I do not own Bates Motel.
But, in some ways, I do own a Dylan. And I love him so much.
Yeah, Whatever
About Those Brownies
Nobody was at the cabin when he drove up the dirt road to it.
Parked the truck.
Jumped out.
And stood in the quiet stillness.
The air seemed fresher out here. Cleaner.
The cabin wasn't much.
A big room where they cared for and nurtured their crop.
A smaller room with a couple of cots. A rickety end table holding an ashtray full of half smoked butts.
Not mine anymore.
I quit.
I could chew a tree trunk right now though.
A minimally functional bathroom.
The roof needed reshingling.
And there was no WiFi.
But Dylan Massett liked it.
Gunner's jeep was gone and unless Chick was sulking somewhere in the treeline, reciting poetry or waxing philosophical about the flight migrations of spotted towhees, nobody else was around.
So he was alone.
He needed to check the plants inside so he walked the length of the clapboard porch, heading toward the door.
Feeling exhausted and drained and depressed about Caleb.
He guessed he still hadn't processed almost being killed. That would probably come back to get him sometime.
But better even so.
Will had the money now to bump Emma up the transplant list.
Get her new lungs, set her free.
Unleash her on the world.
She would be okay now.
He hoped.
Everything else didn't matter as much right then.
He would figure it out later.
So, walking, he smiled.
Thinking of her.
Emma.
And stopped.
Arranged invitingly on the round, weatherbeaten table at the end of the porch nearest to the lake were three items that had not been there when he had left for Canada three days ago.
Wildflowers in a Mason jar.
A Tupperware container.
And a folded piece of notebook paper between the other two items.
Curious and already knowing they were from her . . .
Or Chick just rounded a whole other level of Creepozoid.
. . . he sat himself down in the chair facing the table.
And unfolded the paper.
Hey Dylan,
The flowers are to remind you that there is always some beauty in the world.
The brownies are to remind you that little things in life can be sweet.
Call me when you get back. I want to see you.
You're a good person, Dylan. I care about you.
Love,
Emma
Dylan's heart swelled and his chest felt full to the brim.
He lifted his eyes to stare out over the serene, misty lake vista.
A little secret smile softening his usually grim expression.
She cares. About me.
She wrote me a note.
Made me brownies.
She left me flowers.
He'd had his fair share of girls.
Some of them were nice.
Some weren't.
And some were somewhere in between.
None of them were what you would call stable and permanent.
And Emma might not be permanent either.
If he screwed up.
Or if something happened to her.
But she was completely different.
She was everything hopeful and sweet and kind and strong.
And he really, really liked her.
I think she likes me too.
He sat there a minute longer, wondering when she'd taken the time to do this.
Before he called her from the truckstop? After?
Does this mean she broke up with Norman?
Or she's just being nice because she feels sorry for me?
He looked down at the paper again.
I love her swirly handwriting.
Then he folded the note and put it in his inside jacket pocket for safekeeping.
Later reading.
Then he turned his attention to the plastic container.
Pried off the red top.
And beheld them.
Homemade brownies.
Oh man, that looks good.
And they were good too. Delicious.
Still moist.
Mmm, double fudge walnut.
He ate one, slowly. Savoring it. Indulging.
She made me brownies.
She brought me flowers.
She wrote me a note.
He stayed there a few minutes, surrounded by the simple, heartfelt encouragements of the dying girl with CF.
The one who could barely breathe.
But was taking care of him.
With brownies. And flowers.
And notes.
Just because she wanted to.
Then he gathered himself back together again.
Closing the Tupperware box, resolving to share them later with people he came across.
Hey, my girlfr-, this girl I know made them.
Good, huh?
He unashamedly left the wildflowers on the table because they looked nice there. Made the place homey and hopeful in a way Norma's Borrowed House of Hellfire and Lacy Doilies never could.
And put the rest of the chocolatey goodness in his truck.
Oh Emma. You are awesome.
Mmm, brownies.
Mmm, romance brownies.