I do not own Bates Motel.
But, in some ways, I do own a Dylan. And I love him so much.
Yeah, Whatever
Not Being a Bates
"So, Mattie in my psych intro class, you know, the one with the nose ring . . ."
Emma loved to meet people.
Talk to them.
Chat.
Get the downlow.
She met new people all the time at college.
In the grocery store.
On the street.
Emma Decody could make friends with a fence post.
A tilted, splintered, cranky fencepost.
They were drawn to her.
Her bright, energetic, warm fire.
People, not fenceposts.
She met new people all the time.
". . . throws her kiwi at Lani and it went right into her hummus . . ."
And Dylan was happy for her.
The girls were nice.
The guys were too.
And sometimes he fleetingly worried if one of them would sweep her off her feet and take her away from him.
Although . . .
"Come here, Dylan, I need a hug."
. . . he supposed that was just the result of years and years of deep seated paranoia and abandonment talking.
Emma was completely trustworthy.
It was Dylan that was the dysfunctional one, not Emma.
And he was trying to make himself better.
He worked at it everyday.
And one way to work at it was to learn to trust Emma Decody.
Trust that whatever she said, she meant.
Which took some time.
But Dylan was determined.
"So, uh, Jackson is a pretty good guy then?"
Trying to sound casual.
Unconcerned.
Supportive in his girlfriend's collegiate experiences.
"Sure," Emma'd shrug. "But nothing compared to you."
And then she'd wrap her arms around him and hug him and kiss him.
And he would learn to trust her a little bit more.
"Dylan, you need to get out. Have fun. Enjoy your life."
He stared at her blankly.
"I do enjoy my life."
Emma shook her head.
"I mean out there in the world. With people. Other people."
He shifted, feeling anxious.
"Oh, um, okay."
Dylan had always been moderately outgoing. Social.
Good at figuring out how to make people like him.
Fit in.
Be accepted.
Because his family sure as hell wasn't going to accept him.
And other people would fill the emptiness his family had left in him.
Now that he had Emma, he didn't have any more emptiness.
And he didn't want to lose her.
So sometimes he kind of . . .
"Hey, Dylan, want to go out for a beer?"
"No, thanks. Gotta get home."
. . . forgot about other people.
In favor of the only one who really mattered.
And Emma, of course, saw right through him.
Putting her delicate, strong hands on his shoulders, looking up at him with an expression of patience and only slight irritation.
"No, Dylan, I mean you need to make friends. Have other people your life other than just me and Dad."
He still stood, feeling anxious and suddenly without anchor.
"When Dad and I are still at school, don't just sit around here waiting for us. Go out. Do something fun."
She leaned closer, both solemn and challenging.
"Come on, you don't want to make me the Norma to your Norman, do you?"
Ugh, oh god, no.
And, point taken.
And, just so you know, probably never going to have sex again.
Like, ever.
. . .
Oh okay, who am I kidding? Come here.
And so, upon Emma's encouragement, Dylan tried to be less socially constrained.
"Hey, man, we're going for a beer after work. Want to come?"
"Sure. Let me grab my jacket."
"Cool."
And he did like it.
Not the beer so much, for he never took more than a sip or two.
I am not sloshing home to Emma. Oh god, no.
But the company.
" . . . and I said, no, man. Escalator not elevator."
And the hot wings weren't too bad either.
"Alright, so who's your team?"
"Uh, who's playing?"
"Whoever, man.
"Ha, okay. Let's see . . ."
Short and sweet little chap here.
Hope you enjoy!
Thank you, Lana Brown. You never seem to get bored of this story no matter how long it goes on. I really appreciate that!
More sweet stuff on the way!