we decided I was ready to discontinue regular appointments.
Losing my apartment and my uncertain future at the Bridge have sent my stress levels soaring. I recognize the signs. The ruminating. The handwashing. The counting. The checking. The redoing.
Maybe it’s time to give Nick a call. Proverbial shit hitting the fan and all.
Dom’s sigh and pinched expression tell me he wants to say more, but he knows I’m right. It’s not like either one of us can force Ed to sell the Bridge to me.
“So, what’s little man up to these days?” I ask, leaning back before thanking the server as he drops off a basket of wings at our table.
Dom lights up like he always does when he talks about his son Luca. He turned two last month. His family is his everything.
I love seeing my friend happy, but this nagging jealousy pricks at my side.
It’s been tough witnessing my friends having their dreams realized while mine fall just out of reach.
I’ve sacrificed a lot, including a social life, to pursue this dream.
To manage the Bridge to the best of my ability.
It was a steep learning curve for a kid out of college, and now that I’ve grown with the business, I make it my priority.
The idea of someone else getting to pick up the reins if they’re unexpectantly ripped away from me makes my stomach tighten and twist into knots.
My hands twist, and I pick at the patch of dry skin on the side of my finger from constant handwashing.
Another reminder of the stress piling up, making itself known in familiar ways.
I shove all that restlessness—that helplessness—down and listen to Dom.
It’s hard to focus on the details of my own life imploding as he mimics Luca.
Good God, Dominic is dancing…in the middle of the restaurant.
Dancing like his two-year-old. With a gleam in his eye and his grin so wide his cheeks probably hurt, he acts out Luca’s best dance moves.
That kid keeps him and Ellie on their toes, that’s for sure.
I welcome the distraction as he shows me pictures of his family’s visit to pick out pumpkins last week. I’d rather focus on all the good happening in my friends’ lives than think about the dumpster fire consuming mine.
Dom distracts me with hilarious updates on his kid throughout our meal, but then he’s right back to business. Pulling out his phone and finding another three apartments for us to visit today, in hopes I can add my name to even more waitlists.
I can’t help but feel like my entire life has been me on a waitlist. Waiting for the real thing to begin.
Unbidden, Dee’s face flashes in my mind. Her laughing behind the bar last night. I wish I had her carefree attitude. She’d no doubt have the owner eating out of the palm of her hand in three minutes flat. Just like she does everyone else.