Dylan
Chapter twenty-three
“Move it fucker.” Dee honks the horn before she flips the bird at the car passing us on our right.
I shrug deeper into my chair than I thought possible, mouthing a pitiful sorry in the guy’s direction.
“Hey, I saw that. Don’t apologize on my behalf. He was acting like a bag of shit, smearing his stink all over the highway. You saw that. You literally just pointed out how inconsiderate he was being.”
“Yeah, well, people are crazy. You don’t need to tell them.”
“He needed to know.”
“I see we’re choosing violence today.”
“Every day,” she mumbles under her breath before turning up the radio so loud I can barely hear her screaming over the music, singing along—if you can call it that.
“Maybe we should switch. I can drive for a bit. Give you a break,” I yell over the music.
“I’m good,” she shouts back, changing lanes so suddenly I have to grip the handle above the door of Dee’s car. “We’re only about twenty minutes out.”
When Nana invited me to meet her family, I didn’t think Dee would actually let me come. I wanted to, but I had a sneaking suspicion she’d be against the idea. If her family is anything like mine, bringing someone home invites more questions.
But had I known I’d be entering a high-powered machine with a cutthroat, takes-no-shit warlord behind the wheel, I might have reconsidered. I press my right foot into the floor of the car, attempting to pump my imaginary brake as Dee tailgates the car ahead of us.
“Hey, uh…how would you feel about giving us a little more space between us and that car?” I say, my voice faltering when she takes her eyes off the road to look at me.
“Shit,” she whispers. “Sorry, am I making you anxious?” She immediately turns down her music, slows the car, and signals before changing lanes, moving out of the fast lane.
“Is it that obvious?”
“You’re pale, you look so tense, one small breeze could probably snap your pinkie finger off, and you’re about to rip that handle off the ceiling.” She lifts her chin to where I’ve still got a death grip on the handle above the passenger door.
“Sorry,” I mumble, dropping my hand to my thigh where I start to pick at the skin along the side of my thumb.
Dee’s quiet for a moment before she places her hand on mine, stopping the nervous habit.
“No, I’m sorry,” she says. “I can get carried away when someone pisses me off on the road. I’m cool now.”
I take a breath, trying to loosen my muscles. “So, who are we seeing today?”
Dee’s face and posture soften, and her voice warms. “Pretty much everyone. But don’t worry, they know you’re my roommate. You won’t get the same grilling a date would.”
I attempt to laugh it off, ignoring the rock sinking to the pit of my stomach at her comment. Something too close to disappointment threatens to sour my mood.
“Thanks for sparing me the third degree.”
As it would turn out, my thanks were for nothing, because while Dee may have thought the message got through to her family, her Nana has other ideas. And they certainly don’t involve me and Dee being roommates.
Thirty minutes later, the birthday queen herself eyes me up and down. “So, this is the boyfriend,” Nana says, taking my hand in both of hers in the living room of Dee’s parents’ home.
“No, Nana. This is Dylan, remember? My roommate,” Dee clarifies, enunciating every word carefully.
Nana gives a conspiratorial glance at Emi, who grins at her in return.
“Emi.” Dee raises an eyebrow at her niece. “What exactly did you tell Great Nana?”
Emi smiles proudly at Dee, stating confidently, “I told her that your boyfriend was teaching me how to be a mother-trucking rockstar.” Her head bobs and her arms flail about on her imaginary drum set as she drags out the last word.
It’s an impressive performance; I’ll give her that.
Even more impressive is how Dee keeps her cool around her niece when I know if anyone else had undercut her like this, she’d chop their head off viscerally. Figuratively, but still. It’d be a minute before anyone recovered from that kind of verbal ass-kicking.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Dee says gently, but with conviction.
“Oh, sorry.” Emi’s voice shifts to a whisper-shout. “Are we pretending that he’s not your boyfriend?”
Dee closes her eyes for a moment, inhaling a deep breath. “No, Ems. We’re not pretending. Dylan and I are just friends.”
“Ah.” Emi winks at her. “Got it.”
“Jesus Christ,” Dee murmurs softly, too quiet for Emi to hear. She takes a step closer to me. “Sorry about this.”
I bite my lips to keep my amusement from showing. “Oh, it’s no problem.”
“No.” She turns to me, and I watch as Emi kisses Nana on her cheek, gives her a high five, then skips away to join her mom and dad at the dining room table, which is covered with food.
“You don’t understand,” Dee says. “Emi never keeps a secret. It’s impossible.
She’d save up every last penny in her piggy bank to put Deanna Perry has a boyfriend on a billboard if she thought it was a secret.
This is, in fact, worse than her thinking it was common knowledge. ”
“Should we stage a dramatic fight and storm out?” I tease.
“Tempting.” She fights her own smile. “But no.”
“So, you’re saying we should lean into it,” I challenge.
She slaps my chest with the back of her hand. “Oh please.” She doesn’t think I’m serious until I capture her hand in mine, bringing it back to rest on my chest. I thread my fingers through hers and bring her hand to my mouth, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.
“I can be convincing,” I whisper.
She blushes but doesn’t pull away. “You’d be willing to pretend to be my boyfriend at my grandmother’s birthday party? Feels like we’d end up in some circle of hell for that kind of deceit.”
I shrug. “Think they have good food there?”
She laughs, loud and rich. “Not as good as here.” She keeps her hand intertwined with mine and tugs, leading me toward the food. “Come on, Romeo.” She lets my hand drop, and I miss the contact instantly.
Fuck. The thought stops me in my tracks.
“Might want to fix your face if you don’t want her to catch on,” Nana says. I glance down at her, still sitting comfortably in her chair a few feet away. “Your secret is safe with me.” She winks.
“Yeah, sorry about that.” I drag my hand over the back of my neck. “I’m not sure where Emi got the idea. Dee and I aren’t really dating.”
“I’m not talking about that secret, kiddo.” She looks at me knowingly. I squirm under her assessing stare.
“Sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Yeah, I think you do. It’ll take Dee longer to admit it to herself, but you’ll both get there. Better run along before all the cheesy potatoes are gone.” She waves me on, gesturing for me to follow her granddaughter.
I nod. “Nice to meet you. Happy birthday.” I place the vase of flowers on the gift table a few feet away before hurrying after Dee.
Any nerves I might have felt before meeting her family melt away with Dee at my side. Her family is warm, welcoming, and full of smart-asses. Seems she learned from the best.
The original plan was for us to make the round trip between Cleveland and Columbus in one day, only staying at the party for a few hours and getting home late.
But Dee’s parents offer for us to stay, and when we realize how late it’s gotten, both of us sitting around the kitchen table playing cards with her cousins while Emi snores on the couch, we make the call to stay the night.
When the party finally dies down, Dee leads me upstairs to her childhood bedroom, complete with bunk beds and posters from every boy band ever in existence along with Destiny’s Child, Dream, and 3LW.
“Damn, Deanna. Bunk beds? You were a cool kid,” I muse, testing out the ladder, giving it a shake. Surprisingly sturdy.
“There are a few girls from middle school who would have disagreed with you,” she says, not missing a beat.
“Fuck. Dee, I—I’m sorry I didn’t mean—”
She holds up her hand to stop me. “I was a cool kid,” she claims with all of her usual confidence. “Even without the bunk beds. They just didn’t know it. And I’m still the cool kid now. Dibs on the top bunk.”
She gifts me with her sunshine smile and my heart kickstarts like a bass drum, rattling me from the inside out.
Swearing to myself that I will not put my huge foot in my even bigger mouth again, I say, “Better you than me. I’d probably break this thing and crush you.”
“My dad assembled this almost twenty years ago. I can guarantee he didn’t look at the instructions once. So, no promises I won’t do the same. Might want to just sleep with your hands braced in the air, ready to catch me and save your pretty face.”
“Seems doable.”
“Glad we’re on the same page.”
Dee shows me where the bathroom is, and we take turns getting ready for bed. The whole thing feels surreal but at the same time, comfortable. We’ve only lived together for a few weeks, but sharing space doesn’t feel strange like it used to.
Except when it comes time to lie down, I feel it. The weight of things left unsaid between us. And I can’t ignore it forever.
Goddammit. Nana fucking knew.
How? I didn’t even fucking know. Maybe wisdom does come with age.
I can’t ignore it anymore. Dee and I have always shared this fire, this push and pull, this chemistry.
We’ve never fed it, never allowed it to burn brighter, become something more.
But lying beneath her—nothing but a few feet and an old twin mattress between us—and all I can think about is how I wish she were next to me.
How I wish I could hold her. How I want her pressed into my side, her head resting in the crook of my neck.
There have been moments in our friendship when I’ve thought we could have been more if we wanted it. It’s consuming me now. I want it. I want it so fucking bad, every breath apart starts to hurt.
If only Dee could hear my thoughts…what would she say? Terrified at the thought, I distract myself.
“So, any word on that billboard Emi is leasing with our dating announcement? Maybe we’ll pass it on our drive home tomorrow.”
Dee’s laugh bounces off the ceiling, making its way to me, several feet below, my feet practically hanging off the edge of the too-short bed.
“I think she did enough promotion of our relationship today. Maybe she’ll save the money. God, I think half of my family thinks you’re my boyfriend and the other half thinks you’re my boss.”
“Well, technically, one of those things is true.”
“Yeah, but it sounds worse coming from Emi. She told my uncle Rick that you were paying me for my hard work. Who knows what he thinks it’s for?”
“Your world-class drinks, of course.”
Her head pops over the railing, the old nightlight on her desk making it possible to just barely make out the soft curve of her lips. “We both know my drinks are a step up from poison.”
“See? Could be worse.”
She laughs. “You’re not even denying it!” She flops back onto the bed. “I’m an awful bartender, aren’t I?”
“Hey, you haven’t killed anyone yet.”
“That’s not the compliment you think it is.”
“Okay, fine. Only one customer had to go to the hospital, but he was fine after they gave him superstrength Tums and an exorcism. Don’t worry; I told the cops it was Vicki. They were too scared of her to do anything about it.”
“See? This is why you’re not my boyfriend.” Her laugh fades and we fall into awkward silence.
I have no idea what to say. Because the only words my dumbass brain can string together are, Is that the only reason? And what a stupid question to ask. Of course, there are other reasons.
“Eh. We both know you’re too good for me.”
Silence meets me, and I wonder if Dee has fallen asleep and I’m the only one overthinking everything.
“You don’t really think that, do you?” she asks so quietly I almost don’t hear her.
“You’re one of my best friends, Dee.” I let out a sigh. “That means you know the good, the bad, and the ugly.” Try as I might, the words don’t have the lightness I was hoping they would. They sound like I mean them. Maybe I do.
“I’ve only seen the good,” she whispers.
A long silence takes hold. But she breaks it…and my heart along with it.
“I always wanted a friend to sleep over. I begged my parents for bunk beds in middle school, when everything with those girls was at its peak. Turns out I wasn’t going to need bunk beds for a long time.
” Her voice sounds bitter, and acid burns along my throat, anger for her and what she went through making itself known.
I swallow the knot in my throat, my voice as rough as gravel when I ask, “Did you get your wish?”
“No. I was eventually invited to a few sleepovers in high school after we moved, but I never hosted a sleepover here. No,” she repeats softly. “My first sleepover with a friend in these bunk beds is tonight…with you.” Her voice shakes a little at the end, thick with emotion.
My heart pounds in my chest so forcefully, I swear Dee might hear it. A cadence so rapid, so electrified, it’ll give me away. “I consider myself lucky to be invited.”
It’s a while before I fall asleep. Hundreds of responses all floating through my mind, but I don’t say anything more. Neither does she.
The last thing I remember before falling asleep is wondering if she meant it. Does Dee only see the good in me? Because that’s how I feel when I’m with her. There’s only the good, and nothing else even breaks the surface. She’s the only thing that I’ve allowed beneath the surface in years.
I lie awake for a long time. The thought terrifying me.