"My question is, cause I know, I know, I see a lot of Team Kelly, Team Brenda shirts in here and so um, I was wondering if any of you guys had a strong opinion - as a lot of us do - about who Dylan should have ended up with: Kelly or Brenda."
"BRENDA! BRENDA! BRENDA!" - Christine Elise (Emily Valentine,) West Bev reunion podcast with Brian Austin Green in 2019
xx
Over the fortnight that followed, with another fortnight remaining before her return to London and the winter season, she began to feel increasingly addled.
The source of her confusion, of course, lay with none other than Dylan McKay.
He presented himself at every performance, always with a mutual friend as his accompaniment. When the troupe gave an encore of Andromache on their last night in San Luis Obispo, he cheered her on with Andrea and the rapturous Hannah by his side, treating the group to pizza after Brenda made the necessary rounds. During the troupe's only weekend in San Jose, he arrived with an excitable Donna, who snapped such a plethora of photos throughout their time together that Brenda wondered if her friend would soon set up a photography studio of her own. He engaged in congenial conversation with Theo, which sparked his interest in a literary study on the poetry of Seamus Heaney.
Though she initially attempted minimal interaction, Dylan talked her into weekend dinner, weekday breakfast before her rehearsals, brunch and, for kicks, a high tea in the ranch lands of Salinas - always as friends, never stepping a foot out of that zone. They'd been joined by both Theo and Isla, who admitted to a decent tasting of the tea, though they both insisted the scones lacked in quality.
She didn't disagree, but appreciated the thought he'd put into the afternoon.
With his suave, affable manner, she remembered why Dylan McKay had once been supremely easy to confide in.
Alone, in the evenings before he dropped her off, they would converse about everything from the deforestation of the Amazon to their theories on the disappearing bee population.
They shared a concern for their environmental surroundings, a longing to hold some small role in improving the global situation before Madeline Sanders, Sammy Taylor and the Silver girls grew up to face it themselves.
He told her of his continued work with beach cleanup crews, particularly in the Baja region, and his mentorship to adolescents struggling for sobriety. She told him of her participation with the Angel Shed Theatre Company during off-season and how, though she may never have children of her own, she enjoyed the enthralled reactions of the aspiring starlets just starting out in the industry.
In many ways, he remained the same boy who used to firmly grasp her heart or the early twentysomething who both regained and lost it later. In other areas, he, like their good friend Steve, had greatly matured.
As the weeks wore on and he sent two different bouquets to her dressing room, each lovelier than the last, bearing little notes that elicited a giggle, she realized that she had allowed herself to slowly let Dylan back in to her confidence.
The thought terrified her.
Whatever happened between them, she would indeed return to London and he would undoubtedly remain in Beverly Hills, the last place in the world she would ever consider for a repeat residence.
London had become her home in a way that Beverly Hills never could. She loved the city far too much to consider relocating, even if a possible relocation would allow her the closure that still lacked with the elusive Dylan McKay.
She tried to subtly discuss her misgiving with Brandon, who simply reminded her that two consenting adults were permitted to do anything they wanted without fear of the consequences. He, of course, assumed she meant an unrequited romance in England and prodded her for the man's name. She declared him to be Heathcliff Badger, which Brandon immediately caught on to, jokingly informing her that the dreamy Heath Ledger had both a child and a girlfriend. She instead named an obscure actor from a British program relatively unheard of on Brandon's side of the world, causing her brother to conclude the man as the real deal.
He then turned the phone over to Kelly, who proceeded to gab with Brenda about her faux television boyfriend.
Meanwhile, Dylan crept ever closer to the forefront of her mind.
Sitting in a thorough analysis of their individual characters before their matinee the following afternoon in a San Francisco theatre, her temperament bordered on frustrated.
Frustrated in what she considered a poor rehearsal, frustrated in the complexity of emotions coursing through her blood, frustrated in her inability to focus.
She exited the theatre, gulping her water bottle on the way back to the troupe's hotel.
"Ladies and gentlemen, there she is! Our favorite star, marvel of the West End, RADA's treasure, CU's loss, Peach Pit extraordinaire, Miss Brenda Walsh!"
She heard him before she saw him, his encouraging dramatics soothing her discontentment.
"Brandon!" she said. Befuddlement flickered, quickly replaced by sheer happiness.
He was accompanied by three others and one impossibly adorable little girl.
"We're staying down the block, in the Hotel Whitcomb." Steve greeted her with a blinding smile as she dished out the respective hellos. "Iris' partner loaned us the jet."
"Yeah, couldn't miss Bren's big SF debut at the historic Golden Gate Theatre." Brandon's facial expression stood at the same level as his friend's.
"I'm so excited, Bren. You kicked butt in Santa Maria!" Kelly said, her hand curved around his arm.
"Me and Mads finally had a free weekend," Steve remarked, "I'm starting to reconsider having her in sports."
Brenda smiled at the girl, who sat comfortably in her godfather's arms.
He had yet to miss a performance.
"I promised Kel I'd take her to see The Painted Ladies," Brandon whispered into his sister's ear. His warm soda-driven breath whooshed unpleasantly against her eardrum. "She claims D didn't the one time they were here and I guess she used to be obsessed with Robin Williams. Says she's watched Mrs. Doubtfire at least sixty times. Who knew?"
"Ooh, Pierce Brosnan," she practically drooled. "He's even more beautiful in person."
"Oh please, Bren. You have not met Double Oh Seven," he said derisively.
"Have so," she jutted out her tongue, "he was in the audience during our winter program a couple years ago. The director knew his wife from secondary."
Brandon copied her facial movement. Madeline mimicked both.
"Okay you two, break it up before Mads here starts thinking it's okay to stick your tongue out at people." Steve pulled them apart. "I saw more than enough of the principal when I was a kid."
Kelly stepped over to Brandon, her voice uttering a rhapsody. "Let's go, honey. I can hear the trolley now."
"Say hi to Uncle Jesse for me!" Brenda called at the departing couple. Kelly's resulting giggle imitated the chime of the trolley.
"Excellent," Steve looked at Dylan, "we get Bren to ourselves."
Dylan snuck a grin at his goddaughter.
"Better make the most of it."
They lunched at Brenda's French Soul Food, a newly opened restaurant boasting a fusion of Creole and French cuisine, primarily because her two male companions howled with laughter when they walked by the red brick building laid with a black sign that bore her name. They both insisted its cursive lettering matched her own.
Madeline's caramel eyes were drawn to the bumper cars of Fisherman's Wharf, resulting in precisely six seconds of pleading before all three adults gave in. She and Steve slid into one car; Dylan and Brenda grabbed the opposite. Madeline's peals of laughter sounded throughout their competition, watching her father and godfather's determination as they tried to outbump the other.
When Steve announced he needed a break, Brenda agreed and Madeline's energy called for anything but, Dylan consented to leave with her to find an arcade.
"McKay has been hanging around you an awful lot, Brenda. Mind telling me what that's about?" Steve asked, lifting his white blond eyebrows once his daughter and the man in question were out of earshot.
"Your guess is as good as mine, Steve," she said and took a seat on a bench overlooking the wharf. "Maybe he has too much time on his hands."
"Or maybe you're what he wants to be doing with his time." His lips turned upward into a million-wattage smile which put to shame the smiles worn by Hollywood's classic film stars.
"Steve!" she admonished.
"Listen to your heart, Bren." He placed one hand on her shoulder and held the other out to the sky. "When he's calling for you. Listen to your heart," he stated plainly, "there's nothing else you can do."
"Oh God, Sanders," she groaned, ducking her face behind her hands in palpable humiliation.
"I'm just saying," he shrugged, "you may want to listen to your heart," he gave a cheeky grin and tapped her jawline, "before you tell him goodbye."
"A riveting performance," she said drily, placing her hands on her hips.
"Thank you." He shifted his arm around her shoulder. "I can be seen in The Laugh Factory every Tuesday, Friday and Saturday night."
"In that case, I will be sure to specifically avoid The Laugh Factory every Tuesday, Friday and Saturday night."
Emitting an indignant gasp, he followed it up with a sarcastic chuckle.
"Seriously, Bren. Why does he take every excuse he can to see you?"
"I promise you I have no idea, Steve."
"Somehow I doubt that."
"Have you been talking to Val?"
"No. Why? Should I be?" His eyes enlarged with his question. "Does she know something I don't know?"
"There's nothing to know," she insisted.
"So there's something to know." His eyes sparked enigmatically, rippling waves of clear sea under a perfect sky.
"Literally the exact opposite of what I said."
"You know, Bren, you've never been a good liar."
"Are you and Val planning to set up a matchmaking agency or something?" Her tongue grazed the roof of her mouth in frustration.
"Now there's an idea. Matchmaking by Sanders and Malone. We can call it Love Me Some S&M."
"Oh my God." She angled her profile away from his lustful eyes and the disturbing sexual fantasies she knew Steve was presently imagining.
She observed in the distance a couple clinging to the wheel of a boat. Their eyes rested on each other rather than the water. The waves lapped angrily against the yacht, begging the lovestruck duo to pay attention to their natural surroundings.
"Steve, have you ever been stabbed in the back by the two people you loved most?" she asked, remembering another yacht and a missed party.
"You know, when Walsh and McKay began fighting over Kelly, they didn't exactly consider my feelings," he answered her quietly, staring out at the ships docked along the wharf.
Stunned, she shifted to face him.
"Kelly was the first girl I ever loved," he rushed to remind her, "and in many ways, I still do. She made it painfully clear that what we had would never again go beyond friendship and eventually, I was able to accept that. But when she was first with McKay and then with Brando, I was still very much in love." His eyes clouded over, displaying the sheer force of a summer storm. "I think it's why I could never fully give my heart to Cel, much as I wanted to."
She realized with a start that none of the gang had considered Steve's emotional state in the matter of Dylan McKay and Kelly Taylor. She'd been consumed by her own heartbreak and fighting to maintain a dignified composure in public. Donna focused on playing the mediator; where she failed, Andrea stepped in. Brandon wished for respite during their senior year, denying even his own sister a comforting shoulder if the required words of comfort held an inkling of abhorrence against either of his friends. David had simply been grateful for the happiness of his older sister during the time of their family's shaky ground. They'd all determined Steve held no ownership of Kelly and, while that was indeed true, it didn't make his reaction any less important.
"I thought we might get back together the summer you went to Paris, but obviously, someone up there had something else in mind." He took a swig of his beer.
Her chest constricted, as it did any time her summer in Paris was brought into conversation. She'd become nearly inseparable with Donna following their immersion program, a closeness that fell apart in her years at RADA whilst Donna became Kelly's ride-or-die. She knew her own lack of communication affected the situation greatly; had she continued to write Donna, perhaps they would have stayed close. Leaving everyone and everything behind, starting anew in a brand-new city with brand-new acquaintances, seemed the logical plan at the time - one her old boyfriend who previously chose a summer fling would interrupt when he showed up, unannounced and desperate for refuge from his own self.
A moronic mistake made on the streets of Paris with an older boy from Wisconsin cost her Dylan not only once, but twice, as it would once more be thrown in her face before he left her London flat.
She shook her head and refocused on Steve, determined to prevent the remembrance of her final moments in the city with Dylan from demolishing the friendship they were carefully rebuilding.
"I guess Dyl saw me more as Brando's friend than his at the time, though I'd thought we were close by that point." Steve's eyes steadily followed along with the tangerine cable car that passed by with a cheerful chime, "but Brandon? He was, is, my best friend, Bren. He knew exactly how I felt about her. He had plenty of experience in high school. He could've had any girl at CU; hell, he did have any girl at CU."
Slightly repulsed at the unnecessary reminder of Brandon's seedy affair with her instructor, Lucinda Nicholson, she simply nodded.
"And he just had to fall for my Kelly Taylor."
She observed as, for a moment, his shoulders hunched into the same lonely, lost, disconsolate frat boy who stood beside her by an ambulance after a particularly trying experience, implying an apology before issuing it earnestly the next day.
It seemed somewhat bizarre that the man who stood before her now, the same one who had, during their first year at CU, turned on her for a fling who would later become psychotic, held firmly to the role of one of her closest friends.
Indeed, she would venture to say that Steve Sanders stood as one of her best friends, certainly one of her best American friends, and watching his whispered pain invoked a sense of protection in her that lacked during their days at West Beverly.
Back then, he'd merely been her brother's over-exuberant best friend who constantly needed Brandon to help pull him out of trouble, or the boy with his eye firmly set on acquiring Kelly's heart against her wishes.
Of all the gang, the two people she now remained closest to befriended her brother first.
She almost laughed. The Minnesota Twins had struck again.
"I know it's nowhere close to the same thing that Dylan and Kel did to you when we were seniors, but yeah, Brenda, I guess you can say I do know a little about feeling betrayed by the people you love."
He braced himself against a column in the parking lot, leaning his head back against its cool metal.
"I've been with countless women, especially in college, but I've loved three. Kelly Taylor was the star of my soul for a considerably long time and maybe if I'd been less of a jerk when we first went out, she wouldn't have dumped me in the first place."
He sighed and she pictured the Steve Sanders she knew at West Beverly - confident, overly cocky, gifted with a consistent knack for disquietude, yet simultaneously embedded with a vulnerability he rarely allowed anyone to see outside of the Walsh household.
"I may never see Clare again, but what we had, Brenda, damn, I'm not afraid to sound like a complete sap when I tell you that it was friggin' special. And Janet, my dear, sweet Janet, those were four of the happiest years I've ever had. Thank God I've got Mads to remember her."
He inhaled sharply, leveling his gaze to the ground.
"Kel went after Brando in sophomore year, barely five months after she broke it off. Cel saw him first. Clare wanted him first. Val practically threw herself at him. I guess Janet was really the only one who looked beyond your brother and saw me."
She stared at Steve, taking his hand in hers and rubbing his palm consolingly.
"Steve, I had no idea you felt that way."
He gave a raspy laugh and pulled her into his shoulder.
"Rush used to say that a real man keeps everything inside. Never reveal your weaknesses. The women love a tough guy, a funny guy, a guy who just goes with the flow." He shook his head. "Honestly, Bren, sometimes I think if I'd listened to my father a little less and your brother a little more, high school could have gone a hell of a lot differently."
He breathed deeply and shifted his gaze to the brilliant pink and orange strokes clashing against the setting sun.
"But I meant what I said at the Pit. If any small change would take Mads from me, then I would do everything all over again, exactly the same, even try to steal that damn legacy key."
The tense moment broke in the sound of her laughter, as his sparkling eyes resumed their typical playfulness.
"If I tell you something, Bren, you gotta swear to never tell anyone, especially Brando, okay?"
She held out her pinky.
"I swear."
Hooking their pinkies together and pulling them apart, he took a deep breath.
"I've always had a crush on Andrea." His confession came out speedily, almost as if he hadn't said it at all.
But he did, in fact, admit to a secret and she did, most assuredly, hear the words fall from his lips.
"You've always had a crush on Andrea?" she screeched, her reaction causing several passersby to turn their heads in anticipation of halting a troublesome scenario.
"Bren, keep it down!" His eyes darted about frantically.
"We don't know any of these people, Steve," she said amusedly.
"McKay could return any moment," he pointed out, tugging her to the quiet side of a crab shack.
"I can't believe you have a secret crush on Andrea." She sifted through every file in her memory bank to find a small indication of his truth.
Her files came up empty.
"And she spent the height of our teenage years gaga over Brando. See what I mean?" He fished a few dollars out of his wallet. "Want anything?"
"I swear you have the biggest stomach of anyone I've ever met."
"Doesn't go to my gut," he shrugged, holding out his purchase, "Shrimp?"
She declined and accepted his offer of a soda pop.
"Well, you're single. She's single. Maddie and Hannah seem close. Why not just go for it?" she asked, sipping the refreshing beverage.
"Because I respect our friendship," he gave her a sharp look, "and I'm not about to do anything that might jeopardize it."
"Just as I respect my friendship with Dylan," she noted gaily.
She caught sight of a cyclist, bright lemon helmet bobbing over the line of cars streaming along Jefferson. Intent on focusing on the traffic, the cyclist passed a family of four in a blur of color with nary a second glance.
Two little brunets gaped after the bike, whilst their equally brunet parents stood in annoyance. All four boasted sweatshirts in the design of the Kansas City Chiefs.
Exchange the Chiefs jumper for a Minnesota Twins shirt and they may as well have been herself and Brandon the first time they explored a new city outside of St. Paul, Minnesota.
"The significant difference there, Bren, is that me and Andrea never had any kind of romance to begin with. We certainly aren't Dylan McKay and Brenda Walsh, devastating love story for the ages," he replied with stalwart conviction.
His voice effectively returned her to the wharf, disintegrating the memory of Valerie and Brandon running through the sprinklers on a blazing summer day in Buffalo whilst she strategized, determined to outrace them both.
"A minor footnote in his romance with Kelly Taylor," she said, her voice soured with the intensity of sugarless lemonade.
"Yeah, okay," he scoffed, snorting. "Kelly Taylor made her choice. It wasn't me. It wasn't Matt Durning. It wasn't Dylan. It was your brother. Brando's the only one who has made it down to the altar with her, even if it was to call off their wedding." He smirked. "A Walsh specialty. They were just missing a Vegas chapel."
Her jaw dropped. She smacked his shoulder.
"That was uncalled for!"
"But no less true," he said and winked.
"What was uncalled for?"
One of Dylan's hands held tightly to Madeline's, the other clutching a handful of stuffed animals evidently won in a claw machine.
She smiled, eyes softening as she recalled a distant carnival and a younger Erica McKay full of the same wonder Madeline radiated now, a gentle Erica just discovering boys, long before she fell to vices or gave up her son.
She admired Erica's strength. The younger woman, like her older brother, had inherited their father's tendency for collapsing to temptation, but she, like her brother, clawed her way out.
"A reminder of Bren's failed elopement," Steve said, his tone light and casual in a complete contradiction to its earlier feel.
Dylan's gaze darkened somewhat before settling on hers with a slightly humorous tint.
"Ah yes, that time our lively Brenda Walsh decided to keep everyone on their toes by running off to Vegas to elope with a man she'd known for a grand total of three days."
"Excuse me, it was two weeks," she huffed.
"Like that makes it any better," Steve said, exchanging a smug smile with Dylan.
"Daddy," Madeline tugged on his hand, "can I run off to Vegas to get married?"
He immediately began to choke on his boiled shrimp.
"Easy, man." Dylan clapped him on the back until he resumed a steady breath.
"Who exactly," Steve sputtered, gratefully taking an unopened water bottle held out by Brenda and sipping it in large gulps, "do you plan to run off with, Mads?"
She looked around thoughtfully, tapping her finger against her chin.
"GD?" she decided, her questioning gaze looking up to Dylan.
"Sorry, Madster," he held up his hands, "My heart is taken."
"That's okay, GD," she replied with little disappointment. "Auntie Bren, do you know any boys in London?"
Brenda's eyebrows shot upward in amusement as the inquisitive child's father turned a desperate look in her direction.
"I do, Maddie, but they're much too old for you."
"Then," she scrutinized the crowd, "he'll do." She pointed her finger toward a boy about her age, the boy donned in Kansas City Chiefs garb.
"He's a Chiefs fan? I don't think so, Mads." Steve picked her up and draped her legs around his shoulders. "I'll let you marry a 49ers fan before I let you marry a Chiefs fan."
"What's wrong with the 49ers?" asked Brenda, who held little interest in North American football outside of amateur games with her brother or cousins.
Steve and Dylan looked at each other, replying, in unison, "NorCal."
"We're in NorCal," she said, gesturing to their surroundings.
A young twentysomething boasting a head of multicolored hair and a San Francisco Conservatory of Music shirt skated past, muttering somewhat coherently about those damn Southern Californians invading their turf.
"You wanted to attend Berkeley," she reminded Dylan, whose face changed into amazement that she recalled his former desire, or as much of a desire as one could have when amending their life plan to include university enrollment simply to heed a late father's wish.
"There's a difference between occasionally visiting or attending school in NorCal and actively cheering for one of their sports teams, Brenda," Steve explained with surprising patience.
"Yeah because they do have some of the best swells around and Berkeley does have an awesome campus," Dylan's tone was slightly wistful, "but you won't see me rooting for the Giants over the Angels or Padres." He examined the Chiefs sweatshirt from afar with dissatisfaction.
"You men and your sports teams," she groaned. "Bran might as well be here; you sound just like him. Besides, when it comes to baseball," her eyes sparked wickedly, "the only team of worth is the Minnesota Twins. Obviously."
"Who were easily defeated by both the Angels and the Padres in the '05 season," he noted with a chuckle.
"They clearly would've won if their biggest supporter had been around to root for them," she said in a more curt tone than intended, causing both men to fall silent.
The absence of Brandon Walsh undoubtedly had little effect on the dismal season of the Twins that year, but she still imagined his mere presence in front of the television screen may have marginally helped their chances.
"Bren, if you come back for a visit at any point during baseball season, we're taking you to see a real team." Steve's head tilted upward to meet Madeline's downward glance.
"Steve, I'm still on this visit," Brenda laughed.
"Never too early to start planning," he replied confidently. Madeline nodded rapidly in response.
"Auntie Bren can start planning a wedding in Las Vegas," she said, to which Steve clucked disapprovingly.
"Not with the Chiefs kid, Mads."
"Believe me, Maddie, life is better without an impromptu marriage in Vegas to someone you barely know," Brenda said softly.
"Especially with Mr. Tax Evasion." Dylan cocked an eyebrow in his signature expression.
"You sound like my mother," she shuddered.
Somehow, despite her father's idea of the blind date and her mother's equal enthusiasm for her former relationship, both parents enjoyed a light-hearted banter in regards to the unfortunate fact of her almost marriage and sole engagement.
"I'm either marrying in Vegas or moving to London," Madeline replied stubbornly, a hand shifting to her hip as Steve set his daughter to her feet.
Amused, Brenda scanned the other individuals strolling along the wharf.
"Okay, what about that kid?"
She pointed and the threesome turned to follow her finger.
"The one with a surfboard and a pierced eyebrow?" Steve snickered behind a closed hand.
She noticed Dylan watching her closely, his expression unreadable.
"Uh, I meant that one." She gestured a few inches away from the young surfer.
"The one with a 49ers shirt?" Steve said blankly.
"No, that one."
"The one who looks exactly like Chuckie when we were little?" His eyes flashed in an unwanted remembrance of his childhood archnemesis.
"Maddie, sweetie, I think you may have a better shot at London," she sighed, her arms folding against her waist.
"Madster, you've got plenty of time until you start going gaga over boys." Dylan handed Madeline's prize winnings to Steve before lifting her up.
"Or whomever," Brenda added, keeping an eye on Steve to ensure he finished his food without incident.
"This is all my fault," he said morosely. "I was girl-crazy and now my sweet little girl will be boy-crazy."
She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"She'll be fine as long as she doesn't lie to you and run off to Mexico," she whispered, lest Madeline overhear and set about reevaluating her goals.
The little girl remained blissfully unaware of Brenda's statement, but the glazing eyes of Dylan indicated that he overheard every word and perhaps felt peeved at her remark.
"Oh God. I'm going to have a miniature Brenda Walsh on my hands, aren't I?" Steve moaned into his bucket.
"What's wrong with that?" She crossed her arms over her chest.
"Nothing," he salvaged, though his devastated tone indicated otherwise.
"Hey!" her nose crinkled in annoyance.
"Think of it this way, Sanders," Dylan swung his arm around Steve's shoulder whilst he held securely to Madeline with the other, "in a group of alcoholics, addicts, gamblers and whatever you call people who initiate school break-ins and hire hackers to infiltrate the system, are the old theatrics of Brenda Walsh really so bad?"
She considered issuing a grateful smile at his remark or slapping him for his joke.
"Shit," Steve's eyes were fearful with an imagined illusion of a nightmarish future, "she's fucked."
"Shit!" Madeline called happily, crumpling the neck of her godfather's shirt, "fuck!"
"Dammit!" said Steve.
"Dammit!" echoed his daughter.
He sent a feeble glance in Brenda's direction, whose interest in helping her friend stood nonexistent after his insulting commentary.
"If you want, Steve, I can teach her how to curse like the Brits do. You know, since she'll be relocating there and all," she said with a partial grin.
"Don't encourage her," he said forcefully and looked at Dylan, "you gonna help me here or what?"
"Hey, man, I'm the last person who can judge anyone for cussing." He swung Madeline until her legs hung securely around his neck and her long braid nearly touched the ground.
"AB, GD, will you ride the carousel with me?" she asked, weary of the adults' discussion.
"Who's AB?" Steve angled his whole head to be more on level with his upside down daughter.
"Auntie Bren," she said in a voice that indicated her father should know, "but for short."
"Maddie, don't you want to ride with your father?" encouraged Brenda.
"No, Daddy will get sick," she cringed.
Steve touched the unfinished bottle of beer to his lips.
"She's probably right, Bren. Soul food, beer, boiled shrimp? Not a good combo for a carousel, but it is frickin' delicious."
She didn't believe him for a second.
"Please, Auntie Bren?" Madeline's lower lip quivered.
"Yeah, please Auntie Bren?" Dylan's expression matched his goddaughter's.
"You actually want to go on a carousel, Dylan?"
"With you and Madster here? Sure, sign me up."
She yielded to their request, chiefly in interest of seeing Dylan McKay straddle a water dragon.
Madeline squealed over the sea lions as the group neared Pier 39, with Alcatraz viewed from a distance. The Golden Gate Bridge towered ahead, drawing the child's wide eyes skyward to better examine its sheer magnitude.
She selected a glassy zebra on the upper level of the ornate carousel, stretching out in a way that restricted both adults from joining her.
"Maddie, I thought you wanted us to ride with you." Brenda fixed the tendrils falling into the child's vision.
"You can," she said earnestly and signaled to the nearby panda, "you and GD ride that and you'll be right next to me."
"Well, you heard the little lady," Dylan chuckled. Before she could comprehend the situation, he lifted her up onto the detailed creature and, sliding in behind, grasped her waist.
"How's this, Mads?"
"Perfect." She gave an excited thumbs-up.
Brenda cast her gaze on Steve, who stood watching them with a satisfied smirk.
Madeline took that moment to snap a photo with the digital camera banded to her wrist. Brenda decided that Donna Martin Silver would be proud.
Permitting herself to relax against Dylan, she smiled at his nonplussed gasp.
"When in San Fran," she said and braced her sandals against the panda's slippery figure as the carousel began to spin into the fading sun.
-x
In this fic, I've pictured Steve as a single father, but the problem was how. His growth was such that it didn't seem likely he would cheat - nor would Janet. Since Andrea's divorced, making Steve divorced as well seemed overkill. Janet wouldn't just take off. If he were to raise Maddie alone, that meant Janet would have to not be around. I struggled with this, since the series just had to make her the only prominent character of Asian-American heritage and I did love them together (to be fair, I loved the majority of his pairings or teased pairings.) Ultimately, though, I couldn't see her in this story - and it helps Dylan to not be the only one who has experienced the ultimate grief.
Thank you as always for the reviews and for the new follows/favourites! Will respond to comments on private when I get a chance.