Choices reaped consequences.
Wanted. Unwanted. Intolerable. Gratifying.
Had he chosen to spend the summer with his mother in Hawaii, perhaps he would have returned home to a Brenda whose heart had grown fonder by his absence.
Instead of a Brenda who, though she enjoyed his constant company, confessed to Donna of her indecision.
Her heart was already fond; quite fond.
It was her head, Dylan realized, that battled for dominance.
"Emilio Reina asked you out?" he heard Donna ask from his concealed vantage point near the drama classroom.
They seemed to be the only two left in the room, with even Chris Suiter having departed when Dylan had arrived to pick up Brenda.
"Shh, Don, keep your voice down," said Brenda.
"Bren, there's no one else around."
"Not true. Chris is only a couple classrooms away, and Dylan could arrive at any minute."
"Are you sure Dylan's okay with picking me up, too? Maybe he was hoping it'd just be you."
He had indeed been hoping as much, but held no resentment towards also giving Donna a ride.
"I think it's fine, but we can sneak into the teacher's lounge to call him on that phone and ask."
"Okay. So, back to Emilio asking you out. Oh my God, Bren. He's only like, one of the hottest guys in school. What did you say?"
"I told him I would think about it."
"You didn't."
"I did. I didn't dump Dylan because of not wanting to be with him, Don. There's a whole bunch of factors at play. I don't know if I want to drag Emilio into that, and I definitely don't want to hurt Dylan if I accept a date with Emilio. It feels like I'd be betraying Dylan."
"Well, what did Emilio say when you told him you'd think about it?"
"He said he understood and he wouldn't push it. He's such a sweet guy, Don. I kinda do want to see if maybe we could have something, but Dylan is; well, you know how I feel about Dylan."
Dylan didn't know whether to perform a victory dance at Brenda's reluctance to date Reina, or run to the closest bar at knowing her consideration of dating Reina.
No. No bars.
But -
No! Bars!
You suck.
And you proved you can't control your drinking, otherwise we wouldn't be in this situation in the first place.
True, but you still suck.
"I know," said Donna. "We all know how much you love Dylan. Why did you two break up, anyway?"
His ears perked up. He leant closer to the cracked door, still out of the girls' line of vision but enough to hear Brenda's response.
"That's between me and Dylan," she said. "I don't want to betray his trust by telling anyone; not even Brandon knows the full reason, but basically, our relationship just started moving way too quickly and I wasn't ready for things to get that tense."
"Tense like how? Tense like," Donna's eyes darted from chair to chair, as if she were seeking out the invisible people that sat amongst them, "sex?" she whispered.
"Donna, you can say the word," Brenda laughed.
"Bren, if I tell you something, you can't tell anyone, okay? Not even Kelly. Strictly between us."
"Cross my heart and hope to die," said Brenda.
"Well, I don't know about that. A pinky promise would be perfectly acceptable."
They pinky promised as Dylan walked away from the door. He already had an idea of what Donna planned to tell Brenda; even if he didn't, he decided it was frankly none of his business.
He rubbed both palms over his face, distracting himself with the conversation he and Brandon had heard in the Pit earlier that afternoon.
Dylan had been arm-deep in soap suds, helping to wash the dishes after he had tackled the grease trap.
This had left Brandon rather befuddled, who could not comprehend Dylan's desire to do either.
"Nat, can I ask you a question?"
It was the first time Dylan had heard the voice of Jim Walsh, who had spent that summer on an inconsistent series of business trips.
The presence of Jim had stirred within Dylan a number of emotions, none of which he could select as front and center.
"Absoposilutely, pal," said Nat.
"Have you noticed, I don't know, a change in Dylan McKay?"
Dylan had scrubbed harder at the dishes, until Brandon had taken one away to prevent it from being broken.
"A change?"
"Yes. Cindy and I are aware he was at the barbecue our children held earlier this month, but otherwise, he hasn't been around the house all that much lately. Cindy is starting to get concerned."
Well, that was certainly unexpected.
"Oh, McKay's fine," said Nat reassuringly. "Did you know he offered to move in with me to help pay the bills?"
"Did he now?" Jim had been flabbergasted. "Not something I'd expect from Jack's son."
"Jim, you know I respect ya. You and your family have been a great help with the business, but I won't have you talking about Dylan McKay like that. That boy is as far removed from his father as you can possibly get. And I've known Jack for decades."
"So you don't think he's a bad influence on my kids?"
Dylan's lip had curled. Same Jim Walsh.
"He not only offered to pay rent, Jim; he insisted on it. Rent and groceries. I had to draw the line at how much he was permitted to pay. The boy's only in high school and has taken on a truckload of responsibility."
Brandon offered Dylan a quizzical stare, who simply shrugged.
"Then Brandon has been a good influence on him, I suppose," said Jim.
"Au contraire, buddy; I think your kids and Dylan are good influences on each other."
"I was starting to think so, too, but then after the sca - well," Jim had cleared his throat, "thank you, Nat. Appreciate the insight."
"Anytime," said Nat. "I'd venture to say those three need each other."
"Well, I don't know about that."
Dylan had wholeheartedly agreed with Nat.
"Ready to go, Bren?" he asked, strutting into the classroom.
"Oh, Dylan. I was gonna call you. Would it be okay if Donna comes with us?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Great!" Brenda leapt out of her chair to grab her belongings.
"Straight on to your place, Donna?" asked Dylan, keeping one hand in his pocket to prevent from snagging Brenda's hand.
The temptation was far too great to never release her hand again if he did; certainly not if Reina would be the one to hold it, instead.
This is what you wanted. You wanted her to be with other people so she can get it out of her system and return to you.
But why did it have to be Reina?
Why did you have to hurt her with Kelly?
I -
Twice, Dylan. You hurt her with Kelly, twice.
Shame, regret, an unspoken apology; they all blossomed.
Brenda stood in front of him - or, more accurately, knelt in front of him. The apology he'd longed to tell her for years sat on the edge of his tongue.
But it wasn't this Brenda who needed to hear it.
I can never apologize to her. I guess I'll just have to let her skate, instead.
Please, Bren. Don't skate too far. Not again.
Fuck, what if we don't get back together in junior year?
What if she's with Reina?
What the hell would happen then? Would he get her back? Would they still start senior year together, sans his deception? Or would she date Emilio Reina for the rest of high school?
Dylan didn't doubt that he would end up with Brenda in their new life. He, however, was unaware of the specifics on when they would reunite, and that terrified him.
We've got to be together in junior year. We just have to be. I didn't rewrite history to erase our early history.
But I don't want Emily the wannabe arsonist anywhere near Bren. Can the Hello Day performance still happen without her?
He wished he had the power of manifestation. He would manifest a pillow into his hands for him to scream against.
"Hey." Brenda stopped him, nodding for Donna to walk ahead. "Is something wrong, Dyl?" She placed her palm against his cheek. "You seemed fine this morning."
I was fine. I was better than fine. Fucking Reina came along and ruined everything.
McKay, you ruined everything.
One life at a time, please.
He leant into her touch. "Everything's good," he lied.
"No, it's not," she said. "I can see it in your eyes. You have extremely expressive eyes."
"So do you."
Her other hand laced around his other cheek.
Just an inch or two forward, that was all it would take to reclaim her lips.
"You know you can tell me anything, right?" she asked.
Not anything. I'd end up in a loony bin.
"I know," he said, searching her eyes.
"This isn't about the kiss scene, is it? Because that really wasn't anything, Dylan."
It's about way more than some stupid kiss scene, Bren.
"Do you believe in past lives, Dyl?"
The question startled him.
"Maybe," he played it off. "Do you?"
"I think I'm starting to," she said. "We haven't known each other for long, but I feel like I've known you for centuries." Shaking her head, she dropped her hands. "Sorry." She played with the bracelet on her wrist. "I probably sound nuts."
Fuck it. This is fucking dumb. If I want to hold her hand, then I'll hold her hand.
"Bren," he said, reaching for her hand, "you're making perfect sense. Because I feel it, too."
"You do?" She intertwined their fingers as if it were second nature.
It probably was.
"I do."
To you, you, and did I mention, you.
"Then am I defying something by keeping us from getting back together?"
"What would you be defying?"
"I don't know. Maybe some kind of sacrament."
"Brenda, I highly doubt your decision to be single this summer is defying some kind of sacrament."
"About that," she hesitated.
Fuck, here it comes.
"I just want you to hear it directly from me, not from the school grapevine, or the beach club banana phone, or whatever. Emilio asked me out after class today."
"Oh?" He acted nonchalant. "What did you say?"
"That I'd think about it."
"The same thing you said when I asked about taking you somewhere."
"Dylan, I can't exactly figure out who I am if I jump into another relationship so soon after breaking up with you, and I can't ask for you to take me back so soon after breaking up with you."
Why not, Bren? I'd do it, no questions asked.
You're figuring out who we are. I have the advantage. I already know.
"Don't let either of us talk you into something you're not ready for, Bren."
"I just really don't wanna hurt you."
"Is that why you told him you'd think about it? Because you don't want to hurt me?"
The guilt instantaneously ballooned. He was bombarded with harrowing memories of all the ways he had hurt her, memories that would forever lack in Brenda's own mind.
"That's one of the reasons," she said.
"If there's even a fraction of you that wants to take Reina up on it," Dylan's next words left him untethered to gravity, one missed step away from free falling into a crevasse, "then don't let any concern for me stand in the way. It won't change anything between us."
"It won't?" Her voice sounded miniscule. It pained him even more than the thought of Brenda with Reina.
"It won't," he said firmly. "Nothing can."
He could see the treadmill whirring in her brain.
"I asked you for the rest of the summer," she settled on. "Maybe I'll wait the same time to give Emilio an answer."
At least Reina waited a month after you broke up to ask her out, McKay. How long did you wait after things ended with Bren to go after Kelly, both times?
Yeah, yeah. I know. I'm an asshole.
But Reina's no better.
"I keep thinking of that weird daydream. Do you really think we might've been together in another life, Dylan?"
"I think we'd be together in all our lives, Bren."
Except the one, but it doesn't exist anymore.
Right?
"Including this one," Dylan added. "No matter how long it takes us to get there."
He twirled a piece of her hair between his fingers, their noses touching.
"I wish love wasn't so scary," she said.
"The best things in life usually are," he said. "And you, Bren, will always be the best thing in mine."
Their faces were so close together, he could almost smell her soda-flavored Lip Smacker.
"I'll never let you down again," he breathed against her lips.
"Again?" Brenda shifted away. Her hands grasped his elbows. "What do you mean, again? How have you let me down?"
Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.
We were this fucking close. Just one step forward and those fucking perfect lips would have been mine.
"Dylan, do you think you let me down because of the scare? 'Cause we're not the first teenagers that's happened to. If this is about you standing me up, I'm over it."
He grappled for a response, something close to the truth without resulting in his new required wardrobe of a straitjacket.
"It's not that. I - I just have this feeling I let you down in one of our other lives. So I'm sorry and I want you to know it won't happen this time."
"Oh," said Brenda, bewildered. "I forgive you, I guess." She added, jokingly, "Don't do it again."
"I won't. Swear. You can count on me."
"I know I can. I just don't want to take advantage of you if I don't even know how to feel about this Emilio thing."
"You're not taking advantage of me."
"You said you'd wait, Dylan. How is it fair for you to wait if I'm with him?"
Congratulations. You cockblocked yourself, and now her mind's back on fucking Reina.
"Brenda -"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I just feel awful about this."
"Don't. You'll figure it out. You always do."
"By always, you mean in my other lives?"
"Something like that." His knuckle grazed against her cheek. The electric current surging between them heightened with his movement.
"Did you know you have ridiculously beautiful lips?" asked Brenda.
"I may have heard that a time or two," said Dylan. "Though I personally think they're never more beautiful than when they're attached to yours."
"I don't disagree. The taste of them is exquisite."
"Exquisite, you say? If mine taste exquisite, yours taste like a friggin' dessert buffet."
"Guys! Are you coming, or what? Brandon's gonna be so annoyed if we're late."
Dylan recessed the desire to tear off the love of his lives' clothing in their school hallway, recognizing that it would not have been at all prudent.
Even if they hadn't been rudely interrupted.
"We're coming, Don!" Brenda sought her bearings. "I just had to tell Dylan about Emilio before the rest of the school got hold of that kind of gossip."
"Oh, you told him?" Donna's mouth formed a small circle of surprise. "How'd he take it?"
"Hi, Donna. We've met, right? Ain't I Dylan?"
What's with the aint's? Were you trying to sound Southern at this age?
Man, I don't know. They just slip out.
"Sorry, Dylan," Donna giggled. "I'm just not used to talking to you."
"Am I really that intimidating?"
"It's not that. You're seriously gorgeous, and seriously gorgeous guys make me nervous."
"Interesting." Brenda moved away to tuck an arm around Donna's shoulder. "Because is it just my imagination, or have you been jumpy around David a lot lately?"
"It's the assignment," Donna mumbled. "I really need an A."
"If you say so," said Brenda, unconvinced. "Are you still crushing on Greg Housman?"
"Yeah, of course," said Donna, her tone listless.
"Don, you know no one would judge you if you like David, and if they would, then you're better off without them," Brenda said soothingly.
"Yeah, maybe. Can we go now, Dylan?"
"Sure thing. I was just waiting for my girl here to finish talking."
"Oh please. Need I remind you that I was almost late to my interview because of you?"
"Bren, we arrived ten minutes early for your interview. It was mine we were almost late to."
"You're missing the point."
Happy for the abrupt change in subject, Donna questioned how their respective interviews had gone, with Brenda and Dylan then taking turns to inquire about Donna's internship.
Donna, they soon learnt, was exuberant. Her boss had suggested that Donna study business or finance in university, which he said Donna had a "knack for." Her only hang-up was that going down that path might result in other West Bev kids thinking her a nerd due to the amount of maths courses she would need to take. Brenda told Donna to go after what she wanted without caring what anyone else thought.
"Even Kelly?" Donna asked.
"Don, if Kel has a problem with something that gets you this excited, then I have a problem with her," said Brenda.
"Thank you, Bren. I never would've tried for this job if it hadn't been for your support."
"Hon, all you needed was a bit of confidence," said Brenda, disappearing into the Porsche.
Glancing over at Brenda as he drove, Dylan smiled at the sight of his girl sitting on his passenger seat, engrossed in a novel.
"What's this week's book, Bren?"
She held up the book for him to read the jacket.
"Finnegans Wake? Damn, babe, I'm impressed."
"You mean, you've never read it?"
"It's known as the hardest book to read, ever. Never even made the to-read list."
"Really? That's exactly why I started reading it, because of how difficult they say it is to read."
"What do you think so far?"
"Well it's definitely unusual, but I love Joyce's use of language. And how the dream world blends with reality."
I'm sure the fact that it's hailed as one of the great Irish novels has nothing to do with it.
Fucking Ireland.
I should've gone to fucking Ireland and stopped that goddamn wedding.
Brenda would've buried me alive for it, but Monaghan's reaction would be well worth my brutal death.
He had sat there, eyes on the screen, one click away from purchasing the ticket and then…guilt.
Fucking guilt had prevented him from crashing Brenda's wedding, the guilt of fucking up her life yet again.
"Maybe I'll give it a try," said Dylan.
"Do." She bookmarked her page, setting it aside. "I've been waiting all day to hear how your interview went."
It filled him with the warmth of a bubbling jacuzzi, harnessed to bottle in his soul, that Brenda cared enough to ask.
"It went awesome. I really think I might actually have a shot at getting this job. Adam - that's the interviewer - he brought up something I haven't thought about in a long time."
"What's that?" She set her hand on his leg.
Easy, boy. You still gotta wait and besides, Donna's in the backseat.
"He asked why I never compete."
"Compete?"
"Surf comps."
"Oh!" Brenda leant closer in. "Why don't you?"
"Competing's never really been for me."
Says the guy who's competed with every guy he's ever known.
Don't you ever shut your yap?
"Maybe you don't have to compete," said Brenda. "Maybe you could get involved other ways."
"What are you thinking?"
"Well, when you get this job, maybe you could teach some of the kids to surf and then do little competitions with them."
"When I get this job? What about your good pal Reina? He wants this job, too."
You're not competing with Reina for anything other than this job. Brenda knows how you feel. You know how she feels. When it comes to you and Brenda, you're the plane, soaring thousands of feet above the air. Reina's the ant below, who you'll leave behind.
The love between me and Brenda has literally rewritten timelines. Reina has nothing on that.
"He may want it," said Brenda, "but it just isn't realistic with his schedule. He has meets every other weekend. The kids should have someone coaching who has the time to put in the effort. Hopefully the Y will see that."
"Your schedule's gonna get pretty busy, too, when you get the lead in the play." Dylan fought to focus solely on Brenda, instead of his conflicted musings.
"If I get the lead," Brenda corrected. "I already mentioned that on my application, so they know in advance. But let me know if you decide to do the kiddie comps. I'd love to help with them."
"It's a great idea, Bren. I'll definitely bring it up if - when I get this job. Adam might like it, since he's won Billabong, Tahiti, The Eddie, and Huntington."
"The only one I know is Huntington, but I'm guessing those are all major surf competitions you could also win, if you wanted."
"Maybe. For now, we'll have to focus on improving your surfing, if you're gonna help me with the kids."
"I'm all for that. Don, do you want Dyl to teach you surfing?"
"Surfing?" Donna looked up from her magazine. "No. No way. Thanks, but no. I like to keep my feet safely out of the air."
"It's not really the air," Dylan started, only to have Donna rush in with a story about a time she and her parents went to Hawaii and saw a surfer wipe out.
"I'm glad you didn't go to Hawaii," Brenda lowered her voice as Donna continued to speak.
"What?" asked Dylan, catching the way his eyes enlarged in the overhead mirror.
"The doctors told Nat that you would need to be with family during your recovery. Nat told them your mother lives in Hawaii and that you were already with family."
He drew Brenda into his side, kissing the edge of her hair. "Nat was right. We wouldn't've been able to spend half this much time together if I'd gone to visit Iris. But you know, absence does -"
"Make the heart grow fonder," she said. "See, you say that, but imagine everything you would've missed if you'd gone. You might not even be talking about getting a job."
You're right about that, baby.
"And my heart is already extremely fond of you, if that's what you mean," she said.
Her heart, yes.
The heart of the Brenda he had left behind in the other lifetime; not so much.
"I hope it always feels that way, Bren."
She melded into him just a bit more, Donna chattering away in the background.
His mind wandered, just for a moment, to the other Brenda.
He doubted she thought of him at all.
Of course she didn't.
Or if she did, it was simply to think of how she loathed the mere idea of his existence.
I'm sorry I made you hate me, Bren. I hope one day you can find it in you to forgive me.
Again.
The ghost of a smile crossed his lips as Brenda heard a song she loved on the radio and immediately leant over to turn up the volume.
She and Donna then began belting out the verses at the top of their lungs.
The Brenda he had once known often did the same.
I'm sure Monaghan's taking real good care of you. Does he know about the time you and Nicola got wasted at T in the Park dancing around to this same song and Danny and I had to break up the fistfight you guys started having with one of the groupies who accused Nicola of getting handsy with her man?
Fuck Monaghan. I took Bren to concerts and festivals first.
Fuck Reina. You're not taking her to any.
Fuck Manzano. You kept me from taking her to more.
Fuck anyone who has ever come between me and Bren.
Including me.
Since the moment he had met Brenda Walsh, he had been struck by her confidence, a trait he had struggled with when it came to their relationship.
He concluded that it was his turn to help her build the confidence in them that she had initially helped him to build, before Reina could persuade her into a different relationship.
Whether Brenda slipped away from him again, whether he had to watch her ersatz love story play out temporarily with Reina, Dylan could still prevent his own relationship with Brenda from regressing to a declined request on a fucking irritating social media site.
He wasn't there to fight Emilio Reina. He was there to effect a modicum of change in his relationship with Brenda.
There was some consolation to be had in that.
Even if he did itch to ask the fairies to throw Reina into a time where his challenging Reina to a duel would be considered a sign of chivalry.
Much as he wished to duel Connor Monaghan, and prove to the other Brenda how much he still cared.
She was happy, Itero had said. Protected. Loved. All the things he had wanted for her.
That would have to be enough.
For the first time since he had returned to his adolescence, an unexplainable pain kicked off in his lower back.
"Dylan?" asked Brenda, her brows knitting together.
"Bren, I just - I need to pull over for a second, okay?"
"Should I drive us over to the hospital?"
"You don't have your license." He pulled to the side of the road, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel until the pain subsided as quickly as it had begun.
"Don, can you drive?" asked Brenda.
"Drive a Porsche? Oh God, Brenda, Mom doesn't even trust me to drive her car. But I could try it?"
"No need," said Dylan. "I'm good now. Let's go." He restarted the engine.
And that's R.E.M. with their newest hit, said the overly energetic voice that streamed from the radio. Stay tuned in for more smash hits, including U2, Nirvana, and new band The Cranberries, but first, in news today, seven nations have voiced support for President Gorbachev. Now we go to foreign correspondent Ronan Cassidy for an update. Cassidy comes to us straight from the G7 Summit in London, where he has secured an interview with Canadian Prime Minister Brian Mulroney.
"Prime Minister, I've heard talk that you visited Ireland before arriving in London. Is this true? My Gran's from there."
"Is she? Yes, my wife and I found the country most welcoming. I expect we'll return."
Dylan hurriedly flipped off the radio.
"So, Bren, tell me about your interview."
"You know about mine."
"I know about the end of it. Tell me how the rest went."
As Brenda went about telling him, Dylan wondered if the other Brenda's reason for relocating to Ireland had been because she, too, found the country most welcoming.
Or, more likely, found Monaghan to be.
xx
It was a day that had been like any other, with the exception of the sun that had escaped past the clouds to shine warmth on the little island showered in green.
"You've several new friend requests."
Placing her thumb as a makeshift bookmark into the page she read, she had glanced at the younger woman. "Who from?"
"Kelly MacDonald, Amy Adams; oh, here's one from Peter Capaldi."
"Dear Peter," she had said. Her attention diverted to the curling wand held by Ellie, her favorite hairstylist and longtime member of her entourage since her days as a little-known actress on the West End stage. "That's fine, Caoimhe. You may accept them all."
"Oh, and here's one from Beverly Hills!"
She had stiffened, vulcanizing until the armor of her person matched the texture of her novel. "Beverly Hills? Is it someone from the approved list?"
"No, but -"
"Then decline."
Fecking Beverly Hills.
"But love, they've quite a few mutuals with you -"
"If it's someone from Beverly Hills and they aren't on the approved list, then what have I asked you to do, Caoimhe?"
"Automatic decline," her social media coordinator had sighed.
"Please," she had added in a kinder tone. "Anyone I want to be friends with from my old life is likely already my friend."
"Even if Brandon's a mutual?"
"Brandon accepts friend requests from everyone he's ever met," she had said. "I try to limit it to people I know well."
"You might know them. Mr. Sanders is also a mutual. As is Mr. Silver."
Great, she had thought, Kelly wants to be Facebook friends.
Fuck you, Kelly. You didn't give a shit about me until I became famous. I haven't heard from you in years, and now you want to send a friend request?
"Go ahead and decline, Caoimhe."
"Don't you want to know who it is?"
"No need. Please decline."
"It's declined," Caoimhe had said with barely-disguised disapproval.
"Why do I need to have a Facebook again, Elle?" asked the actress, peering at her stylist through Ellie's mirrored reflection.
"Brenda, in your line of business, you must have a social media presence," said Ellie, a line Brenda Monaghan had heard from her friend more times than she had been able to keep track of. "Our world is -"
"- consumed by social media and if I want to stay relevant, I must be kind to fan and troll alike," Brenda quoted. "You know I'm only really on there to see the photos Steve posts of my Maddie."
"Speaking of Mr. Sanders, he's texted to ask if you'd be willing to fly out to California for David's birthday. He said it wouldn't have to be Beverly Hills." Brenda's assistant had held out her mobile to show the text.
"Tell Steve I'll consider it and get back to him. The twins should be about a month old by then. I suppose I can ask Connor if we could make a brief visit over there."
"Brenda, your husband would do anything for you," said her assistant, Roisin. "If ye asked Connor to move to California, he'd do it."
"No, I'm quite content where we are," Brenda had said, neglecting as always to mention her reasons for avoiding California. "Cork is Connor's home, and it's my home, too. Tell Steve to get a feel for where David wants to go. I'll pay for it."
"Steve says, and I quote, 'yeh're not paying for a damn thing, Brenda Walsh-Monaghan.'"
Aside from the yeh're, that sounded precisely like something Steve Sanders would say.
"I give you full permission to go as diva on Steve as possible until he gives in," she had said, moving around in her chair to try to get comfortable.
"You've about three months yet, Bren?" Caoimhe had asked.
"Yeah. Still three months to go."
"How does it feel?"
Wrong. It feels wrong.
Shut up. No, it doesn't.
Yes, it does. You should've never married Connor. You definitely shouldn't be having his kids. You know you still dream of another.
Would you stop? I'm happy with Connor. Extremely happy with Connor. I can't control my dreams. It doesn't mean I don't love my husband. This is all Val. She put these thoughts into my head when she questioned my marriage.
Some Maid of Honor.
It isn't Val's fault, Brenda. You know you could've been even happier.
You could've forgiven him.
You could've been together.
Like he was even interested.
We; scratch that, he burnt that bridge a long time ago. No use thinking about it now.
Connor was a good man, she argued.
He's my man, and I love him.
She did indeed love Connor Monaghan; a love that paled in comparison to a love she had once known.
But the love between her and Connor would never include another heartbreak, and that was crucial, for she had dealt with far too many of those in her thirty-six years of existence.
Then why did you stand there at the altar, imagining that he would crash your wedding?
I can't control my daydreams, either.
And he didn't, so it doesn't matter.
"Feels wonderful," Brenda had said. "Although I won't lie, Caoimhe; I've never ached so much in my life."
She had then been called to the set, effectively interrupting her ongoing lie.
It wasn't a lie. Brenda Monaghan had found joy within her life, a joy she had never expected to find again after a certain breakup in her old home of London.
She sometimes wondered if he dreamt of her, the way she dreamt of him.
He'd never tried to contact her. She hadn't had any reason to make the effort herself, not after the lies he had told that spread around the group until they made their way to her.
She didn't understand what she had done to make him hate her so.
The call came in at about three in the morning.
He never called at three in the morning.
"Brenda?" He sounded frantic.
"Steve?" She became concerned. "This better be good. You've interrupted my beauty sleep, and you know I need all the beauty sleep I can get."
Surely his call wasn't about the amount of Madeline pictures she had spent half the night scrolling through and commenting on.
"Bren, you don't need any beauty sleep. Has Dylan contacted you?" He cut right to the chase, which consequently cut straight into her.
"Steve," she whispered, tiptoeing to the bathroom so as to not wake Connor, "what the fu -"
"Yeah, I know," he interrupted, "you hate McKay and I'm not allowed to ever mention him in your presence, but Bren, this is serious. Has he called you?"
I don't hate him. I can't even begin to describe my conflicting feelings for Dylan McKay.
It's Dylan who hates me, and I still don't know why.
"Of course he hasn't called me."
"Texted you?"
"You bet, Steve. He totally just texted me for no fucking reason, just to say hey and pretend that he gives a damn."
"Excuse me for being concerned, Mrs. Sassypants. He missed Mads' game and he never misses Mads' games."
"Let me get this straight, Steve. You called me at three in the morning when I'm six months pregnant to tell me that the guy I haven't spoken to in fourteen years didn't show up to Mads' game?"
"You're bungling this, Steve," she heard. "Here, give it to me. Bren?"
"Hi, David. What the fuck is going on?"
"That's what we're trying to figure out. We're at Dylan's. All his stuff is here. His car's here, his bike's here, his board's here; he even has his laptop on and plugged in, but he's nowhere to be found. We were hoping he might've called you or Brandon."
"What makes you think he would've called me?"
"I can't tell her," David whispered.
"You gotta tell her," said Steve.
"How am I supposed to tell her?" asked David.
"Tell me what?" Brenda exploded in her frustration. "Honestly, boys; I have a long day ahead and this boulder supposedly known as my stomach is killing my feet, so I really do need to head back to bed -"
"Dylan's laptop was open to your Facebook page," David rushed out.
Brenda stopped examining her stretch marks in the mirror, the ones Connor tried to tell her were barely present, and instead focused on her mobile. "Wha - what?"
"Would seem he was looking at your Facebook," Steve said. "We thought he might've gone down memory lane and tried to call you."
Had she been mistaken? Had it been Dylan who sent the friend request Caoimhe had declined, instead of Kelly?
Surely not.
"No." Brenda now began to worry for a man she thought had left her behind in his past, as the girl he used to know. "Haven't had any calls from the 310, the 323, or the 424, except for ye lads."
"What about anything starting with a six? Maybe he called from Baja."
Baja.
The name invoked in her a sense of loss she hadn't considered in years.
It had been their place, the city they had planned to return to after he made it home from K2.
Fecking K2.
Baja had probably become Kelly's, just as everything else in Brenda's life had eventually become Kelly's.
"No, no sixes."
"If he does call, can you let us know immediately?" asked David urgently.
She assured them she would.
"And another thing," said Steve.
"There's something else?"
"Yeah. It's fucking bizarre, Bren. McKay's place looks like an earthquake hit it, but the rest of the neighborhood didn't have any impact."
"Then how do you know what was on his laptop?"
"Because the area around his armchair is the only thing that wasn't hit."
"That is bizarre."
"And there are empty bottles everywhere."
Of course there were.
"Okay," Brenda released in a shaky breath, "keep me - keep me updated. I can alert the press, if needed."
"You'd do that for us?"
"You know I would. I'll have Katie on the phone in a second."
"Did you just first-name Katie Couric?"
"Why, aren't you on a first-name basis with Katie Couric?"
"I could've been on a first-name basis with Katie Couric, if I hadn't become a devoted dad instead of the country's number one sports agent."
"Yeah, okay, Steve. Hanging up now. David, tell the kids I say hello."
"Will do, Bren."
"Hey!" said Steve. "What about my Mads?"
"Steve, I just sent a whole box of clothing to your Madeline from the new Reiss line. Don't you fret your closely-shaved little head."
"You're the greatest, Bren."
"I try, darling," she said, dragging out the last word.
Ending the call with the only people she still talked to from Beverly Hills, Brenda gripped both sides of the chilled porcelain sink.
Her mind wandered places it shouldn't, as a woman a mere few months into marriage with the man whose children she carried.
They had been friends for six years, dated for four years, and following a two-year engagement, had married in a grandiose wedding deemed the celebrity event of the year.
Yet, at that moment, it wasn't Connor Monaghan who crossed her mind.
"I wish we still talked, Dyl," she uttered. "Maybe then I would know if you're alright."
Pain streaked through her lower back, increasing in intensity until it became unbearable. A clanging began in her head, one raucous to the point that it drew both of her hands over her ears.
Surely Connor could hear the music, a symphony fortissimo.
She called out a name, without response.
She couldn't believe it.
Connor had been correct.
Fairies were not only real, as she had always believed; they were crafted of the brightest colors.
"Hello!" She waved excitedly. "Are you a fairy? You look like the fairies my mother-in-law told my husband about."
"Your husband?" asked the confused fairy. "I thought your husband was skeptical of fairies."
"No, my husband very much believes in fairies."
"That he does now, what with Itero allowing him to fix everything."
"Fix? What is he fixing?"
"Why, your lives, of course!"
"Fixing our lives? I thought he was fine with our lives the way they were."
She wondered if Connor had picked up on the uncertainty she had attempted to conceal.
"Oh no," said the fairy. "He hated how your lives were."
Hated? Connor hated being with her?
Perhaps he was a better actor than she had imagined.
"But why am I here?" asked Brenda.
"That's very simple, pet. You wished."
"I wished?"
"Yes, you wished, amongst glass. When you wish amongst glass, the light reflected on the glass picks up the wish, carries it to Dominus Luna, who passes it on to Domina Solis, who then alerts Eros, who disperses the wishes amongst us fairies. For most, it is an indulgence in spirits bottled in glass that does the trick. For you, it was -"
"The mirror," said Brenda. "I was standing in front of our mirror. Sorry, do you mean luna as in the moon? My wish was carried to the moon?"
"Indeed. And then; oh, what is the English equivalent? Is it the Sun?"
"My wish was carried to the moon and sun?"
"That it was, pet. It's most odd, for you seemed a bit torn on your wish. Most wishes, people carry in their hearts until it overpowers their brains. Yours was a half-wish. Half-wishes are rare, and in half-wishes, Eros grants us the power of a copy."
"A copy?"
The fairy flittered over to show Brenda that she stood bowled over in her bathroom, instead of a field covered with aromatic hyacinth that stretched on well beyond her viewpoint.
"What - what's happening to me?" Brenda asked, a sense of dread overcoming her.
The fairy shot a look full to the brim of sympathy.
"Am I correct in assuming you've recently received distressing news?"
"Yes, I did. Am I - am I losing my twins?" Brenda felt ill at the sight of her rapidly flattening abdomen, an illness greater than the entirety of her first trimester. "You - you can fix that, can't you? You can stop my mis - mis -"
She couldn't say the word, one that haunted mothers across the world and throughout time.
She wasn't the first and she wouldn't be the last to question why it had happened to her.
"I am only permitted the restoration of things to be the way they were intended," said the fairy.
"I don't understand," said Brenda. "My children weren't intended?"
"It was intended for you to be a mother, but not in this way. That is where the copy comes in. Has anything ever felt off about your life, as if someone else were living it?"
Brenda considered the question.
"I mean, yeah, but doesn't everyone feel like that?"
"Perhaps, but it is significantly different in your case. You see, pet, you're living a life that isn't yours."
"A life that isn't mine?" Brenda echoed.
"Indeed. You were supposed to have a different life. That's why your husband is fixing it and why I, Arís, was beckoned by the clouds. You, too, have the option of a rewrite."
Let me get this straight. While I'm about to lose both of our children on the fucking bathrooom floor, Connor is out there fixing our lives? A Connor copy is sleeping in my bed?
Fuck that.
Brenda refused to awaken to a life where her children were lost and the man she had wed didn't want her.
"Will I still have children in a rewrite? My career?"
"Indeed. It would simply require patience."
"Won't anyone realize it's a copy?"
"Your husband is the only one who holds a connection with you that is powerful enough to break the illusion."
Her faux husband, who would want her even less after the loss of their children.
Arís was undoubtedly part of a dream, one brought on by Steve's call. Brenda could agree to anything in a dream. The longer she remained in it, the longer the delay in dealing with her loss.
"I'm willing to try it."
"That's the spirit!" Arís smacked its wings together in an audience clap Brenda knew well. "Now, I have searched your heart and found two years you felt life began to head in the wrong direction: the year of nineteen hundred and ninety-three and that of nineteen hundred and ninety-eight. Which would you go back to, if given the opportunity?"
"Neither," said Brenda. "I would go back to 1992. Spring 1992, specifically."
"Close your eyes and imagine you are back in the springtime of nineteen hundred and ninety-two."
Brenda experienced a rush unlike any she had ever known and then heard the rhapsody of clomping hooves.
"Oh. Oh dear," Arís said behind her.
Opening her eyes, Brenda glanced at her surroundings.
"I'm still in Cork?" she asked. "How strange. I wasn't in Cork in 1992."
"When you thought of nineteen hundred and ninety-two," said Arís, "did you think of only that year?"
A myriad of thoughts had crossed Brenda's mind.
"Not exactly," she confessed. "I thought of 1992 and about leaving my home in Cork."
"Did you perhaps think of anything else?"
The last time she rode a horse. The first time she had seen Cork.
"Anything else?" asked Arís. "This is important, pet."
"Well, I may have briefly thought of the last movie my husband and I saw together." Brenda looked around. "Where are all the cars? Patrick Street is normally full of cars. I don't even see a bus."
The flag of Ireland that she had often noticed on one of the buildings above was also missing.
As were several of the shops.
"So you thought of Cork and the last movie you saw? Did this movie take place in the year of nineteen hundred and ninety-two?"
"No." Brenda began to inwardly panic. "It didn't."
"This is quite the conundrum," said Arís. "You see, we fairies are not permitted to move anyone again until the task is completed by the other half of their soul. As it was not you who began the task, this means you must remain here until your husband completes his."
"Where is 'here,' exactly?" said Brenda.
"Why, Cork, of course. But we've hit a bit of a snag, I'm afraid. We should have either been brought to the Cork of your preferred year, to allow you to catch a plane to Beverly Hills, or to Beverly Hills directly. The issue here, you see, is that Beverly Hills does not yet exist."
A sandstorm exploded in Brenda's chest.
"What do you mean, Beverly Hills does not yet exist?"
Arís pointed to a woman handing out a packet of papers.
A woman dressed in far too much clothing for a nice summer day.
"Ladies' Land League seeking volunteers!" she said in a thick Cork accent.
"Oh, to hell with the lot of ye," called out an older gentleman. "Go home and skin a chicken. A woman's place is in the kitchen."
A gentleman who appeared to be equivalent in age argued against the first man's statement that, as a child of the seventies, a teen of the nineties and a woman of the twenty-first century, Brenda thought most chauvinistic.
Ignoring the man with the improper decorum who would have been cursed out by Valerie Malone with nary a second's hesitation, Brenda walked around in a circle to take stock of her surroundings.
"Pardon me." She halted a woman in a long calico dress with an abundance of layers. "Has Council put on a costume ball?"
The words had come from her lips, but it was not Brenda's voice that spoke. Rather than her American voice edged slightly in an odd mix of Corkonian and North London, the voice she heard then sounded entirely Corkonian.
"A costume ball?" asked the woman, shying away from Brenda. "What are you on about? A costume ball," she told her companion, "can you imagine? As if we have the means for such frivolity."
Brenda snatched a newspaper from a passerby.
"Why, I never," huffed the passerby in an accent that was distinctly not Corkonian.
She skimmed down the page of ridiculously small print, searching for an answer amidst the advertisements that bizarrely took precedence on the front page and articles that Brandon would have torn into due to their lack of quotes.
Horrified upon closer inspection of the date, Brenda looked towards Arís.
"There's no way out of this?" She felt assured that no one could hear her conversation with a fairy whilst the world currently lagged, frozen around them.
"Not until your husband follows through," said Arís. "I am sorry, pet, but Eros doesn't accept any exceptions, and the gateway has closed. I must go now."
"This is a dream, isn't it? I can just wake up?"
"Well, that depends."
"On?"
"On if you believe fairies can turn back the hands of time."
"Fucking Connor," said Brenda, but the first word exited her lips as another word entirely.
"Wait, I can't curse?" she asked.
"Perhaps amongst certain company," said Arís. "You wouldn't want other company to think you uncouth. That could have grave consequences. Who's Connor?"
"Don't you know? Connor's my wanker of a husband who got me into this mess."
"How odd." Arís began to fade into a world unseen by the human eye. "I thought your husband's name began with a D. Perhaps my Novelese is out of practice, though I do translate it far better than Itero."
Dylan.
Fuck, what had she done?
For that matter, what the hell kind of task had Dylan supposedly taken on? Had that been the reason for his disappearance?
Furthermore, why on earth did the fairies believe him to be her husband?
If Dylan was the only one who could see through the copy, then what did that say about Brenda's bond with Brandon, or with Connor?
Perhaps Arís was incorrect. Perhaps both would notice.
If they didn't, surely Valerie would.
A block of print in the newspaper Brenda still held caught her eye.
Proud son of Cork, our good Captain Mr Diolún McKay, has returned from travels abroad. Mr McKay has claimed that America's new Ellis Island Immigration Centre, which saw the entrance of our dear Annie Moore of Cobh, is an attempt at curbing the flow of immigration into America.
Mr McKay stated that American potatoes leave much to be desired.
Mr McKay — But me men were delighted by the food and libation we received from the people of America. Me men will continue to fight for the Unionist cause until the good people of Ireland will no longer quiver in their own homes and their crops will be prosperous once again. As sure as I've still got energy in me bones, this country will not lose more of our own to America.
Asked if Mr McKay found the treasure he sought upon his decision to sail to America, Mr McKay grew sullen and yelled to vacate the premises before he called out his dogs, who are known for the unfortunate evisceration of the town butcher's pet rabbits.
Oh. My. Fecking. Hell.
She was in a ninety-two, alright.
A ninety-two one hundred years too early, where there evidently lived a Corkman by the Gaelic name of the ex who had somehow managed to find a way to intervene in her marriage without personal interaction.
Maybe she'd been wrong.
Maybe she did hate him, after all.
"Lord have mercy! Brenda? Brenda Walsham, is that you?"
She was shoved into a bosom that seemed thick with padding.
"Diolún searched all over America for you! We'd begun to think your family had been diverted over to Australia, we did. Come along now; you'll catch your death in this thin frock! Don't they clothe you properly in America?"
Brenda's long maternity nightgown swallowed her, hunting for curves that Arís had implied would no longer be on her person.
When the woman withdrew, Brenda found herself staring into the eyes she had once seen etched into a drawing hung up at her grandmother's house after it had been unearthed from amongst her late grandfather's possessions.
Distinctive eyes, similar in color to hers.
The eyes of her great-great-great grandmother.
The woman whose mysterious, unsolved murder served as the catalyst for the Walsh family's immigration to America at the turn of the twentieth century.
"By God, you're bleeding," said the woman who appeared to straddle the line between late twenties and early thirties. "Come, come, we'll have the good doctor fix you up and then we can go see Diolún. He's going to be delighted you've returned. He's been ever so lost without you."
Brenda looked down, queasiness infiltrating at the growing stain on her nightgown. She wondered if her miscarriage had followed her, and if it would be of both twins.
Was it too much to hope that Arís had been permitted to save at least one?
Her husband was fixing things. Arís mistakenly believed Dylan to be that husband. Dylan was fixing things? Why? How?
She sent a silent apology towards Connor, whose grandparents were not yet a glimmer in their own parents' eyes.
Dylan Michael McKay, Brenda decided, ought to have a damn good excuse for what the fuck he had yearned to fix that had resulted in her stranglehold by the nineteenth century and her unwarranted ire with her real husband.
Keeling over against the future Mrs. Nuala Walsh's comforting chest, Brenda worried over both the possibility of her completed miscarriage or, if she was slightly lucky, unwed motherhood in said century.
Whatever Dylan was up to better be worth the fuckup he had made of her life, yet again.
-x
Historical fiction and time travel are my two most beloved genres (can you tell?) The focus will largely remain on Dylan's storyline, but I'm quite intrigued by Bren's, as well.
Itero just received its first comment on AO3, which was a wonderful surprise.
Guest: Ha, Reina is certainly not gaining himself any fans.
honeysitdown: Love that idea and may end up using it. Absolutely; Dylan's change in attitude is certainly affecting the others (ie: David's dynamic with Scott, which always seemed to happen the way it did just so the writers could kill off Scott.) I love the Ashes and despise the way they were treated in canon and off-screen, so I'm sure they'll be popping up more in this story than they did in the series. I'm unsure, however, whether Robinson will play half as much of a role as he does in Seven.
Shout-out to The Project Gutenberg's PDF of James Joyce's The Dubliners, which was examined to craft what is hopefully realistic language for the time period and has now become number one on the to-read list (having just been purchased.)
Additional shout-out to: the website for the History Channel, The Irish Times, Maclean's and especially the extensive archive of British and Irish newspapers stretching over two hundred years: The BNA. Though a subscription is required to view more than three articles on the latter, it is certainly well-worth it for you historians and writers out there, both professional and amateur.
As always, thanks a million for the readership, reviews, follows, favourites, alerts, discourse, plot ideas, etc. Stay healthy and safe out there. x