I do not own Bates Motel.
But, in some ways, I do own a Dylan. And I love him so much.
Yeah, Whatever
All of Everything
Dylan and Will didn't exactly fight over the ultrasound pictures.
"Are you kidding? Any student who doesn't 'ooh' and 'ahh' over pictures of my unborn granddaughter will automatically fail Victorian literature. No heart, yeah?"
"Ha, okay."
The child was, after all, biologically Dylan's.
And Emma's.
Who was biologically Will's.
So he did get to proudly show off his fair share.
As did Emma.
Who also got to show off the belly.
It started off small and little and round.
And grew and grew and grew, eventually . . .
"Dylan, look! I'm huge!"
. . .seeming to overwhelm her petite figure.
He grinned.
"You look awesome."
She grinned, shaking her head a little.
"You always say that."
Dylan Massett carefully wrapped his beloved wife up in his arms.
"You always do."
"Hang on-"
"Hang on-"
"Just a minute-"
"Be right back-"
"Okay. What were you saying?"
Immunosuppressants can be hard on the kidneys.
Kidneys.
Those amazing little organs that already work so hard all the time.
Balancing bases and acids and electrolytes.
Removing water.
Producing red blood cells.
Removing toxins.
Controlling blood pressure.
Activating vitamin D.
Working, working, working.
All the time without pause or hesitancy or vacation.
Amd along comes pregnancy to compound the workload.
The best thing for those kidneys?
Water, lots of water.
Copious, copious amounts of water.
And Emma Decody Massett, having survived nearly twenty years fighting to breathe and going through double lung transplant hell and back, wasn't going to risk those lungs or any other functional organ or her baby's wellbeing by not giving her body exactly what it needed.
All that water.
She drank almost all the time.
Sipping here and there.
Flavored water.
Fruit infused water.
Hot water in tea.
Cold water with ice.
Plain water straight from the tap.
Emma Decody Massett drank.
And urinated.
"Hang on, before we go . . ."
". . . the movie, I'll be right back . . ."
". . . restroom in this store?"
Sometimes just watching her drink all that water made Dylan need to pee.
Dylan, who was neither pregnant nor drinking a gallon of water every single day.
"Okay, I think I'm r-"
"Yeah, hang on."
"But then I'll have to go again and we'll never leave the house!"
Against all odds, they still managed it.
"Dylan, I'm tired. Can we just order in?"
"Yeah, sure."
Enough of the time anyway.
Emma Decody Massett was six months pregnant and glowing.
Well, not literally glowing.
That would have been medically concerning.
But she was extremely bouyant and giddy and happy.
She was pregnant.
Cystic fibrosis free.
And pregnant.
She smiled all the time.
She ate ALL the time.
She had a little round belly and the biggest boobs of her life.
And an even bigger smile.
All the time.
She was living and breathing and beating the odds of every single statistic ever set against her.
Absent mother.
Terminal illness.
High risk pregnancy.
She was showing them all.
Living in the sun.
Living.
And breathing.
And Dylan Massett loved her.
She's amazing. She's so amazing.
I don't know how she does it.
But she's amazing.
He loved Emma.
And he loved their baby.
That baby, that tiny, little, perfectly formed, according to the ultrasounds . . .
"Did she just wave?"
"Looked like it, didn't it, Mr. Massett?"
Wow.
. . . that perfect, precious, little baby that was so strong and tough.
And so vulnerable and so precious.
Just like her mother.
Emma.
Who talked to her little belly.
Rubbed her little belly.
Waiting.
Wishing.
Dreaming.
Wanting.
To be a mother to the baby growing inside her.
So much.
Just to be a mother.
Mother.
Mother.
Pregnancy tends to make impending mommies nostalgic.
And Emma Decody, tender hearted and wanting to believe the best in everyone, was no exception.
"You know, I know we've walked away and everything and I support that . . ."
Something was clearly on her mind.
". . . but sometimes I miss Norma."
Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones.
"I know she's crazy and messed up . . ."
Maybe it was the holiday season.
". . . but she was always so nice to me."
Maybe it was the psychology class she was taking.
"And I can't help thinking she would be so excited . . ."
Or maybe it was just life with its ebbs and flows.
". . . about this baby."
Whatever it was . . .
Shit.
. . . Dylan didn't like it.
And he could list several reasons why.
Well, one, she was never nice to me unless she wanted something. Or had already gotten something.
Two, she was probably manipulating you because you're innocent and good and vulnerable.
Oh, and three, Norman might have done something to your m- Audrey.
He tried to stay casual, fighting the instant sick churn of his stomach.
And shrugged noncommittally.
"Yeah. Maybe."
She tilted her head at his unenthusiastic, mumbling tone.
As he pretended not to avidly not fidget.
And finally . . .
Come on, you're a liar and cheat. But be healthy right now anyway.
He turned and looked her.
Because that's what they did.
And spoke as honestly as he could.
Because that was what they did.
"I'm happy with things the way they are now."
And tried to smile.
Felt like he failed miserably.
Believe it.
Please.
I don't want to hurt you.
And I don't know for sure.
I don't want to hurt you.
It might be true.
Please.
And Emma seemed to study the shaggy beige rug at their feet.
Then looked up and smiled warmly, dimples perfect.
"Me too."
Dylan breathed a sigh of relief.
And Emma's eyes lit up.
"What's for supper? I'm starving!"
Dylan could not have been less hungry.
But he went to the bathroom, chewed two antacids.
And stared at himself in the mirror.
How long? How long will I keep this secret about her mother?
Forever.
I'll lie forever.
I don't know for sure.
She might be okay.
Then he left his empty eyed self in the silently judging mirror.
You're a liar.
Yeah. I know.
And went to supper.
"Hey, Dad made shepard's pie!"
"Little taste of the old homeland, eh?"
"Cool."
The bad thoughts went away after a while.
They always did.
Not because Dylan Massett was a bad person and didn't care.
But because he was a busy person.
Work happened.
"Hey, Dylan, see what you can do to convince Pine Coast Ale, okay?"
"Yeah, sure."
Friends happened.
"Hey, man, seriously, thanks for helping me work on the truck today."
"Yeah, sure, no problem."
Babies happened.
"Dylan! I felt her kick!"
"Seriously?!"
"Yeah! Here. Give me your hand."
And there she was.
Little Katie.
Some part of her anyway.
Pushing against her daddy's palm.
And Dylan . . .
"Wow . . . I can feel it!"
. . . forget everything else for a while.
Wow.
And Dylan's entire existence would narrow down to a point where nothing else existed for him.
Not because he was a bad person and didn't care.
But because his wife and his unborn child were all of everything to him.
"I love you, Emma."
"I love you, Dylan."
"And we love you, Katie."
"Yes, we do."
Thanks to the silent readers of this story! I appreciate you! :D