24. Watch ‘Milk’ first
Chapter twenty-four
Watch ‘Milk’ first
Dylan whistled through her teeth as she turned on the ignition, letting out an excited series of pitch-shifting “Ooohoohoos” as the engine roared to life. ‘What’s her name?’ Dylan asked.
‘Ingrid,’ Greta replied without missing a beat. ‘I wanted this car the moment I saw Stuart driving one in Queer as Folk. She’s my baby.’ Greta’s brows pulled together as she chewed the inside of her cheek. ‘Please don’t drive fast, you’ll give me heartburn.’
Dylan chuckled through a smile she knew was probably embarrassingly goofy, and definitely one Greta had never seen before . ‘I’ll treat her exactly how I treat you.’
‘Don’t fuck her, Dylan,’ Greta deadpanned as she unscrewed her lip gloss and flipped down the sun visor.
Dylan laughed. ‘With reverence and respect, G.’
‘Hmm,’ Greta hummed dubiously as she rubbed her lips together, giving Dylan a sideways glance.
‘This car is unreal and so much better on this side,’ Dylan enthused, squeezing and twisting her hands over the tan leather of the steering wheel and giving it a tentative rev. ‘Am I insured?’
‘No, Dylan. I thought I’d add lawbreaker to my ever-growing list of misdemeanours,’ Greta replied, a smile finally tugging at the corner of her lips.
‘Right then.’ Dylan clapped her hands together. ‘First stop, Margarillo, yeah?’
‘Yep,’ Greta replied, pushing her fingers into her hair to give it volume before dabbing at the excess gloss under her bottom lip with her thumb.
‘I’d like to speak to the consultant looking after her, or at the very least the registrar, to get a full and proper picture of what’s happening and discuss her community package of care,’ she said bluntly, carried away with professional momentum before she had considered if it was actually her place to do any of those things.
Slowly, Greta flipped the sun visor back up, as Dylan looked at her, brows furrowed. ‘Shit, Dyl, I’m sorry I—’
‘Don’t apologise.’ Dylan let go of the steering wheel and leaned to Greta, one arm extended as she hooked her fingers around the back of her neck. ‘I love that. I’d like to see feisty fucker Vincent in full fuck shit up mode.’ She laughed, pulling Greta in for a kiss.
Smiling, Greta canted her head, her gaze dropping to Dylan’s lips as she wiped her gloss off them with the tips of her fingers, before giving her another quick peck.
***
‘Her chest sepsis has improved significantly. We switched her to oral antibiotics yesterday…we’ll give her at least forty-eight hours on those and hopefully home after the weekend, all being well,’ Dr Summers said to Dylan and Greta at the foot of Margaret’s hospital bed.
Dr Summers was a young-looking registrar, Greta thought, but then most junior doctors looked young to her these days.
‘What is the plan with regards to the package of care for Margaret upon discharge?’ Greta asked pointedly.
Dr Summers looked at Dylan with open confusion, then back to Greta. ‘She has one, doesn’t she? It was my assumption that it will continue.’
‘Have you discussed this with Dylan and Margaret?’ Greta was unable to conceal her irritation; she hated assumptions. Dr Summers bristled, clearly registering a shift in the air with Greta’s tone and line of questioning. ‘Have you asked Dylan if she is coping?’
Dr Summers looked between the two women. ‘I’m sorry but can I ask who you are?’ she said defensively.
With her arms folded over her chest, Greta turned to fully face the young registrar. ‘I’m Dylan’s partner,’ she said resolutely.
Dylan tossed her head around as her mouth gaped, eyes wide she stared in disbelief, burning holes in the side of Greta’s face.
‘I see,’ Dr Summers said, with no hint of judgement. ‘Well, Miss—’
‘Doctor Vincent,’ Greta corrected, sensing Dylan’s awkward, rapid blinking in her peripheral vision.
‘My apologies, Doctor Vincent. If you would like, I can request that the nurses refer Margaret to the complex discharge team so that we can review everything at home.’
‘That would be lovely, thank you, Doctor Summers. I don’t think a discharge planning meeting would be unreasonable. Do you, Dylan?’ Greta’s voice softened, turning warmer as she looked at Dylan, who was still staring at her. ‘Dylan? Is there anything you want to add?’
‘Hmm?’ Dylan hummed, her gaze darting from Greta to her mum, finally resting on Dr Summers. ‘What?’
Dr Summers looked at Dylan with the intense, clinical pity usually reserved for someone in the throes of a mental breakdown. ‘Do you have any questions, Dylan?’ she reiterated slowly.
‘What?’ Dylan said, turning her eyes to Greta, who widened hers in a bid to stop her from saying the word again. ‘No. Nope. Nooo. We’re okay. We’re good, thanks.’ She clapped her hands together once and rubbed them together. ‘We. Are. Good.’
Dr Summers frowned, raking her gaze over Dylan’s face. ‘Oookay, well, I’ll leave you to it. Let me or the nurses know if you need anything.’ She turned to Greta. ‘It was nice to meet you, Doctor Vincent.’
‘You too,’ Greta replied with a weak smile as Dr Summers moved out of the bed space.
‘Good to see you again, Dylan.’
‘Yep,’ Dylan chirped.
Greta turned to fully face Dylan. ‘Are you okay, or do we need to request an urgent sectioning under The Mental Health Act?’ she asked in a low voice.
Dylan looked at her, opening her mouth to speak and closing it again as she scanned Greta’s face.
‘Dylan?’ She tilted her head, eyes rapidly scanning Dylan’s blank expression.
‘Jesus Christ, Dyl. Blink twice if you’re in there. ’
‘Did you say that for clout?’ Dylan asked softly, her gaze frantically searching Greta’s face.
‘What? Doctor Vincent? No, it’s my name, I—’
‘No. No, that’s not what I mean.’ Dylan reached forward, pinkie finger outstretched as she gently hooked it through Greta’s. ‘Partner. You said partner.’
‘Did I?’ Greta asked, looking genuinely flummoxed, though she knew, if she were honest, it was what she wanted to say.
During the painfully awkward exchange with Professor Andy, a quiet, tectonic shift had finally stilled Greta’s looping thoughts.
It crystallised everything she already knew she wanted.
Seeing the simple normalcy of Leila and Kate—the casual way Leila held her hand, the way Kate pressed into her side—held up a mirror to Greta’s own yearnings, to what she needed and was no longer willing to deny herself.
It didn’t remind her of Muriel, or of what they had.
It simply made her want this—here, now—with Dylan.
The walls she had built with the hollow emptiness and isolation of grief didn't serve her any more.
She was no longer willing or able to exist in the parallel paradigm of private agony, hidden desire and feigned public normalcy.
She wanted to choose life; a life with Dylan.
‘Yeah,’ Dylan said, perhaps a bit too loudly. She lowered her voice and stepped fully into Greta’s space, interlacing their fingers. ‘Yeah, you did. Was it just so she’d talk to you about Mum?’
‘No. No! I—’
‘It’s okay if you meant it, you know,’ Dylan said softly.
‘Is it? I mean—I just…it hasn’t even been two weeks, has it? What was I thinking? I’m sorry I—’
‘It’s been longer than two weeks, Greta, I think you know that.
That’s why it feels so easy and so right and so good.
That’s why it rolled off your tongue, and you didn’t even notice.
’ She cradled Greta’s face with both hands and pressed a kiss to her lips.
‘Anyway, two weeks is a long time in lesbian years.’ Greta huffed out a laugh.
Dylan’s features softened, her smile fading as she looked at Greta properly.
‘Remember when you asked me at what point two people who can’t be together stop trying?
We didn’t stop, did we? We didn’t stop… And now we can be together, why would we waste anymore time?
We’ve wasted too much time.’ She kissed Greta again, soft and unhurried, inhaling deeply.
Pulling away, Dylan canted her head, her hands still pressed onto Greta’s face.
‘You know, G, life is but the time frame of a ripe avocado… Too frigging short.’ Greta laughed again, shaking her head fondly as Dylan drew in another long breath, her gaze fixed on Greta’s.
‘This. Me and you… Us, it all feels more right than anything I’ve ever felt.
Your heart let you say that word, G, so please don’t freak out.
Don’t push against it, or run from it…from me.
Just let yourself go with it.’ Dylan slid her arms around Greta’s waist, pulling her in close.
‘I don’t want anyone else, Greta, and I’m sorry if I sound like a prick, but I don’t want you to be with anyone else.
The thought of that kills me.’ She leaned in to kiss her softly before pulling back to find her gaze.
‘I really like you,’ she whispered. ‘Fuck it, G. Let’s be a big old lezzie cliché. I want you to be my girlfriend.’
‘Jesus!’ Greta scoffed, leaning back in Dylan’s arms, palms flat on her chest. ‘Girlfriend?’
‘Well,’ Dylan laughed. ‘Partner is weird, isn’t it?
Like are we a couple? Are we going into business together?
Or doing some crime?’ Greta chuckled softly.
‘So, why don’t we meet in the middle?’ Dylan pouted, pulling on her best thinking face.
‘Girlfner,’ she offered with a smirk and satisfied head bob.
Greta burst out laughing, something she was doing a lot lately, and ran her hands down Dylan’s face. ‘Why are you like—’
‘I don’t know,’ Dylan interrupted with a smile and a gentle shake of her head.
She kissed Greta’s lips, then her cheek, then her ear, before pulling her into a fierce hug.
‘Okay, let me go now,’ Greta said, her voice sounding squeezed.