22. Dylan
22
DYLAN
A s soon as I walk inside, I’m met with loud music blasting from a speaker in the living room. Amelia and Scarlett have changed into pajamas, and bottles of wine are strewn all over the kitchen counter and coffee table. It looks like the party didn’t stop when they got home, exactly as I expected.
“DYLAN!” the two shout as they dance around the living room. I press my back to the front door as soon as it’s closed and slide down it into a sitting position on the floor. I bring my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around my legs, resting my forehead on my forearms. Scarlett and Amelia read my mood, turn down the music, and rush over to me.
“Who died?” Amelia asks while Scarlett simultaneously asks me what’s wrong. I groan in response and point to the closest full bottle of wine on the counter. Scarlett grabs the pinot noir, brings it to me, and I take a swig straight from the bottle.
“That bad, huh?”
“Parker and I made out,” I say under my breath.
“About damn time,” Amelia replies. I blink slowly, stunned. The baffled look on my face must be apparent because she continues, giving me no time to respond.
“Don’t kill me, but you’re one of my best friends, and if you saw the way that you were glowing every time you were around Parker, you’d feel the same way. I love you, and I know you’re afraid of getting hurt, but I also know how happy he makes you, no matter how hard you try to fight it.”
I pass over Amelia’s words of wisdom, knowing that I’m not quite ready to acknowledge those feelings head-on. My head is already spinning from everything that happened tonight; the last thing I need is to bring my feelings into this and what it could mean for my future.
I had every intention of walking home with Parker, but after the nightmare that was the 911 call, it felt like the walls of the elevator were caving in–my anxiety getting the best of me. I felt like I was choking.
His love confession has been playing on repeat in my head for the past hour. I spent my early twenties desperately hoping he’d come running back, admitting that he messed up. As each year passed, my hope dwindled until I accepted the idea that it was never going to happen. I had become okay with the outcome–alright, mostly okay.
“That’s not all,” I keep going. “He may or may not have confessed his love to me and eaten me out in the elevator in what I can only describe as the hottest sexual experience of my life.”
Scarlett lets out a piercing squeal so loud I have to cover my ears. Amelia runs to the coffee table, grabs her wine glass, and pours herself a hefty glass from one of the nearby open bottles before sitting next to me, hand cupped around her ear in a way that tells me she’s ready for every dirty detail.
“Care to explain how you went from pretending you hated this man to getting off in an elevator?” she pushes.
“For starters, I didn’t get off. ”
“Oooh..” Scarlett pulls a face, lips pressed tight in disappointment. “So he’s not good in bed? I always took him as the kind of guy who knew what he was doing.”
I ignore that comment, not wanting to remotely think about one of my best friends dreaming about what the man I love is like in bed.
Shit, the man I love ? I push that thought aside. I’ll unpack that later, along with everything else that is crumbling in my life.
“No, I accidentally pressed the emergency call button right as I was about to come. It will forever go down as the most embarrassing moment of my life. Secondly, you guys should have heard his confession. He gave this whole speech about how he’s still in love with me but is afraid to get hurt again and worries that he’ll do something to mess it up between us. He also admitted to omitting the truth about having a girlfriend because Blake told him to.”
I notice Scarlett’s brows draw together in repugnance, and if I had the mental capacity to dissect that right now, I would. I know I’ve been in my own bubble lately, but I would have to be an absolute fool not to notice how she and Blake have been with one another lately. It’d explain why she’s constantly on her phone and always shutting me down when I question who she’s texting.
Rather than judging me, I’m met with looks of sympathy. Both of their eyes soften, and Scarlett joins Amelia on the floor, resting a soothing hand on my own. I place the wine bottle I’ve been white-knuckling onto the ground and close my eyes, pushing away the tears that are threatening to fall.
My mind has never been more fucked, and the surge of emotions rising in me has made my feelings go berserk. This is why I’ve been so standoffish these past couple of months. I knew that if I let myself get comfortable, I’d end up more confused than ever. Little did I know just how emotional I’d really feel.
“And how does that make you feel?” Scarlett asks in a low voice. She’s doing everything she can to make me feel better and break down the mountain of information I just forced on her. They both are. I let out a shaky exhale as Amelia’s hand slides into mine, giving me a small squeeze of encouragement.
All of the playfulness has been suctioned out of the room like a vacuum, and the fact that I’m responsible for it only makes me feel worse. The two were having such a great time before I got home, and now we’re sitting on the floor while I try to verbalize just how messed up I am now.
The first tear falls down my cheek, and before I can stop it from reaching my chin, a gentle finger wipes it away. I lock eyes with Amelia, and she offers me a feeble smile.
“Don’t cry. It’s all going to be okay. And if it’s not, we’re going to be right here beside you,” she whispers. Scarlett begins rubbing her thumb slowly over my hand, a motion so small but so full of love that I feel like I could burst.
“I don’t know what to think. I’m scared. I don’t want to get my heart broken again,” I croak, my voice scratchy.
“You’re human. I think anyone in your shoes would feel the same way. You don’t have to make any decisions tonight. Why don’t you sleep on it, and we can talk about it some more tomorrow when we’re all a little more sober and you’ve had some time to think?” Scarlett consoles.
“Ooh, I have just the thing to help!” Amelia hops up and runs for the kitchen, her figure hidden behind the counter. I can’t see her, but I hear the fridge open, followed by one of our drawers. The rattling of silverware is barely audible over the pop music that continues to play out of the speaker.
She jogs back, a pint of ice cream, along with three spoons, in hand. For the first time in hours, I let out a weak laugh. She discards the lid, passes out the spoons, and shoves the pint into my hands.
“Ben and Jerry’s has been medically proven to be the best cure for sadness–particularly any sadness related to men.”
I take a scoop of the cookie dough and brownie bite-filled ice cream and let out a faint groan of delight. As someone with a chronic sweet tooth, they weren’t kidding when they said that a sweet treat can solve all your problems.
“Thank you, guys. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
I set the ice cream down, and they pull me into a tight three-way hug.
“You’d probably be at some slimy dive bar, letting ugly men buy you drinks until you go home alone to cry yourself to sleep,” Scarlett jokes. “At least that’s my preferred way to cope.”
“I can’t tell if you’re kidding, but if you’re not, we need to put a pin in this and come back to it when I’m a little less fucked in the head.”
“Pfft, of course I am.” She grabs the pint, and I happily hand it over to her. It sounds like she may need it more than me right now.
“The upside is that the party was a raging success.” Amelia changes the subject, and Scarlett looks grateful for it. “There’s no way Katherine can keep walking all over you after seeing how well it went.”
She’s right. Everyone in attendance was thrilled about Evelyn’s book. At some point in the evening, Evelyn came to me with happy tears in her eyes. She went on about how she couldn’t believe the party was all for her, and I felt fuzzy inside, knowing that I put together a party for one of the most deserving people in the world.
I didn’t speak a word to Katherine, but from the glances I caught throughout the night, she looked like she was having a good time. At one point, there was even a smile on her face. I about collapsed at the sight. Between that and the elevator debacle, I’m having a hard time believing hell hasn’t frozen over.
“It did go really well, didn’t it?” I gush.
“Of course it did. We knew it would! Celebrate your accomplishments every once in a while. You deserve it. You’ve been working your ass off, and Amelia and I are so proud of you.” Amelia nods in agreement.
“Thank you,” I whisper before I take one last bite of ice cream and slowly stand up, still feeling shaky on my legs. “I need to go to bed. Tomorrow, I’ll be more in the mood to celebrate, I promise.”
“Fine, but we’ll hold you to that. I’m taking us all out to a celebratory brunch.” Amelia steadies me on my feet, wrapping her arm around my shoulders, and kisses me on the forehead. The gesture makes me feel like a child–reminding me of the days when my mom and dad would tuck me into bed together after reading me a story–and it gives me more comfort than expected.
“Deal. Thank you. I’ll see you guys in the morning.”
I drag myself to the bedroom before they can respond and begin peeling off my dress. As I lift it over my head, I catch a whiff of the burning wood and clove of Parker’s cologne again. The smell takes me back to nights spent sitting around a bonfire in the autumn when the red and gold leaves were weeks away from falling and winter threatened to envelop us in snow. It’s a scent deep-seated in my memory, and with it, pressure builds behind my eyes. I desperately need sleep before I become an emotional wreck yet again.
Get your shit together, Dylan , I admonish myself.
As soon as I change into my pajamas, my phone’s vibration brings me back down to earth. I look down at the caller ID—my mom. She never calls me this late, and my mind runs a mile a minute, immediately going to the worst-case scenario.
I study my room, looking for five things I can see, four things I can touch, three things I can hear, two things I can smell, and one thing I can taste to alleviate myself from the anxiety that’s rising. I fail miserably, only making it halfway through the grounding technique before answering in a panic, “Hello? Is everything okay?”
Her cheerful laugh seeps into my bones and wraps around me like my childhood blanket. “Hi, honey. Everything is okay. I just wanted to check in and see how everything is going. I don’t know how to explain it, but I just felt the need to call you tonight.”
I’ve always heard about a mother’s intuition, but my mom’s clairvoyance has never led her astray. She often knows what I need most before I can identify needing it myself. It’s as if there were an unbreakable, invisible string attached to us from the minute of my birth. Any time I’m sad, angry, frustrated, heartbroken, she knows. It’s because of her that I believe in unconditional love.
With her words, the dam breaks, and the tears begin again. I sniffle, trying to keep them at bay.
“Hey, hey,” she soothes. “What’s wrong?”
I wipe my face, clearing it of the stray drops as I will as much air into my lungs as possible. I’ve got to be starting my period soon. There’s no other way to explain the basket case behavior I’ve been displaying today.
“I’m so confused,” I speak lowly, collapsing into bed.
“About what, honey? Does this have anything to do with a certain ex-boyfriend of yours?”
I haven’t seen my mom since moving to New York, but we FaceTime or text at least once a day. I like having the peace of mind knowing that she’s still doing alright after going through everything she’s gone through. I don’t expect her to fall back into old patterns, but I still feel responsible for her wellbeing. I want to see her happy.
“Maybe. ”
“Why don’t you tell me all about it tomorrow when I see you?” Her voice drips with excitement.
“What?” I jerk upright in bed, gripping my phone tightly. A rush of energy fills my veins, and I push out of bed, unable to sit still. I bounce from foot to foot, all exhaustion weighing heavily on me, seeming to momentarily evaporate.
“I booked a flight out there. I hope that’s alright. I had this gut feeling that I needed to see you, and I bought the tickets before I could second guess it. I probably should’ve asked first, but–”
“Mom, I’d love that.” I cut her rambling off.
There’s nothing I need more right now than my mom. I love my life in New York, but I’ve grown a little homesick, and there’s no better cure than a visit from the woman who means the most to me. No matter how old I grow to be, I will always need my mom when times get tough. She’s my rock. My refuge.
“Thank goodness. I was worried you were going to be upset with me.”
“Mom, I love you,” I yawn, trying to dispel her concerns.
“I love you too, Ducky. You sound exhausted. Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll text you my flight information.”
I lie back down and pull my comforter up around me, burying myself into a tight cocoon. The weight of the blankets offers me further solace. As soon as my head hits the pillow, my eyes grow heavy. I’ve been go, go, go all day. I didn’t realize just how tired I was until I stopped.
“Okay. Can’t wait to see you.”
“Me too. Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Goodnight, Mom.”
I end the call, text Parker letting him know I’m safe, and let the phone drop onto the bed beside me. I may not know what’s going to happen, but I know, deep down, that everything is going to be okay. And it’s that thought that rocks me to sleep in a matter of minutes.