"I really want you to be here, Bren. I know I can get through all of this if you were with me."
And there they were. She had spent the better part of a year waiting for these words, for the sentiment behind them. Months of cool indifference on his part. The months before those, full of hedging and subtle but distinct steps backward. But instead of filling her with lightness and relief, hearing those words deposited a new weight on her shoulders.
"I know. I'll call you later," she responded quietly, well aware that she had an audience for the call.
Brenda replaced the phone on its cradle and tried to walk out of the kitchen without attracting any attention but her father had other ideas. Although he had lost much of the animosity in his tone since last summer, the sentiments themselves remained. Assurances that he's only trying to protect her. A plea for her to see things from his perspective. And, when she remained unmoved, an official restriction on her movements for the evening. Not one to do anything halfway, Jim Walsh threw in a few stern 'young lady's throughout.
But as Brenda ascended the steps in the Spanish-style family home, entered her bedroom, and took a seat on her window seat - she was oddly numb. No, not numb, but struck dumb. Hearing her ex say those words to her had failed to elicit anything but unease from her gut. Dylan McKay had had many effects on her, but aversion was new. Her head may have gone through the motions of putting up a fight to her father, but her heart wasn't into it.
The phone rang a few minutes later - her best friend, well, ex-best friend, current regular friend? Potential nemesis? Kelly Taylor was on the line, asking whether she wanted a ride to the Bel-Age Hotel if Brandon couldn't get away from work.
Brenda laughed internally at Kelly's confusion that Brenda's twin was, in fact, still working until 10PM, despite the last minute party invitation. Three years of friendship and these Beverly Hills kids still had no idea what working a shift entailed; that you couldn't just walk out a few hours in because you received a better offer of how to spend the evening. Instead she mindlessly agreed that it was "totally unfair" of Nat Buscemi to force Brandon to finish out the night. She had long since stopped trying to educate anyone as to how the real world worked.
"Thanks for the offer, Kelly, but I'm on lockdown tonight."
"Really? What's Jim's reason today?" Upon hearing that her brunette best friend wouldn't be attending, Kelly threw the more demure white dress she had in hand back on her bed and picked up the lacy red one instead.
"You know, Jack's reputation, the prison time, now my father is even convinced that he's got mob ties - can you believe it?" Brenda walked a familiar path in her bedroom, from the head of her bed, past the vanity, to the wall of pictures. Pause to look at a random one. Turn right, up the other side of the bed. Collapse on the window seat or turn around and repeat the process.
"You're kidding! Maybe I'll ask him whether these mob ties can knock some sense into my stepfather."
Brenda knew this trick - Kelly was making light of something that was obviously weighing heavily in her mind. Most people thought she just had a strange sense of humor; Kelly's other best friend, Donna, occasionally realized that the jokes were her way of bringing up something painful without making herself vulnerable. Brenda always knew when Kelly was trying to bury her pain, sometimes before Kelly herself did. She decided to try to broach the subject, even though her own mind was grappling with something too big for her to even name at this point.
"It's that bad, huh? Do you think this is it?" The 'it' being, of course, divorce.
Kelly sighed. She had brought up the subject on purpose and was relieved that Brenda would still ask her about it but she didn't actually want to talk about it. She finished applying her mascara in the mirror, straightened up, and responded.
"No. I mean, yes, they're probably over. But it's not too bad. I have David and Erin now and my mom isn't…you know. I'll be fine, I shouldn't have brought it up."
Kelly knew Brenda had a lot on her mind, she sounded distracted, but she still stopped her own train of thought to check on Kelly. That's how Kelly knew that the sweet Midwesterner was still her best friend.
"I've got to run. Shall I send Dylan your regards?"
Brenda stopped staring out the window and resumed her walk to the wall of pictures. She stopped in front of one in particular and responded distractedly, "No, thanks, I said I would call him back. Have fun, Kel."
She didn't stop to hear if the blonde responded before she hung up the cordless. Her feet were planted in front of the picture. Her eyes ran over every part of it a dozen times - the blinding smile on her face, the crinkling eyes of the beaming man in the picture. Something clicked into place in her head and she continued staring at the photograph long after she stopped seeing it.
Eventually, she replaced the phone on the cradle and began getting ready.
Brenda made her way downstairs with a clear mind. It was the first time she had felt such clarity since…she couldn't even recall. She had spent the last six months in limbo - in love with a boy who wanted to date her best friend while retaining her as his best friend. Or perhaps he wanted to date them both? Her world had stopped making sense long ago and she had resorted to ignoring the most painful parts in order to maintain any semblance of a relationship with her best friend and ex-boyfriend.
There was a distinct voice in her mind (one with a slightly midwestern lilt) that examined situations critically and held a firm moral code. One that didn't generally allow for people to get away with actions that harmed her and the people she loved. That corn-fed part of herself was sitting up and smiling blearily this evening; finally allowed to rouse after months of forced hibernation.
She got to the bottom of the stairs and turned toward the family room where her parents were watching television. She paused on the step leading into it. When her parents looked up to see her, she saw the familiar view of disappointment and anger, along with a distinct tiredness. Her father began to ask something belligerent but she spoke quickly and firmly.
"Dad, I've been thinking. Dylan said this was an important night for his father. I assume some of his old business contacts will be there. I know you don't have any interest in working with Jack McKay, but you can't deny that he was at the center of the L.A. business scene. He also will probably be assuming some role in Dylan's financial portfolio; I imagine you'll be working with the both of them moving forward. I think we should both go to the party. You don't want to get off on the wrong foot with a potential client."
Her father had sat through her flimsy speech and when she was finished, he almost felt sorry for her. She was clearly grasping at straws if she thought that sort of reasoning would get her to the party.
"Brenda, you seriously expect me to believe that you have suddenly developed an interest in my professional network?"
To her parents' surprise, she gave an abashed smirk, one usually reserved for a mild deception or mischievousness.
"Well, no, not really. I mean I do think you may be working with him in the future but - the truth is…" She paused. "I need to go tonight. And I want you with me. See I…need to tell Dylan some things and…I doubt I will want to stay for very long once I've said them." Throughout her speech her eyes had begun to glisten and her voice to waver.
Both Jim and Cindy raised their eyebrows in surprise at her words. Jim, ever a sucker for his daughter's tears, gave a resigned sigh. He glanced at Cindy and one look into her eyes told him that she agreed. He rose from the couch, kissing his wife of 19 years on the head, and saying to his daughter, "Well then, I guess I will need to put on a suit. Excuse me."
As Jim left the room, Brenda took a deep shaky breath. She smiled wistfully at her mother who had turned off the television to focus on her youngest child.
"Do you want to talk about it, honey?"
Brenda took another breath, this one more fortifying, and replied, "Thanks, but not yet. I want to do it before I can overthink it too much."
Cindy nodded in understanding and then looked at the sleek black dress her daughter had chosen for the evening. She recalled buying that with Brenda last month and saw that her daughter had followed her advice about putting up her long hair up so that the neckline of the dress could be appreciated. The long-sleeved dress, while understated, was form-fitting and unlikely to be forgotten.
Brenda and Jim left a few minutes later and Cindy retreated to the kitchen to keep her hands busy as her mind raced. She had always had a soft spot for Dylan McKay and his pierced ear and motorcycle. At the start, before he began dating her daughter, everyone else was unsure that he would ever find a place amongst the clean cut Walsh family. He disguised his insecurity as nonchalance, much to Jim's chagrin, but she saw through those layers of indifference.
During those early days, he didn't seem to trust the way she welcomed him into their home or greeted her kids warmly after school. Once he grasped that this wasn't a public face but their actual family dynamics, the suspicion in his eyes faded. The Walshes weren't perfect but they were consistent.
As a stay-at-home mother, Cindy had met dozens of her kids' friends over the years. Some of them were lonely, benefitting from a compassionate ear as they ranted about whatever injustice had ruined their life that week; a couple had even been a bit ragged, benefitting from a warm, home-cooked meal every week; but most were just hungry teenagers - their eyes zeroing in on the fridge or whatever spread she had out the moment they walked in the door.
Dylan had never been that kind of teenager. His eyes, when not focused on her daughter, had sought out her smile, responding with boyish grins and, eventually, bracing hugs. And his eyes were always searching hers as if to say, "Do you mean it today?"
That was Dylan's hunger - hunger for warmth, for a parent who was happy to see him. You would be hard-pressed to find a mother who could turn away a boy wanting for something so basic who had no one else to turn to for it.
With lunches packed and her kitchen clean, Cindy turned out the lights downstairs and headed up to her bedroom. She couldn't blame Brenda for wanting out of the situation with Dylan - goodness, Cindy couldn't even call it a relationship anymore. But Cindy knew that, whatever happened, Dylan McKay would have an advocate in this home, Casa Walsh, as he had affectionately dubbed it. And she could only hope her daughter would understand.