Theirs were not conventional jobs - flexible hours that initially allowed for quality time together in the summers, usually at the old Silver cabin that David couldn't fathom selling.
That was before; before Madeline's summer camps, Donna's increased summer workload, the Silver kids' various summer programs, David's financial troubles as he unsuccessfully fought to give his family the lifestyle that would satisfy the aged Felice Martin.
Summers had become rather lonely once they had hit their mid-thirties.
In the new lazy days of summer nineteen hundred and ninety-one, the gang hung out as much as humanly possible.
Steve played football on the beach, began dating Stacey Jacobson, and talked about becoming a lifeguard. Kelly held a permanent glare on both Steve and Stacey, working on her tan as she pretended to the other girls that she didn't care one iota what Steve did or didn't do. Attempting nonchalance about Stacey's new relationship, Brandon started talking to Kelly more, which Dylan noticed Stacey quickly picked up on.
As July drew to a close and August arrived, the four individuals involved in the summer drama class were seen less and less. Dylan offered Brenda frequent rides home, just so that he could spend a bit of time with her before curfew ended her day.
He hadn't anticipated sharing Brenda with rehearsals whilst they were still teenagers. He had, however, become accustomed to doing so in London and therefore handled Brenda's hectic schedule quite well.
The main issue was Reina.
Brenda saw Reina for hours at a time on every day of the week, which Dylan had to constantly remind himself was due solely to their amount of rehearsals. Chris Suiter had increased those tenfold after talk spread from elite family to elite family that Emilio Reina would be a lead in a summer production, alongside Jim Walsh's daughter; Jim Walsh, is that the new accountant handling Andy's finances? The one who moved from Minnesota?
Yes, that's the one. Donna Martin will also be in the production.
Little Donna Martin, Felice's daughter? Does Felice know her daughter will be in a performance? I honestly never believed she allowed her out of the house.
It is a shock; isn't it?
Dylan had carried on with his shopping, ducking out of the gossiping women's view before they could see him and turn their attention to Oh dear, there's Jack's son. What a pity such a lovely boy became a delinquent.
Dammit. They had seen him anyway.
A delinquent?
Oh, Marilyn, didn't you hear of the time Dylan McKay stole a car?
Not at all, Evelyn. Do tell.
None of it was ever true, but after years of the same idle gossip, he thought it unimportant to correct.
And his mother. Marilyn, wait until you hear about his mother. Iris McKay has truly gone off of her rocker.
Dylan spun on his heel.
"What do you have to say about my mother?" he barked.
The woman he assumed to be Marilyn withered under his bristling stare.
Not to be called out, Evelyn asked how Jack fared.
"How do you think he fares?" said Dylan. "Must be better than my mother who - what was that you said? Has gone off her rocker?"
"Iris McKay, living on a pineapple mountain? Convening with the spirits? They have a word for that, you know," said Evelyn haughtily.
"They also have a word for someone like you."
Two pairs of arms grabbed hold of him before he could share what word screamed in his mind.
"Excuse us," said Nat, walking Dylan away whilst Brandon grabbed the cart.
"What gives other people the right to judge my family?" Dylan asked Nat the question he'd always yearned to ask someone.
"Nothing," said Nat. "No one has the right to judge anyone. But you can't start yelling at a woman in a market, either. Especially a local market that sources half of my supply for the diner."
"I hate people like that, Nat. They've said things about my parents for my entire life, always making it out that Iris chose to leave me and she was responsible for Jack's choices. I'm sick of it."
He didn't care that he wasn't supposed to yet know the truth about Iris' so-called abandonment.
"My mother was in no way responsible for what my father became."
"They don't know your mother, Dylan. They only knew who she was as Jack's wife. I knew Iris McKay before she became a McKay, the person she was outside of being Jack's wife."
He was startled by Nat's shaky voice. "You and my mom?" Dylan asked, stumbling on the words.
"No, no, nothing like that. Your mom was a close friend of my ex's sister."
"Nat, you had an ex?" asked Brandon in his own shock.
"How old do you think I am, Brando?"
"You really want me to answer that?"
Nat decided that he didn't.
"Should we call Iris?" Nat asked instead as Dylan grabbed hold of the cart. "See if she'll come out here?"
"Can we?" asked Dylan, anxious for Iris to meet Brenda and share with Dylan the truth he already knew.
"Sure. Your seventeenth's gonna be here soon enough. Maybe Iris can fly out for that."
His seventeenth. The year it all went wrong.
"Or before that," said Dylan, wishing he could stay sixteen forever.
The downside to that was all the experiences he would miss with Brenda, and therefore, he reluctantly accepted aging.
"Hey, bro, Bren's gonna be outside waiting." Brandon pointed to his watch, causing Dylan to mentally swear. "Want me to pick her up, instead?"
"No. I've got this. Nat?"
"Go get your girl, McKay." Nat took the cart.
And Dylan raced off, tossing a Catch you later, Walsh over his shoulder.
Of course fucking Reina stood, waiting with her.
David and Donna were also with her, but that wasn't the point.
Catching sight of him, Brenda waved at the others and skipped over to the Porsche.
"How's old Shakes?" asked Dylan, reaching over to open the door.
"Lyrical."
"Not surprising. And Suiter?"
"Really nervous."
"Really nervous?"
She strapped on her seatbelt.
"He didn't realize he'd cast kids with some impressive connections who all want to see this performance. Doesn't help that Steve told his parents, who told their friends and they all apparently know the Reinas."
"You've got some impressive connections yourself." Dylan helped to adjust Brenda's seatbelt with an intentional brush of his hand against her neck. "Jim knows several high rollers."
"Brandon tells me you had a run-in with two of those high rollers."
She had to have been talking about the two others who had also talked about Iris that week, this time when he and Brandon were at the beach club.
Dylan winced. "Probably should've let it slide and walked off."
"After what they were saying about your mother? No way. I would've reacted way worse than you did."
"You would've, huh?" Dylan turned his dazzling grin on her. "And how would my girl have reacted?"
"Thrown it down," Brenda casually replied.
"You? Throw it down?" Dylan laughed; for, though older Brenda had been known to occasionally throw it down in defense of her friends, younger Brenda had not.
"I can throw it down. I mean, not as well as Val can throw it down, but I can."
"Okay, Bren. Next time two hoity-toity rich people talk crap about my mother, you can throw it down with them."
He imagined throwing it down with Emilio Reina, and then imagined principal Yvonne Teasly breaking up their fight.
Brenda's face alone in his fantasy told him of the disappointment he would face from her if he did choose to physically fight Reina.
He'd seen that look before, when he'd glanced up from the floor where he had pinned Manzano.
He would do everything in his power to never see that look again.
"I'm sorry I've been so MIA lately," she said. "Chris had intended for this production to just be an in-class performance, but since Andrea and I persuaded him to open it up to the community to benefit the helpline, I've been helping to get everything ready."
"You're doing a good thing, babe. Your afternoon still open?"
"Yes, for once. I've had no time to relax this month. I feel like I've been neglecting you." Her frown etched indentations into her forehead as she rolled down the window to catch the breeze.
"Bren, I've seen you more this summer than most exes get the chance to. I understand that you've been busy and I'll be there on opening night to see firsthand all the hard work you've put in. I like getting the chance to hang out with you, but you don't need to feel bad about how often you've been able to hang out lately."
This is the most we've hung out in fourteen fucking years. We could go a whole year with no hanging out and it'd still be better than that.
"You're seriously such a terrific guy," Brenda smiled.
The female population of Los Angeles would beg to differ.
You would beg to differ.
I became an asshole, Bren, especially to you. I'm going to be better. I'm going to stay the guy you think is terrific.
"For the rest of the day, I'm all yours," she continued.
"I, uh, got you something," he said, nervously swiping a hand across the back of his neck.
"You got me something? It's not my birthday."
"I know, but I think you'll really like it."
"A puppy?" Brenda's entire being emanated the joy experienced by a child seeing Disneyland for the first time.
He chuckled.
"No, not a puppy. But I'll get you one," he promised. "Someday. Think Jimbo would kill me if I got you one now."
"That's true, and I'd rather have you alive," said Brenda, despite her obvious deflating.
He parked, walking over to the passenger side to offer out his hand.
He shortly linked their fingers together when Brenda took his hand without hesitation.
"I just figured it'd help you practice," Dylan said before popping open the trunk.
Brenda examined the contents of the trunk. "Your board?"
"No." His free hand snuggled her into his waist. "Look again."
"Oh my God. Dylan! You got me a surfboard?" Brenda released his hand to lift out the colorful board laying underneath his.
"Well, we've got to work on your technique if you're gonna help me with the kids." Dylan took advantage of Brenda's hunched position to breathe in her neck.
A rigorous rehearsal schedule in heavy costuming and she still managed to smell amazing.
"I can't believe you got me a board. It's so beautiful." Brenda's finger traced along the designs on the surfboard, which Dylan had customized with drawings of a number of her favorite things.
"You even put Big Ben on here." Brenda's eyes glistened with impending tears.
Elizabeth Tower, he internally corrected.
No, she's right, it's Big Ben. Still got years yet 'til it's renamed and technically, right now it's just The Clock Tower. Big Ben's a longstanding nickname.
Okay, thanks for the history lesson, Andrea.
Well, excuse me for trying to educate myself.
"Don't you like it?" Dylan asked, concerned over Brenda's saddened reaction. "I thought it would help to remind you of what you're working toward. Might not be London, but could be."
Better be London. She's not going anywhere near Dublin if I'm not with her.
And how, exactly, do you plan to explain that? Tell her about the husband she's never known?
Why the hell did I have to remember this shit? How can I be honest with Bren when I'm hiding so much?
"No, I love it," she said. "It's just; Dylan, this is the best gift I've gotten in a really long time. It reminded me of," she exhaled a ragged breath, "of another gift I got once."
"From your aunt Sheila," Dylan realized out loud.
Brenda gaped. "How did you know that?"
"Uh," Dylan fumbled for an explanation, "you told me she was an artist."
"I did?" Brenda returned to scanning over the board. "Weird. I don't remember telling you that."
That's because she hadn't, not until London.
Dude, you've really got to work on this saying things out loud you were trying to say in your head thing.
"Yeah, you did."
"Oh." After a few more seconds of intense focus on the board, Brenda's gaze flew back up. "Wait. Did you say help you with the kids?"
He inwardly laughed at how long it had taken her to realize what he had said.
"Yeah." He kept his face expressionless. "You did say you'd help me prepare the kids for surf comps, right? So first, you'll have to practice yourself."
"Dylan! You got the job?" she exclaimed.
"Got the call this morning," he replied with a grin he was certain had split his face in half.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"No better place to tell you than at the beach, right?" He spread out his arms towards his second favorite place on the planet; the first being wherever his Brenda was.
Evening approached, yet warm sunshine still boasted with stretching fingertips against their skin.
His gratitude for California grew.
"I'm so happy for you! I knew you could do it." Brenda threw herself at him, nearly dropping her board.
"Woah." He gave a slight laugh, catching both Brenda and her board. "Couldn't've done it without you, Bren."
"Oh, I'm sure you could've."
"No," he said forcefully as he put all of his focus on her sparkling eyes. "Trust me. I couldn't've."
Wouldn't have, more like.
"My Dylan, the new swim coach at the Y." She spoke with reverence, her hand exploring his chin.
She had no idea what it did to him whenever she called him hers.
"When do you start?" she asked.
"Right after we go up to Yosemite, thankfully. Almost had to start during it."
"Well, then I would've stayed home, too."
"You'd stay home just because I couldn't go?"
"Of course. I wouldn't have to hear complaints of how much luggage Donna will probably bring. She decided to ask Emilio about every possible scenario in camping and has started getting together her clothing for each one."
"Reina's not gonna be happy I got the job," said Dylan. "I don't want to put you in an awkward spot."
"I'm sure Emilio understands that the Y went with the person they thought was best for the position."
"Or the person with the fastest swim time," he said with the beginnings of a smirk.
"The fastest swim time?" Her question was met with his nod. "You're faster than the captain of the swim team?"
"Much faster. But don't worry, I won't tell your friend Reina about that."
"Guess you should be captain instead, then."
"Nah. Meets aren't for me. But," his hands moved rapidly, too rapidly for Brenda to realize what he was doing until he had done it, "surfing with my girl? That's definitely for me."
She giggled, hands looping around his neck. "Think I can't walk on my own?"
"Oh, I don't doubt you can. But you need all your energy to focus on the surf."
"I do, do I?"
"Yes. Listen to the coach and let him carry you to the waves."
"Aye, aye, Coach McKay."
They hadn't even made it down the quartz-embedded sand before Dylan felt Brenda becoming concrete in his arms.
"Oh fucking hell, goddammit!" He tightened his hold, trying to not drop her. His jaw catapulted open at the words that came from his mouth. "I can curse? Why can I curse? Fuck, did you make me thirty-six again? Because listen here," his defiant gaze focused on the shape rising out of the waves, "Itero, I refuse to go back to that fucking life."
"May a tranquil peace befall thee so to listen to the words I tell ye." Itero spoke a calm over Dylan, which worked instantly. "You have become thirty-six again only in my presence. When I depart, you will be sixteen. Now listen, because I have come with a warning."
"A warning? What kind of warning?" The trepidation seeped into his bones. "I haven't even talked to a blonde. Well, I did talk to Donna, but she isn't one of the blondes, is she?"
"Do not fret," said Itero. "You are permitted to speak with blondes, provided you do not make hasty action. But alas, I do not come with a warning about your actions. It is a warning about the faeries."
"The fairies? Your kind?" asked Dylan, perplexed.
"My kind are the fairies," said Itero. "This is a warning about the faeries."
"Not hearing a difference."
With a slight gesture that Dylan thought might be the way a fairy indicated its annoyance, Itero flicked gold lettering out of its fingertip, which floated in the air.
"Okay," said Dylan, gingerly sitting Brenda on the sand only when his own arms threatened to break under her new weight, "so the difference is the spelling? Which one's you and which one's the warning?"
"My kind is the first," said Itero. "The faeries, the second, are not to be trifled with. Eros, he dictates messages to both fairy and faerie. The fairies listen only to Eros. The faeries are more susceptible to Anteros."
"Hang on," said Dylan, "I think I read about this once. Anteros; isn't that the god of requited love?"
"Indeed," said Itero. "Anteros also punishes those who scorn love, or do not reciprocate love. Anteros has recently been allowed the power to punish those who half-requite."
"Half-requite?" asked Dylan. "Is that like someone who loves someone, but loves another more?"
"Precisely," said Itero.
Those who half-requited, explained the fairy, often half-wished. Half-wishes permitted those individuals to be copied for their own rewrites.
Wishes, Itero said, were delivered to Eros. Half-wishes were intercepted by Anteros, who distributed half-wishes to fairy and faerie alike under the guise of Eros. Half-wishes were granted just as wishes were.
"There is, however, a snare," said Itero.
"A snare? What kind of snare?"
"As punishment for their half-requited love, half-wishers are granted half of their wish. For example, if someone wishes to be in a certain year, they are brought to a century before that year. If they wish to be on a certain planet, they are thrown to the next planet. So on and so forth. Half-wishers are led to believe they were culpable for the error, for such reason as claiming they did not focus solely on their wish."
"What does that have to do with me?"
"It is not you. It is your Brenda."
"My Brenda?" Momentarily stricken by alarm, Dylan whipped towards Brenda to ensure she remained frozen. "But she's right there."
"Anteros believes your Brenda has made a half-wish and plans to punish her for it."
"But she's right there," Dylan repeated with greater emphasis. "What happens if Anteros punishes her?"
"She will be tossed into a life she once lived."
"That doesn't sound so bad. I'm in a life I once lived."
"Not a life she herself lived. A life she previously lived."
"Like time travel into the ancient past? Damn, that's cool."
"It is time travel into the past, with a cost. If Brenda suffers a fatal wound in this previous life, a wound different than that which may have been afflicted upon her originally, all Brendas across time and the universes are affected."
"Affected how?"
"They cease to exist."
Dylan swore the ventricles of his heart disintegrated when its chamber stopped pumping.
"Like, like dea - dea," he choked on his own air, "fuck!"
"Not death," said Itero. "As if they never existed at all."
"You mean, Anteros can vanish my Brenda from existence simply for a half-requited love? What kind of shit is that?" Dylan asked. His face felt as if he had dozed off in a sauna and awoke burnt to a crisp.
His level of terror melded with his level of anger until the two emotions became one.
"Not a half-requited love," said Itero. "A specific half-requited love, those who Anteros chooses to point her way."
"Emilio Reina? Did Anteros point Emilio her way?"
Please, God or whomever, don't make me give up Brenda to Reina to save her from the wrath of Anteros.
He couldn't do it. It would surely kill him.
But if he didn't, would it banish her?
Talk about a fucking ultimatum. Give up your girl to Reina or you'll forget she ever existed.
Goddammit, I've never hated mythology more. Don't these gods have something better to do than constantly mess with our lives?
"It is unclear who Anteros pointed towards your Brenda," said Itero. "Anteros uses an ancient form of Novelese, a form only those fairies born from faeries are able to decipher." Itero swirled around the letters to help Dylan understand the difference. "The most I can make out is a surname that ends in an 'n.'"
Carson. Had to be Carson. Anteros had pointed that motherfucking Carson towards Brenda? That must have been the reason Brenda had run off to Vegas with him, for Brenda had noticeably not been herself during such a decision.
Couldn't be Monaghan. This Brenda would never know Monaghan and the other Brenda certainly hadn't half-requited anything fucking Monaghan sent her way.
What the hell was that one guy's last name who Brenda had liked in Paris? Rick…Moranis?
Shit, no, that was an actor.
Rick Hearst?
Nope, another actor, on that soap opera the old Donna occasionally watched.
Dammit, Rick something.
Forget Rick. It's not Rick. Brenda barely even considered Rick.
Manzano. Thank fuck for that ending letter. Wasn't Manzano, though Dylan wouldn't have been surprised if it had been.
But Carson; the other Brenda had confessed it herself. She had still been in love with Dylan during her engagement to Stuart.
A half-requited love, a farcical love that would try to wipe his girl from the memories of everyone who loved her.
From her twin's memory.
From the love of her lives' memory.
Fuck no.
He knew what he had to do.
Somehow ensure Brenda never met Stuart Carson.
That should be easy enough.
"You said Bren and I were together throughout time, until I fucked it up by going to that fucking hypnotherapist," said Dylan. "I've seen it. Bren's even seen it, reunions of our past lives. We - we feel it. Were we," he dreaded the words he knew he had to speak, "I mean, was she, well; was she ever pointed my way by Anteros?"
"No. You and Brenda have never been directed towards each other. You have simply run across each other, throughout time and realities. Anteros has been known to fiddle with your relationship in every life, but no Brenda has ever before made a half-wish."
Good. This Brenda wouldn't be making that half-wish, for she would never half-love Stuart Carson.
Dylan wondered about the obstacles Anteros had placed in their paths, and if either of those obstacles had ever hurt Brenda.
Had Anteros been responsible for the people Itero had told him about?
"Thank you for the warning," said Dylan. "But Anteros isn't taking my Bren. I'll fight Anteros myself, if I have to."
"That is noble. Noble and courageous, if a bit foolish. Anteros is not one for a mere mortal to go up against. Many have tried. All have failed."
"I don't care," said Dylan. "I failed Bren before. It's not happening again."
He didn't see how, with the absence of Stuart, Brenda would experience a half-requited love. Perhaps Itero was incorrect and Emilio had been sent by Anteros.
Had Anteros sent others to obstruct his path to Brenda? Someone like a certain hypnotherapist, perhaps?
"I assume that hypnotherapist was a quack?"
Or a ploy, sent by Anteros.
"Not a quack," said Itero. "You allowed your abandonment issues to take precedence. Your anger at Brenda remaining in London festered until you willed her out of your life, all of your lives, until every version you both have been were separated."
"Hence the reunions," Dylan realized. "Whenever I make a decision with Brenda that affects our future, one of our lives reunites."
"Correct. The hypnotherapist simply helped along what you had already begun. Had you faced that anger, the hypnotherapy would have shown you the truth and none of your lives would have been in shambles."
Fucking hell. So much for suing a hypnotherapist.
"So in London, when we were reconnecting," he couldn't help the smile that he knew dominated his face.
In a big way, he mentally added.
"Yes, whilst you were reuniting in London, your other lives were starting to do the same."
"Until I left her."
"Indeed. Until you left her. Even that wouldn't have had an impact, if you hadn't -"
"Lied. It was the first lie, wasn't it? When I lied to Kelly about how long I'd been apart from Brenda?"
"On the contrary; it was your -"
Erasing of Brenda from his past when he pretended their connection was nonexistent.
Pretended the only people he had connected with were Toni and Kelly, which had effectively erased Brandon, too.
"Fuck." He had the strong urge to cry. He knew he didn't have the right. "It was me. I did this. I erased Bren from my old past, and by doing so, I -"
"Expunged her from all of your pasts. Your relationship then ended with a departure in every life."
Great. Another thing he'd fucked up.
It crossed Dylan's mind that this Brenda may become torn between himself and Reina until she loved Reina just a bit more, but he hurriedly dismissed that thought.
If anything, it would be the opposite.
"The only departure we make in this one will be together, after graduation," he said, determined. "I'm not letting her be erased again. There must be some way I can stop Anteros' wrath if Bren ever does half-wish in a half-requited love."
There was one way, Itero said. It would involve the finishing of a task. Itero would give no further information on what that task was, simply stating that Dylan had already begun.
"Then I'll finish the task," Dylan said, "whatever it is. No way am I losing Bren to fucking Anteros. I'm not losing her to anything."
Forget pounding Reina, Monaghan, or any other human interested in Brenda.
Dylan would pound Anteros to mere particles if Anteros dared to wreak havoc on Brenda.
"My entire being calls out for her," Dylan continued, "in every life. Bad enough I lost her to Ireland in the other one."
"Fascinating," said Itero, "for there once was a time you and Brenda were parted upon her family's forced leave from Ireland."
"What?" asked Dylan, but the fairy had returned from whence it came.
"What?" said Brenda.
"What?" Dylan echoed. He temporarily stood stock-still at her unexpected thawing.
He pondered how many times one could be unknowingly frozen before they cracked into a thousand tiny pieces.
"You whatted me first," she said, wiping the sand from her shorts as she stood. "Did I sit?" she asked.
"Uh, yeah, for a moment," he said. "I thought you said something," he covered.
"I didn't."
"Then never mind."
They allowed the waves to envelop them, Dylan mainly sitting on his board whilst he helped Brenda learn how to control hers.
Cogitation enveloped him, as well. Thoughts of fighting a mythical god to protect Brenda. Thoughts of being forced to see her dissipate, the way Itero had.
Where did people go when they were banished from existence?
Noticing Brenda slipping on her board, Dylan shoved away his mental inquiries to help guide her.
He would stay in the waves with her all day, every day, if he could.
They practiced until the sun began to lower and Brenda's longing for a particular dessert had Dylan carrying her out of the waves.
Yes, she could easily walk, but she could just as easily remain in his arms.
At least, until she asked for him to set her feet back on the ground.
Which he did, quite reluctantly.
"Hey, lady, you gonna go or what?" asked the peeved child, hand sailing through the air in rapid motion.
"Now, that's no way to talk to a lady," said Dylan. "Especially a lady of this caliber."
"What's caliber?" inquired the boy.
"Means she's famous."
"You're famous?" The child's eyes alit with a degree of curiosity found only in childhood.
"I am not," said Brenda.
"She is," said Dylan.
"Not," she argued.
You are, Bren. You're internationally recognized in our old life and, I suspect, all of our lives. That stack of magazines Kelly was showing you the other day? You've been in all of them.
"Well, she will be," said Dylan.
"Maybe," said Brenda.
"Definitely," he insisted.
"That doesn't count," said the child. "You're holding up the line."
"Kid, you could really use some manners," said Dylan.
"And you could use way less hair gel," retorted the boy grating on Dylan's last nerve.
Sounds of close-mouthed laughter puffed out near him.
"Don't encourage him, Bren," he said.
"Sorry. It's just; well, I've seen your morning hair and it's definitely pretty se -" Remembering the presence of the annoying child, Brenda cut herself off.
"Mom! She said sex!"
"No she didn't." Dylan was faced with a beady-eyed woman with a pixie cut of red hair.
"Mrs. Scanlon!" said Brenda.
"Brenda." She nodded. "I trust that my son is incorrect and you were not using explicit language in front of him?"
"That's right. I wasn't."
"Good. Then I'll see you Thursday night."
"Yes, ma'am," Brenda said as the woman walked off.
"Bren, is that Scott's mother?" Dylan looked at the retreating back of the woman he had only ever heard about, the one known to make David quiver with a simple look. "How do you know Scott's mother?"
"I had Thursday night off. She was desperately in need of a babysitter since Scott's at his uncle's. Mrs. Scanlon asked David's dad, who mentioned it to Mom, and voilà, I'm babysitting the Scanlons on Thursday night."
"Need some help?"
"I'd love the help, Dyl, but David already told her he'd help."
"You and David are gonna babysit together?"
"There's a lot of them so it's a two-person job and Mrs. Scanlon would only accept me if David came along. I'm gonna try to talk to him about Donna, see what's going on between them."
"Then I'm taking both of you out afterward. You'll need a late-night snack."
"It's a plan."
Waffle cones for each of them. Chocolate hard shell on hers. Just enough on his for her to ask to finish his cone.
"Hey, Bren?"
"Yeah?" She looked over at him, ice-cream dribbling onto her chin.
With a smile, he swiped the ice-cream away with his thumb and then took his time licking said thumb.
He could hear the groan she tried to stifle.
"If you hypothetically saw your friend's mother hypothetically meet another man when that woman is hypothetically married, would you hypothetically tell said friend?"
"You saw my mother meet another man?" Brenda cried out, her grip slipping on her cone.
Dylan held it steady, his hand covering her fist.
"Hypothetically, Bren," he reminded her.
"Okay, fine, you hypothetically saw my mother meet another man? This is gonna kill Daddy."
"In this hypothetical situation, it wasn't your mother."
"Oh. God. You had me going there." Brenda's breaths returned to an even pace. "That Glenn thing is still too fresh."
"I didn't mean to make you think it was Cindy."
"Well, Dyl, we don't have a whole lot of friends with married parents. And you don't know Andrea's, so that leaves," Brenda went silent for a second, likely examining every possibility, "Donna! Donna's the only other one in our group with married parents! You saw Donna's mom having an affair?"
"Hypothetically," Dylan repeated with greater insistence. "Brandon and I might've hypothetically seen Donna's mom meet up with someone who isn't Donna's dad and it might've hypothetically appeared romantic."
"You can use that hypothetical word all you want, Dyl. You're worse at the hypothetical situations than Bran is. My boys clearly saw something that Donna needs to know."
"Does she?" He attempted to not reveal the thrill that Brenda had given him by simply referring to him as one of her boys.
"Would you rather her see her mother with this guy?"
"No, but -"
"Leave it to me. I'll figure out how to tell her gently."
"We don't even know if they were doing anything," he started.
"When did you and Brandon see Mrs. Martin?"
"Uh, the day of our interviews."
"The day of our interviews, Donna's mom told her she was helping at a soup kitchen and that Donna should be doing the same, instead of going to a - what did Donna say Mrs. Martin said? Godless rehearsal? Yeah, that was it, godless rehearsal. Did this look like a soup kitchen?"
"It was one of those high-end restaurants, but maybe they were planning to go to the soup kitchen -"
"So basically, Donna's mom is questioning Donna's spirituality just for being in a so-called secular play, while Donna's mom is straight-up lying to her."
"I guess," Dylan said, giving in.
"I've got to tell Donna. I won't tell her details, just hint at it until she realizes we need to do some sleuthing."
"You're gonna sleuth?" he smiled.
"I'm a regular Poirot, didn'tcha know?"
"Then I'll be your Hastings."
"Sorry, honey. Val's already claimed Hastings."
"Does Val even know who Hastings is?" Dylan asked with mirth.
"No," Brenda admitted, "but she still claimed Hastings. Righthand, lifelong confidante and all that."
"Well, I'm no Catchpool or Miss Lemon," said Dylan, recalling the last time he and Brenda had discussed the mysteries of Agatha Christie.
In London, of course, when she was cast in a play based on a Christie novel.
"Ariadne?" Brenda suggested.
"You think I'm Ariadne Oliver?"
"No, Val's Ariadne, but since she's already Hastings, you can be Ariadne."
"Then Andrea's Miss Lemon, I take it."
"Andrea's definitely Miss Lemon." Brenda lay back against the beach blanket. "I like this. You're the first guy I've ever known who lets me ramble on about books and doesn't judge me for it."
Dylan hovered beside her, coiling her hair with his fingers. "You're the first girl I've ever liked who might've possibly read more than I have."
"It's because of Bobby."
"Bobby?" Dylan asked, thrown by the mention of Brenda's cousin.
"Yeah. Before his accident, Bran and Bobby would play hockey all the time with the other boys. I wanted to play, too. Bobby said I had to read up on the entire history of hockey before they'd give me a chance. So, I did. Then I started reading about Canada, and that led to meeting Anne of Green Gables, which then led to Black Beauty, then other books about horses and a whole bunch of summer reading programs that ultimately led to me discovering Shakespeare."
"You read up on the entire history of hockey just so you could play with your brother and cousin?"
"Yep," she gloated. "I did."
"I love you," he blurted.
"Love you, too," she replied back, in a way that sounded far too casual for his liking.
Or perhaps it was only his taunting imagination.
"What do you think would've happened?" Brenda's gaze seemed lost in the clouds. "If you'd gone to Hawaii?"
"Well," said Dylan, "I probably would've called you from Iris' freaky treehouse. We'd have a seriously bad connection."
"Freaky treehouse?"
"Definitely freaky, on a pineapple mountain."
"A pineapple mountain?" Her eyes bulged at the thought. "There are pineapple mountains?"
"There's all kinds of things in Hawaii. Beaches, of course. Mountains. Volcanoes. A canyon. They say surfing was invented there."
"It sounds incredible." Brenda propped herself up on her elbows. "I can't wait until I've saved up enough to travel. I'm going to go everywhere."
You sure are.
"Where do you want to go most?" he asked.
"New Zealand," she said, to his surprise and sudden chest pang.
"You want to see New Zealand?" he coughed out.
I'm sorry, Bren, he had said. I know we were looking forward to seeing New Zealand together, but the boss wants me to go on this expedition.
An expedition? What kind of expedition? she had asked.
Up a mountain. K2.
A mountain? Dylan, since when do you climb mountains? You've got to train for years for that kind of thing. What is your boss thinking? You could get seriously injured!
It may have had something to do with the exaggeration on his résumé, which he didn't think it pertinent for Brenda to know.
It won't be that bad, he had said. Corporate says I can go out into the field more often after this trip, instead of staying in that fucking stifling office every day. You know the 9 to 5 isn't for me, Bren.
9 to 4, she corrected.
Yeah, 9 to 4, whatever. I'm not supposed to be in an office. I'm supposed to be out there, working with nature. Proving to your dad that I can be the man you deserve.
You don't have to prove anything to my dad.
Yeah, I do, Bren. And this is the way I can do it.
Her lower lip had trembled, sending a dagger into his heart that would only sear deeper in the months to come.
When do you leave?
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow? But that's so soon!
I know. He had sucked back the emotion threatening to topple. My flight leaves before yours. So we better make the most of tonight.
Then tonight, I'm gonna make you my stallion and ride you like I'm competing at Royal Ascot.
Actually, I was kinda hoping we could just, uh, cuddle for a bit.
Dylan McKay, turning down sex?
Not turning it down. Just looking for something to come back to.
Oh, we'll always give each other something to come back to, she had said.
"Yeah, but with you." Brenda's response broke through Dylan's blistering memory that dug a trench into his raw throat.
"With me?"
"If I'm going to New Zealand, I'd want you along."
"I'm sensing a pattern here, Bren. You want us to move in together and you want us to travel together."
"Yeah, because going to New Zealand with just Bran would be boring," she joked. "We'd never see anything outside of sports games and museums."
"I think your brother is more fun than you give him credit for."
"And I think you give him too much credit, but you aren't wrong. He loosens up a whole lot when Val's around."
"Then camping should be a blast."
"You're assuming Val will come."
"Because you've assumed Val will come."
"Dyl, one look at you and Val will wonder why she even considered not coming."
"She knows I'm spoken for, right?"
"She knows you're single."
"Single, but spoken for."
Ignoring his flirtation, Brenda spoke of a problem that would be posed if Valerie did decide to join them.
The entire gang had been invited, David included. Steve had, unsurprisingly, asked Stacey. Kelly, in turn, had asked Matt Nguyen in, as Brenda put it, an obvious attempt to make Steve jealous, "though Kel would never admit it, of course." David had asked Scott, at the twins' suggestion. Should all of them accept the invitation, this then became an issue of space in the camper van Brandon was planning to rent.
Dylan offered to pay for a roomier van, which Brenda declined. He knew Brandon would, as well.
They compromised; he would drive up his Porsche if needed, only if Brenda would drive up with him.
Yes, Dylan said, he would be fine with driving Donna up as well; and, he assumed, David.
Brenda thought they might be able to squeeze in Valerie. Dylan said it was best for her to ask Brandon, as Brandon may want to spend time with Valerie himself.
"I'll go," Brenda said. Her lack of a preamble confused him.
"Go? To ask Brandon?"
"I'll go, with you, wherever it is you wanted to take me. On your bike. After camping."
"You will?" He questioned if she could hear the ferocious rumbling of his heart.
"I will, if you still want me to after what I'm about to tell you."
"Whatever it is, it can't be that bad."
"I kissed Emilio."
"You - you what?"
There was no way his heart hadn't just ripped away from his chest.
"For the play."
She was confessing to another kiss scene?
"Well, it was supposed to be for the play," she continued, "but then he kissed me for real and I," she looked back to the clouds, "I kissed him back."
"What does that mean?" His hand automatically circled her waist.
A river of red, creeping down Brenda's white dress.
Hang on. Brenda wasn't wearing a white dress.
It wasn't a dress, more like - a nightgown? Why the fuck was Brenda bleeding in a nightgown?
He withdrew his hand as if he had accidentally plunged it into a floor made of burning coals.
He had watched Toni bleed out in front of him, holding her as the last breaths slipped from her body.
He couldn't bear the thought of the same thing happening to his Brenda.
"Dylan? God, you're pale."
"I - I," he floundered, resisting the urge to tightly clutch onto her.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't plan it; it just sort of happened."
That wasn't what had upset him, but fuck, he knew those words far too fucking well.
We didn't plan this, Bren.
No, of course you didn't plan it, Dylan; you just let it happen. And you lied to me, both of you, for months and months.
Well-played, fuckers of the universe.
"I just didn't want you finding out from someone else," she said. "You know how the people at school like to talk, and Emilio's in with a bunch of them. It could slip out."
"Don't worry about it." He tried to not show how shaken he was. "So you and Reina - you like a couple now, or something?"
"No. Because I like Reina; I mean, Emilio. I like him a lot. But remember what I told you last month?"
Like he would forget any time soon.
"It's true, Dylan. I am in love with you. And I don't know what any of this means. I'm afraid of dragging you both along. That's not what I want to do, at all."
She loved him.
She only liked Reina.
Shit, had he been wrong about Carson? Had Itero been wrong? Was Brenda falling into a half-requited love with the guy Anteros had sent her way?
Reina? Fucking Reina was going to cause Brenda to half-wish?
No. Absolutely not.
Dylan hadn't wished himself back to Brenda just so Anteros could win.
"I still want to take you, Bren." He flipped the mental bird to a vengeful god. No one, man or spirit, would block him from his Bren. "If you want me to."
"I do want you to."
"Then c'mon," he stood, helping her up, "one more lesson before we leave."
"You're on," she said, noticeably more relaxed.
He, however, was far from it.
He combed over the clues, trying to piece them together. Brenda had envisioned herself an expectant mother in the sixteenth century. He had dreamt of his old Brenda, carrying Reina's children instead of Monaghan's. And now, the sight of her blood on Dylan's hands.
Itero must have sent him another warning.
He concluded two possibilities, each one worse than the last.
One, he and Brenda had miscarried in one of their past lives, likely when Anteros became involved.
Or two, the Brenda currently torn over him and some guy who would barely factor into their future was going to one day miscarry.
Both of those options hurt like hell.
Knowing he couldn't tell Brenda any of it hurt even more. Felt like a lie, like he was intentionally keeping something from her.
He loathed lying to her. It had led to their first downfall in their old life. He had sworn in London to never lie to her again.
And he hadn't. He'd just tried to keep her in the dark about things instead, which had destroyed them for good and resulted in more lies after he had left.
Kind of like now. He felt like he was keeping Brenda in the dark once more.
But what was he supposed to say? Babe, fairies aren't just in Shakespeare. I've talked to one, twice. And, oh yeah, a mythological god keeps messing with your life. I have to somehow ensure you never meet the drug lord of Beverly Hills nightlife to prevent your vanishing from existence, unless it's actually Reina who's leading you down that path. Plus, I'm pretty damn sure you're gonna miscarry your first child - our first child, but I can't tell you how I know that. Judging by the amount of blood I saw, I might end up losing you, too.
Yeah, right. That would go over real well. She would believe he had, as snooty Evelyn would say, gone off his rocker.
Perhaps he had. Perhaps he was trapped in an ongoing dream, one rapidly becoming a nightmare.
For his greatest desire - giving Brenda a child of their own - had now become his greatest fear.
He suddenly dreaded the next time she would grab a box off of a drugstore shelf, or inform him of the realization that she had been late.
-x
honeysitdown: Why, thank you!
As always, thanks a million for the readership, reviews, follows, favourites, alerts, discourse, plot ideas, etc. Stay healthy and safe out there. x