14. Brad
14
brAD
T he coin slid between my fingers, and I wondered what Dylan would wish for at a time like this. It could have been anything from hoping he did well in his career to hoping aliens would be discovered. That’s what made him so interesting. When he opened his eyes again, flashing a pretty shade of green in the sunlight, he looked at me.
“Aren’t you gonna make one, too?” he asked, head tilting to the side sweetly.
I nodded and turned, closing my eyes just as he had. Humming, I mused over what to ask for. I wish I could be braver and tell Dylan how I really feel, I wish I could stop caring what people think so much . I tossed it over my shoulder.
Opening my eyes, Dylan smiled at me. “I won’t ask what you wished for, but I hope it comes true.”
I felt a flush break out over my neck, and I laughed it off. If only he could read my thoughts or knew what I felt every time I was around him. “I hope yours does, too.”
We hung around the fountain a little while longer, and Dylan went up to a few kids, telling them how to make a wish. Their parents laughed and thanked him, and I shook my head. Something so pure resonated within Dylan. This sense of childlike wonder.
After a while, he came back and stood next to me. “Are we going to get lunch?”
“For sure. I think there’s a rose garden near here too if you want to see that.” What the hell was I thinking? That was way too romantic for just hanging out with a friend.
If Dylan noticed, he said nothing. Just started walking away from the fountain to find the right place to have lunch. “Pizza…pizza…do they have pizza?” he pointed.
I laughed. Whatever the case, he sure was cute.
After we’d filled ourselves on too much pizza and gelato that would make Alex weep, we headed for the rose garden. It was cute to see Dylan smile with his food, excited by the authentic thing. Part of me wished it didn’t even cross my mind that I was glad we were alone, that none of our friends were with us.
Even if they weren’t here, I still wasn’t gathering any courage to make any kind of move or confess anything to him. We ambled through the garden, taking in the vibrant array of roses. There were all kinds, from pretty pastels in faint shades to bold, vibrant petals. Even some of them were different looking. There were tight little buds and wide open roses, and all manner in-between. Dylan had this wistful look on his face, taking in more beauty. Part of me wondered if we should have done something more exciting.
It was the last day in Rome, after all. Would we be back? Maybe not for a long time. Roses could be found anywhere, couldn’t they?
Dylan veered over to a bush. “Look at this…it’s so pretty…” That gruff voice of his softened to a gentle whisper.
I walked over to him, taking in the orange and pink blossom. “Looks like a sunset,” I agreed. It took a considerable amount of effort not to tell him he was prettier than the rose.
He hummed. “These are so nice…they don’t make them like this in America, do they? Italian roses…Italian air. It’s nice, it feels…old. And special.”
Old and special? “Does it?”
“Don’t you feel it? Mm…maybe not.”
Was he disappointed I didn’t? It was hard to tell sometimes. Hard to know if I was doing the right thing or if I was just making him feel worse every second. Why was I thinking so hard about this stuff? Just going back to being regular friends, that’s what we needed. He didn’t need me jumping on him all the time. He’d made no sign that he wanted that.
“They smell nice. All the flowers my dad buys my mom don’t have any smell,” I finally offered.
Dylan laughed. “I wonder why that is. Is it the way they’re bred? Why would anyone not want this smell around? If I have a house one day, I think rosebushes would be nice to have in the yard.”
“Totally. Is this yard going to have a picket fence and a dog, too?” I teased.
He looked at me for a moment. “Why not? Do you think I can’t be traditional?”
I blinked. Wait, was that his takeaway?
“H-huh? I mean…I don’t know. I guess you never said anything like that before.” Shrugging, I tried not to seem like it made me think.
“Oh? What do you imagine for me, then? Some hippie co-op?”
I snorted. “I mean, if any of us end ed up in a hippie commune, it would be you, but I was thinking you might be more of a condo guy.” I would hate a condo, but this wasn’t about me. This was about Dylan, I had to keep reminding myself. Not about this fictional life I could fantasize for us together.
He scowled. “Condo guy? No way. I want the sunshine, I want to be outside, I want a yard. Besides, maybe I’ll need to build a half-pipe in the backyard.”
“Oh, right. Just get a house with a swimming pool and empty it and all that, right?”
He stared at me for a silent moment, something in his jaw tightening. “Right. I can be traditional, Brad. Can you be anything less than the American dream?” He walked off.
What the hell did that mean?
I was left staring at his back. What was he implying? Sighing, I walked after him.
When I got to him again, he seemed back to normal, like I’d only imagined the flash of annoyance in his gaze. He smiled a little as he pointed out a caterpillar crawling along a leaf. The worst part of it was, I wondered about what he’d said, and if he was all that wrong. Everything I said had to do with people’s expectations, had to do with the way my family wanted me to be, how I needed to be perceived by others. I had to be the collegiate frat boy headed for professional football. It never even crossed my mind to think of a backup plan.
My whole life was traditional, and I just couldn’t see how Dylan could fit in with that sort of expectation. Because that’s what it all boiled down to, right? My family wouldn’t understand if I brought him home. They’d think I was losing my mind or that it was a joke. Not that Dylan was a joke, he just wasn’t what they expected. They expected someone who was family oriented, someone who would fit neatly into our lives.
Dylan fit with my life, but I didn’t know if he could have a place next to my mom at games. Maybe it was awful to think that, but it was honest. That’s one reason I wished to not care so much what other people thought. It didn’t do me or Dylan any good if I kept worrying about expectations and pressures.
Swallowing my thoughts, I put my hand on the small of Dylan’s back, wanting to feel his presence as we walked through the garden. Once in a while Dylan would talk about a flower, or make an observation about something else, but mostly we fell into comfortable silence.
I didn’t want it to end.