He had previously held the belief that one could never indulge in enough novels.
That was before the dreams.
They rocketed at him nightly: dreams of Ireland as seen in Web images; dreams of Brenda. He chalked it up to his inability to see Brenda the closer the play drew near; why he had begun to constantly dream of the Brenda she had been.
He saw her, wringing out soaked shirts to hang on a clothesline. He always reached out, wanting to help with her chores, wanting her to lean on him when she looked out at the horizon. A sad longing crossing over her soft features practically slapped him each time.
She couldn't be sad.
Itero had said Brenda was happy.
She was happy, wasn't she?
Monaghan had to be nearby. He wouldn't leave his pregnant wife alone, would he?
Dylan couldn't imagine leaving Brenda to the chores herself whilst she baked two children within her womb.
If he were the father, he would do his damnedest to coax Brenda into a break, pull her into his arms and bask in the joy of his Brenda, carrying his child.
"Brenda," he said each time. She stared into him, eyes confused but never seeing.
Unfocused. Lost. Full of all the unspoken - and spoken - words that had come between them.
"Dylan?" she asked as if she knew he stood close to her.
"Yeah. Baby, here. Take my hand. Feel me."
She wouldn't - or, perhaps, couldn't - look at him when she reached out.
Their hands danced in the air, consistently missing the other.
"Dylan, where are you?" Brenda would call out, her voice raspier, deeper than it had been in London. Changed by age, by continental moves, whilst her appearance had barely changed at all. "I hear you. I know you're there. I can't see you. I can't touch you. They're looking for you; Steve, David. They're all worried. Maddie misses you. Dylan, where have you gone? Is Kelly really worth all of this?"
"Kelly?" A new question Brenda hadn't asked in the other dreams. "What does Kelly have to do with this?" he asked.
"You're rewriting time," Brenda answered solemnly, "to be with Kelly in every life."
"No, Bren. God, is that what you think?" All he could do was brush his hand over the air and pray that she understood the reason for the wind somersaulting in her direction. "I'm rewriting time, to be with you. All of my mistakes, every fuckup I made in life and love, the fairies have given me the chance to redo it all."
"It's too late, Dylan. I've done something."
"I don't accept that, Bren. Not this time. Nothing you've done means it's too late for us, not when we've been given this do-over. We'll be together, and I'll fight to keep us together."
"You can't keep us together; not after what I've done."
"What did you do, baby?" Goddamn fucking air. He just wanted to hold her hand, to feel her smooth, thirtysomething skin against his. To know that for however long she remained in his dreams, he could pretend Connor Monaghan didn't exist, that the ring on her finger wasn't purchased by Monaghan. "Whatever it is, we can handle it."
He heard a voice: a strong, male, Irish voice.
Connor Monaghan's voice, most likely.
Missed him, I'm afraid. Cassidy said he left Kerry for Galway.
"What is Monaghan talking about, Bren?"
"That's not -"
He's en route to Bayonne. Sorry, Brenda love.
"Who's en route to Bayonne?"
"Oh, Dylan. I thought - Arís said that -"
Goddammit. The opacity of her figure was lightening again, as it did every night when his fucking alarm clock signaled a new day.
"Don't go yet, baby. Please tell me what's wrong. I need you to tell me why you're so distressed. Is it your children?" The phrase sawed at his chest. Shredded his organs. "Is something wrong with your children?"
"Where are you, Dylan?" she repeated.
"In high school, Bren. I'm in high school. We're in high school, literally reliving the nineties. Junior year is coming."
"Junior year. If that's true, then we aren't back together yet."
"Not yet. But we will be, as we were before. We've been hanging out all summer, except when you're in rehearsal. We're getting there, little by little."
"I don't want us to be." She still had that same glint in her eye that appeared whenever she stated a falsity and did her utmost to pretend otherwise. "You and Kelly flirted the whole year before I moved to Beverly Hills. If you care about me at all, you won't try to get back together with me when you know you really wanted her all along."
"I don't know what the fuck you think you know, but it's wrong. Kelly and I never flirted with each other until that damn summer I screwed up, and I'm not letting junior year pass by without being with you."
"Right. Just like you don't prefer blondes."
"I don't. You know that. Kelly isn't why we broke up in London."
"No she isn't, but you still went back for her, didn't you? Your soulmate? One of the only two people you connected with? She who you told Brandon you were connected with in ways we would never understand?"
They had indeed been the things he had said about Kelly, but it sounded as if Brenda were describing their own relationship. As Dylan listened to her harsh words, he became irked with himself that he had thrown his entire volume with Brenda into the woodchipper.
"Why should I believe you aren't trying to get with her in every life?"
"Because I love you, Bren. Always have. Always will." If only she would see him, see the emotion descending in rivulets off of him. "We used to be together in every life. We'll be that way again. And I'm gonna spend all of our lives ensuring you know exactly what you mean to me."
"I love you, Dylan. You've sewn yourself underneath my skin, gorilla glued your heart to mine. But I don't want you there. Maybe there's only so many times you can repair a broken relationship until you realize it shouldn't have happened."
"Brenda, how can you say that?" Depression karate chopped his rib cage. "I know I fucked up. I was hurt, angry, completely hollow. Losing you damn near almost killed me; I have the medical history to prove it. Leaving you made the addiction worse, and once I didn't have that to lean on, Kelly was the easy option. I don't deserve your forgiveness or understanding. But I know I've been given this chance for a reason. I'd be the same moron I was in London if I didn't take it."
"Maybe that reason is for us to end it all, before we get in too deep." Even Dream Brenda couldn't forgive him. That didn't bode well for Real Brenda. "Leave well enough alone with the first year we were together. That was wonderful, Dylan, and I'll always treasure it. But now I want you to give this up. If you have the chance to do it all over like you say, then give me up. We can both move on, without either of us getting hurt."
"Fuck no. I ain't doing that shit."
He needed to remind her of their own connection. He tried to plaster his forehead to hers, which merely resulted in pressing against more fucking air.
He had never despised oxygen more in his life.
Pulling a sheet off of the clothesline, he wrapped it around Brenda's enlarged waistline in an effort to touch her.
God, she was so big; her belly, almost swollen. If she had been able to see him, she would have been frustrated with the way his eyes were repeatedly drawn to her stomach.
She would be going into labor with Monaghan's twins any day, he was sure.
He could have dreamt Brenda up as anything. The Brenda she had been in London. The first Brenda from West Bev. The Brenda she may have been in the past; a maiden in a kingdom, perhaps.
He wondered why the hell he had to dream her as fucking Monaghan's wife.
"You're wrong," he countered. "You do want this. What you don't want is the pain I caused you. It won't happen this time. I swear it won't."
"Loving you is pain, Dylan. It's fucking torture. Why couldn't you choose me to begin with? Instead of her? Instead of the drugs? Maybe we weren't supposed to be together. Maybe you were only supposed to be my shredded road that led to Connor, to my family with him."
"I know you don't actually believe that. It's fucking torture when we're apart." If she couldn't see the earnest expression on his face, she had to hear it in his voice. She just had to. "The fairies must agree. Eros agrees. We were - are supposed to be together. Why do you think I found you in London?"
"We were in the same city. It's not hard to do."
"A city of millions, baby. It's not like I asked around for your address, or knew you would be on that stage. I fixed us before. I fucking traveled in time to do it again. You've just gotta let me."
"I don't know if you should."
"Yes, I fucking should. If there's a chance for us, I have to seize it. And there is a chance for us. I gotta believe that." Dylan slowly circled the land she stood on, mesmerized by its green so vivid that only the most talented of artists could properly capture the setting. "So this is Ireland, huh?" He abruptly changed the subject, unwilling to waste the precious time he had with her arguing about the lies she had told herself.
The despondency that had cloaked Brenda transitioned into a childlike innocence. "Yes. This is Ireland. Have you ever seen anything more enchanting?"
"I have. She stands before me."
"You always were such a smooth talker."
"Why are you alone, Brenda?" He could no longer hold back his concern. "Where's your husband? Why isn't he with you? Where exactly are you?"
"Eighteen," her head turned in the direction of a different voice calling to her, "I'm in eighteen - eighteen - shouldn't you get that?"
He realized there had begun another sound on his end.
"It can wait." He urged her on. "You're in eighteen…?"
Do you have to be so loud?
Listen, Brando, if McKay doesn't wake up soon, he's gonna be more roasted than a turkey on Thanksgiving.
"Brandon," Brenda gasped out. "Brandon, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. See through her, Brandon. Know she isn't me."
"Bren, you're not making sense." Dylan tried to block out the people attempting to awaken him. "See through what?"
Sorry, Brandon. Steve, leave it alone.
I'm not gonna leave it alone, Stacey. The guy's spazzing out.
Okay, that's an exaggeration if I ever heard one.
"We have to go," said Brenda. "We're being called."
"Don't you dare," said Dylan. "We're staying right here until you tell me what you mean. Who isn't you?"
"Ask Arís."
Who's Arís? said the voice.
"Bren? Bren!" He raced forward, trying to grab at her. "Brenda, don't go. Not yet. Please."
"I have to. And so do you. But help me, Dylan."
"Help you how? You know I'll do anything you ask."
Except give her up. That was non-negotiable.
He was cemented in place by the blossoming stain on the bottom of her dress that spread as quickly as the terror in his gut.
"Brenda, why the fuck are you bleeding? Did Monaghan hurt you? Baby, if he hurt you or your children, I'll fuck him up. I don't give a fuck that you're married to the dickwad. He doesn't get to throw you around like you're a fucking chew toy."
"No, that isn't it. Connor's wonderful. He didn't hurt me. I'm the one who misunderstood and hurt him."
"How did you hurt him?"
"It's the thing I did, Dylan. I messed up, badly."
He begged for an explanation, desperate to understand.
"Just tell Brandon," her voice grew lower, evanescing, "tell Brandon I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?"
"My half-wish."
Had Dylan been forcibly stretched by his limbs over a fiery spindle, it would have had less of an impact than did the vanishing of Brenda.
Her words left him in tatters.
Brenda couldn't have half-wished.
As much as Dylan loathed to accept it, he knew Brenda was fully in love with Connor. The Brenda he'd carefully honed his friendship with in his new reality hadn't met Stuart. She wasn't in love with Reina.
Was she? Itero had said only those half-in love with two people at once could be offered a half-wish.
Fuck, was Brenda in love with both him and Reina?
But then why did he dream up Monaghan's - she wasn't Monaghan's Brenda.
Dylan pondered whether there was the tiniest sliver of possibility that the Brenda married to Monaghan still felt something for her old boyfriend.
Nah. He had almost gotten his hopes up for nothing. Brenda Monaghan wouldn't think twice about him.
"You won't half-wish, Bren," said Dylan to a land that oozed an emptiness matching that which had come from Brenda's disappearance. "It's not happening. I won't let it happen. Anteros can't come between us. Nothing can come between us, not ever again. Neither man nor spirit can take you from me this time. And that includes me."
He would watch his jealousy. His brewing hatred for Reina didn't seem likely to dissipate, but he wouldn't initiate a knock-down, drag-out fight with Reina over Brenda the way he had with Manzano.
The audacity of mere mortals will never cease to amuse me. You, Dylan McKay, defeat me? replied a booming voice obscured by darkened clouds impregnated with incoming rain. Your Brenda has already half-wished, and the day shall come when she is permanently wiped from your story.
Raindrops spattered onto the land that had become a bed of rotted hay.
Jolting awake, he looked up to see Brandon scolding Steve for flicking water on Dylan.
"What the hell?" asked Dylan.
"You fell asleep," said Brandon. "Wasn't sure about waking you."
"I told him we should." Steve stood with one arm wrapped around Stacey Jacobson and the other arm attached to a fist full of water. "You were starting to look a little red and then you outright started crying. Dude, I don't think I've ever heard you cry. Wasn't even sure you could."
Fuck. Steve had interrupted his dream, and now the interaction with his Brenda was slipping from Dylan's grasp too rapidly for him to store her words in his memory bank.
Eighteen. The number rested in his head; for what reason, he knew not.
"Bren says she's sorry." The words tumbled out of Dylan's mouth without realization or prior consideration to the confusion they would invoke.
"Bren's sorry?" asked the perplexed Brandon. "For what?"
"For - for -"
Fuck, what had Brenda been sorry for? It had been important, a message Dylan felt required to pass on, and yet he couldn't remember what she had said.
"For spending all of her time with the theatre geeks than with us, obviously," said Steve. "Not that you're doing a great job of hanging out with us yourself." He swiped the book off of Dylan's lounge chair. "Why are you reading about an Irish general election in 1892 and asking about Aries?"
I fell asleep reading about 1892. That must be why I thought Bren said something about eighteen. The number was already in my head. Dream Bren wasn't telling me anything I need to know.
Right?
Then why the fuck was she - was she - fuck, something was wrong with her, wasn't it?
Was it?
I can't remember shit. I've lost my dream already.
"Arís?" asked Dylan, himself baffled. "What are you talking about, Sanders? Who's Arís?"
"Dunno. You tell me. You're the one who asked it first. Must've been dreaming up your horoscope."
"You're an Aries?" asked Brandon.
It was still strange for Dylan, the way his twins didn't know even the smallest aspects of his life.
In that regard, he thought, the past had become the future.
"No," said Dylan. "Libra, not that it matters. Iris is super into that astrology stuff."
"She did up charts for our entire preschool class," said Steve. "I'm a Taurus. What are you, babe?" He tilted his head towards Stacey.
"I don't really care," said Stacey.
"Aquarius. She's an Aquarius. An Aquarius and a Taurus; that's a seriously bad match."
"No one asked the high-and-mighty Aries," said Steve, glaring at both Kelly and at the arm folded around Kelly's waist. "Aren't you a Capricorn, Nguyen? Maybe Kel's a bad match for you, too."
"At least I've known Matt here for years," Kelly shot back. "How long have you known the Aquarius, Steve?"
"What does that have to do with it?" asked Steve. "You'd known Brandon for less than a day before you started asking around about him."
"Say what now?" asked Stacey and Brandon, in sync.
"Who I ask around about is none of your business," said Kelly scathingly. "You made your choice."
"Okay, I don't know when my mother showed up, but enough with the astrology talk and all the fighting about it," said Dylan, wishing the mediators of their group weren't stuck in rehearsals.
The idea of going back to school years after his graduation did not at all appeal to him, but at least it meant Reina would be too swamped with swim meets to perform in another play with Brenda.
"You're the one who brought it up with your Aries question," said Steve defensively. "Then the person who acts like she's the only desirable babe on the planet just because she's an Aries just had to butt in."
"Oh please, look who's talking," said Kelly. "You've got the biggest ego of anyone I've ever known."
"And you've been a bitch to Stacey all summer," said Steve. "I want to know why."
"You know why."
"No, I really don't."
Matt looked at Stacey. "I'm famished. Want to come with me to the restaurant? I'll get us something."
"Sure," said Stacey, who had clearly become uncomfortable to a level that matched Dylan's own feeling with the situation. "I think these two need to work some shit out."
"I'll come with," said Brandon. "Break's over."
"Gotta go change," said Dylan. "I'll be in the cabana."
He swore he could hear the arguing between Steve and Kelly at a more pronounced degree than he had when they had stood nearby.
"I loved you!" she yelled. "I loved you, and you chose her!"
"You didn't love me, Kelly. You never would've made me choose between you and Tiffany if you loved me."
"And if you'd loved me like you claimed you did, you wouldn't've chosen Tiffany."
"I didn't choose Tiffany. I hated that you made me choose at all. You offered me up to Tiffany like I'm a slab of finely crafted meat, when I never even wanted her to begin with. You believed her over me. I didn't kiss her, Kelly. I don't care what she says. She kissed me, and you can't go around dishing out ultimatums to people so they do what you want."
Excuse me, thought Dylan, what the fuck?
Was it Kelly's idea for that goddamn ultimatum?
All this time, all this fucking time, I thought it was Brenda's idea.
And I was so angry at her for it.
Angry Brenda had, as Steve said, offered Dylan up like he was a slab of finely crafted meat.
Angry that Brenda had lost faith; in him, in their entire goddamn relationship, to think that he would need the ultimatum.
Angry at himself for going straight to Kelly after Brenda had ended things for the second time.
Angry that Brenda had ended things for a second time.
He'd just been angry, and it had nearly destroyed everything between him and Brenda.
"And you can't act like you want me one second, then start dating some strawberry blonde bitch the next."
"I didn't act, Kelly. I did want you. You've spent the past year pretending we never meant anything when you know how much I love - loved you. You made me watch you flirt with Brandon, flirt with Nguyen, try to flirt with Dylan before and after he started dating Brenda."
Flirt? Kelly had tried to flirt with Dylan before senior year? He must have missed that.
He was especially puzzled by the idea that Kelly had allegedly sought to flirt with him after he had begun dating Brenda.
Aren't those two supposed to be best friends? I thought I was the reason their relationship got fucked up.
Was it always fucked up?
"You only want me now that you can't have me," Steve pressed on. "Stacey has me, and I'm not gonna let you say that kind of stuff about her."
"You do realize your precious Stacey has it bad for your best friend, don't you? Everyone can see it, Steve. The only reason Stacey isn't with Brandon right now is because he's doing that single summer thing."
"Is that the only reason you aren't with Brandon? I'm not gonna be your fallback guy, Kel. First you want Dylan, then you want Brandon, and now you're back on me because you can't have either? And what happens if Dylan or Brandon decide they are interested in you? Do I just get pushed to the sidelines?"
"That's not fair."
"No, Kelly, what isn't fair is you only wanting the guy some other girl has. We were drifting until Tiffany decided she was interested. And the whole school knows what you tried to do after Brenda started dating Dylan."
Dylan almost tore the door to the cabana off of its hinges. "What did you try to do, Kelly?"
"Nothing!" said Kelly.
"Aw, Kel." Steve clicked his tongue. "You should know better than to invite Amanda Peyser to any slumber party. She told Julie what you said to Brenda."
It came to be known that Julie Nichols had told half of the cheerleading squad, which had passed the information on to none other than Tiffany Morgan, who had then told her boyfriend, who had talked about it with his friends whilst Steve had stood around the corner.
"What did you say to Brenda?" demanded Dylan.
"Like I said, nothing!" Kelly repeated. "I've always been supportive of Bren's relationship with you."
"What did she say, Steve?" he asked again.
"I think you should ask Brenda," said Steve.
"Great idea. I'll do just that. Tell Brandon I'll stop by later."
"Dylan," Kelly attempted to stop him, "seriously, what I said was no big deal; I mean, I only said it because Brenda had said something about her old best friend's -"
"Are you gonna tell me what you said?" Dylan asked.
"I don't see why I have to."
"Then it is a big deal."
"But I've known you longer. I saw you first. Brenda knew I liked you. She didn't care."
"You 'saw me first?' Kelly, what the" fuck, "did you tell Brenda?"
He could not wait around to drag the answer out of her.
He had to get to Brenda.
She'd be in rehearsal.
Shit. Rehearsal had been moved for the day. He didn't know where.
There went the plan to ask her over lunch.
"Why the glum face, Dylan my boy?"
He selected his usual stool. "I need to talk to Bren. She's still in class. Chris was gonna take them somewhere today. Wouldn't have a problem with that, except Kelly told her something. I don't know what it was, and I have the feeling that whatever Kelly told her has to do with why Bren isn't sure about getting back together."
"Oh, I'm sure you crazy kids can work out whatever it is."
"That's the thing, Nat. We have so much to work out already."
"You do?"
"Uh," Dylan chose that moment to examine a menu, "yeah, we do." He skimmed over the details of various soups he wouldn't eat and salads he wouldn't order. "Do you believe in time travel? Alternate realities and stuff? Greek gods? Fairies?"
"Well now, that's not a question I usually get." Nat grew pensive. "Sure, I suppose it's possible. Nonno was a big believer in fairies. Pop hated when Nonno would fill my head with those kinds of things. My favorite story was always about Arís."
"Arís?" The name Steve had mentioned. "That's the second time today I've heard that name. Who's Arís?"
"What's Arís, might be the more accurate question."
Arís, said Nat, was a fairy born of faeries; not to be confused with fairies. Nat's grandfather had heard the tales from his own father, the only Irishman in an abundance of Italian Bussichios.
"The thing about Arís," said Nat, "is it's a trickster. It lures people into half-wishing by deliberately causing a misunderstanding, usually after they lose someone or something that they love. Arís tends to work closely with Anteros, who Nonno said you should never mess around with. But I can't say whether Arís or Anteros are real. Pop thought I betrayed the entire Catholic population just by asking Nonno about fairies and mythological gods."
So Anteros is gonna enlist Arís to trick Brenda into half-wishing somehow. I gotta figure out how to prevent that.
I can't exactly forbid her from seeing Reina.
"And yeah, I suppose time travel might also be possible. Why do you ask?"
"I was reading about the 1892 Irish summer earlier and wondered what it would be like to go back there; you know, to see all that history, in action."
Dylan wondered if he should be concerned how smooth his lies had become.
Half-lie.
"Strange you should bring up Ireland." Nat poured a cup of coffee for a customer, coffee Dylan often drank but never revered.
"Why's it strange?"
"Brenda was just in here the other day, asking me if I've been. She said she's been feeling a pull there that she's never felt before and she can't figure out why."
"Is that so?"
It's Anteros. Bastard's trying to point Brenda to Monaghan before I can even succeed in getting her back the first time.
Then what's Reina? A decoy?
A blistering wart on my ass, that's what he is.
"I should probably head home," said Dylan. "Didn't plan to bother ya at work."
"I always have time for you, Dylan. Are things alright? Between you and Brenda?"
"Yeah. They're fine." Dylan bunched up a napkin. "They're great. Bren's great. I'm great. We're just…great."
A faux cheerleader Dylan McKay was not.
"Kid, you look like you've got the weight of the world on you."
Figuring out how to save my girl from a god who wants to wipe her from your memory and mine will do that, Nat.
"Any chance of you and her getting back together?"
"I hope so, Nat."
"You don't sound too sure."
"She's getting close with this guy. Emilio Reina. They're married; in the play, anyway."
He's around all the fucking time.
And the Brenda I know is deeply in love with Connor fucking Monaghan, Nat. I messed up so badly that she doesn't even think of me anymore; or, if she does, it's probably to wish me out of her memories. I'm fucking terrified of losing this Brenda, too.
What if I can't get her back?
What if Anteros wins?
What if I forget her?
No. We're not gonna think that way.
"Emilio Reina?" asked Nat. "Is that Vic Reina's grandson?"
Damn, Nat really did know everyone.
Not true, argued Nat. His Pop, Sal Bussichio, had known everyone. Nat had merely been passed along the lineage.
Dylan swiped his hand over the counter, watching the hands on a clock move at a ridiculously slow pace.
"Did you always know you wanted to go into the family business, Nat?"
Nat seemed disconcerted by the question. "No," he answered honestly.
He signaled for the Pit's new waitress to watch the counter whilst he gestured Dylan towards his office.
The Courtney who had managed to become Brandon's nemesis just by excelling in her new job began listing the specials, which that day included shepherd's pie.
"I wanted to work in film, actually," Nat began.
When his Pop had become ill, Nat had offered to take on the diner.
"I didn't think I'd get stuck here. I was going to be a director. Used to make little films, starring my ex and…well, and your mother."
Starved for more, Dylan urged Nat to continue.
Nat had persuaded Iris into the films. She hadn't wanted to be an actress, Nat said; she had wanted to be behind the camera, creating documentaries on the inhumane treatment of wildlife. There weren't many female filmmakers in those days and when Iris' father fell ill, Iris worked three jobs to help her mother pay the bills.
Enter Jack McKay.
"Mom married Jack for his money?" asked Dylan, flabbergasted.
"Not quite," said Nat.
It was a combination of love and money. Though Jack fell for Iris before she fell for him, it had not been an unreciprocated love. Iris had felt torn when he proposed. She had dreamt of running off to an animal sanctuary in the Andes, not of being Jack McKay's perfect socialite of a wife.
"So what happened? Why did Mom marry him?"
"Ah. That part, I can't tell ya. You'll have to ask your mom."
"She won't tell me. She never tells me anything about her life with Jack. When I was eight, I was convinced their parents forced them into an arranged marriage."
The only time Jack had discussed Iris prior to his return from prison and their ensuing arguments over what to do with Dylan's trust fund had been when Jack liked to say that Dylan was a disappointment, just like your mother. She ran off to the volcanoes and now I'm responsible for my ungrateful son who won't let me have a damn drink in peace.
"Iris and I just started talking after I dunno how many years. I don't want to ruin it by asking about Jack."
"Would you like for me to ask?"
"Thanks, but no. I better go. Bren should be getting out soon."
"Looking forward to seeing her perform. If she gets enough interest, I'm hoping the customers can persuade her into playing Laverne for at least a couple times a year. They've been clamoring for a return."
"I think she'd do it. I can ask, if you want."
"Let's hold off, for now. Bren's got enough on her plate with the play. Has she gotten an update on the job?"
Brenda had been told that her interviewers would make their decision after her performance, which had tripled her determination to work extra hard in rehearsals.
Unfortunately for Dylan, Brenda's extra work in rehearsals meant more time spent between her and Reina than even Chris Suiter thought necessary.
Having recently been offered the position of head of the West Bev drama department, Chris had evidently spoken to Dylan's freshman English teacher, Nancy Becker.
He mentioned it whilst Dylan waited for Brenda, saying that Mrs. Becker had raved about Dylan's work in her class, whilst his sophomore English teacher whose name escaped him had implied the opposite.
Dylan admitted that he hadn't applied himself in sophomore English as well as he had as a freshman, though he wouldn't share that the reason had largely been due to Jack kicking him out. Chris asked if Dylan would be willing to share some of the writing he had done for Mrs. Becker; for, the way she told it, Dylan might be just the playwright Chris was looking for to create productions for the students, by students.
Dylan almost tackled Brenda down when he saw her come through the door, trailed by David, Donna and, no surprise, fucking Reina.
Can't the guy leave her alone for one fucking second? Shit, man, this is just getting pathetic.
"What are your plans for the rest of the evening?" Dylan asked her after greeting their friends. He even greeted Reina, whose eyes appeared dripping in the acidity layered underneath Dylan's voice.
"Nothing," she said. "What'd you have in mind?"
"Good. You're coming with me."
He swept her away from the others, eliciting a giggle in Brenda and a glimmer of satisfaction in himself at the perturbed expression on Reina's face as he watched them leave.
Dylan began with small talk, asking Brenda out of genuine curiosity about her day.
Chris had brought the class to La Mirada Theatre, hoping the viewing of a performance would improve the majority of the class' own.
"David's been doing a whole lot better now that he's memorized his dialogue and Donna's already set. It's Andrea that has a massive case of stage fright."
"No way. Andrea Zuckerman? Stage fright?"
"Well, maybe not so much stage fright as her massive crush on Chris," said Brenda conspiratorially. "She keeps fumbling. She's mad at herself for fumbling, so I told her I'd help her work on her scenes."
"Great idea, but not tonight. Tonight, Brandon and I are claiming you to get some badly-needed quality time with our girl. You up for about an hour's drive? We already cleared it with Jim and Cindy, 'long as I get you and your brother back before curfew."
The tension had lifted considerably with Jim since their talk at Casa Walsh and, if Dylan wasn't mistaken, it seemed Jim was more bothered by Emilio Reina constantly being around his daughter than by the frequent sight of Dylan at his dinner table.
In that, Jim and Dylan were in full agreement.
"I can't believe we have a curfew in the summer," said Brenda.
"Maybe you should talk to them about that. See if they can't extend it a bit."
"I doubt it will help, but I guess Bran and I can try." She yawned, laying her head back against the passenger seat. "Mind if I nap for a bit? It's been a really long week and I'm utterly knackered."
Knackered? Had he heard that right?
"Did you say knackered?" Dylan asked, thinking of all the times Brenda had used the word in London.
But not before London.
"Oops. Chris said it earlier today. My bad."
"No, it's fine, just unexpected. Sleep, baby. We'll pick up Bran and be on our way."
Dylan had hoped to speak with her about what Kelly may have said. He decided it could wait, especially given that Brenda had fallen asleep as soon as her eyes closed and he was reluctant to awaken her.
Brandon explained his twin hadn't been sleeping well, which concerned both him and Dylan.
"Do you know why?" Dylan asked. His gaze drifted from the rearview mirror to Brenda. Her figure fit perfectly in the seat beside his, as if the architects of his Porsche had designed the seat specifically for her.
The itch to pull Brenda's slumbering form into him was overwhelming. He partially satisfied it with a metrical stroke of the back of his hand over her silky arm.
She shifted and continued to doze.
He wondered, not for the first time, how he had managed to sleep without her for the past fourteen years.
Just watching her sleep brought him a sense of peace; and that was without spooning her, as he had been prone to do.
God, Bren; if only you knew how bad I've got it for you. If I could tell you everything we've been through, everything that happened between us, you'd ditch Reina without a second's thought.
Or would you? Maybe you'd hate me. Maybe knowing what I've done would cause you to turn away again.
I can't handle another loss of you.
"No idea," said Brandon. "It's these dreams she's having. Maybe she'll tell you. I can't get her to tell me anything. But I've seen her, and they're scaring the crap out of her."
"Not sure she'll tell me, either. I'll do my best to find out."
Fully conscientious of the precious cargo he held care of in his vehicle, Dylan kept a steady eye on the road. He hadn't been up this way since his parents had still been together, and even then, the route had been rare.
They were moments he treasured. Jack; sober, caring. Iris; laughing, carefree. His parents, either in love or doing a hell of a job of pretending.
He knew more years of their mutual hatred than he did of any joy his parents may have had between them.
They passed by LA's saddened river, Dylan explaining to Brandon how a river that had once been the city's primary source of water had become a joke to the locals.
"The government just came and enclosed the river in cement?" asked Brandon. "Wow. The people back in Minnesota would've revolted if anyone tried to cement our river."
"They did it to protect the city from some seriously bad floods," said Dylan. "The problem is, then they never removed the cement and now it's just…nothing. But it'll be something again, someday. I'm determined to do something about it."
"Well, if you're determined, then nothing will stop you."
"Damn straight. Think I'm gonna go into environmental policy in the future. There's a whole bunch of shit that needs cleaning up. You know the government won't do shit about it."
"Maybe I should go into politics and bring those issues to the forefront."
"Do you want to go into politics?"
"Not really. Honestly; the more time I spend on the paper, the more I think I'm where I need to be."
Once a journalist, always a journalist.
Had there been other Brandons, along with the other Brendas? Had they all chosen paths that led to journalism?
"Gonna go for a scholarship, I think," said Brandon. "They've got a few. The program I'm aiming for is kind of expensive."
"So you and Bren are both going for scholarships?"
"Seems that way."
"Except I need a bigger one because Bran's school of choice is way less expensive."
"Hey, sleepyhead." Dylan grinned at his girl's fists rubbing against her eyes in the way of a child. He grabbed at one of her fists, putting it up to his lips before Brenda knew what he was doing. "Almost thought you were out for the rest of the night."
"It was tempting," Brenda admitted. "But I've missed hanging out with just you two."
"It's your pathway to fame, Bren," said Brandon. "It keeps you busy."
"I don't know about fame," said Brenda. "If we could just get through opening night without any problems, that would be a start."
Dylan asked if she expected some, and then was regaled by tales of abysmal rehearsals.
He shut off the engine when they arrived at their destination, enjoying the way both of his twins carried the same nostalgia he felt.
"How'd you know the entire Walsh clan would go to the drive-in every summer?" asked Brenda suspiciously.
"I didn't," Dylan answered truthfully. "I used to come here and thought you'd like it. Want to come with me to get us refreshments?"
"Sure. Don't drive off with the Porsche, Bran."
"Wouldn't dream of it," said Brandon.
It was Brenda who took Dylan's hand as they strolled down the rows of automobiles in various shapes and sizes that awaited the Paramount Drive-in Theatres' feature film.
Dylan wasn't sure she had even realized it, and enclosed her hand in his before she could.
He told her that they were in the Greater Los Angeles area. She had slept through Eastern LA, which disappointed Brenda.
"I didn't mean to sleep that long," she said.
"Don't worry about it," he assured. "B said you've had trouble sleeping."
A deep groan. "Why'd he have to go and tell you that?"
"Because your brother understands that I care about you, Bren. What's been goin' on?"
"It's these frickin' dreams." Brenda tucked her lips onto her straw, which didn't help Dylan's desire for her one iota.
"Dreams?" He tried to focus.
"I don't know how to explain them. They're just so weird. I'm somewhere I've never been; Ireland, I think. At least, it looks like Ireland does in the movies. I call out to you, to Brandon, and neither of you respond. I'm alone. It's like - like I'm stuck there. I can't figure out what it means."
Stuck in Ireland? What the fuck? Is other Bren trying to tell me something? Is this Bren supposed to be in that timeline and other Bren is supposed to be in this one? Did they get switched somewhere along the way?
Or is it the same Bren and Past Bren is somehow connecting to Future Bren through the dream world?
Is my Bren stuck in Ireland? Is that fucker Monaghan being a dipshit to his wife?
His mind butterfly stroked across turbulent waters.
A fucking stomachache threatened just from trying to figure it all out.
It irritated the hell out of him that he didn't have an easy way to help Brenda with interpreting her dreams.
To know if his old Brenda was truly as happy, as safe, as at peace as Itero had claimed.
Why the hell couldn't he remember what Bren had said in his earlier dream?
It had to have been important, if she was reaching out to him through her own past self.
Or perhaps he was overthinking everything.
Fairies existed. People travelled in time and through infinite worlds. Unseen deities wreaked mayhem on relationships they deemed inadequate.
Switching timelines without either Brenda knowing still had to be a bit of a stretch.
He was in love with two versions of the same woman; one of whom was lost to him forever, the other of whom stood close enough to comfort.
He gathered her trembling body into his arms. "You aren't alone, Bren." His lips pressed to Brenda's hair. A gentle kiss smoothed over her scalp. "There's nowhere you can go that your brother and I wouldn't hear you. And if Brandon wouldn't come running, you know I would."
"I just can't imagine not having either of you to turn to."
"Then be glad that we're always gonna be there. You'll begin to get sick of both of us after a while."
"I know I haven't made it easy on you." Brenda's stiff muscles loosened against the front of his shirt. "You've been amazing this summer, Dylan; you really have. I want you to know that I'll return the favor. Anything you need, just ask."
I need you, in my bed; a can of whipped cream and those panties you'd wear in London that you knew I'd always rip off the second we got home.
"Right now, just having you and your brother around is good enough for me," Dylan lied through his teeth to avoid the appearance of pressuring her.
"I'm glad we aren't those exes who fight all the time, like Steve and Kelly."
A perfect segue. The last thing he wanted to talk about was Kelly, but if she had said something to Brenda that caused Brenda uncertainty in their future, then Dylan thought he ought to know.
"Steve and Kelly actually got into it earlier," he said.
"They always get into it," said Brenda, unbothered.
"Yeah, but they really got into it this time. Steve, he uh; he said Kelly told you something?" Dylan gathered up the bag of popcorn and other purchased snacks. "At the - at your sleepover?"
"It wasn't a sleepover," said Brenda automatically, "and yeah, she did, but I've let it go. Kel likes to speak before she thinks. She probably didn't mean anything by it."
"Brenda, Steve said it had to do with me. And apparently the whole school knows, so I'll find it out sooner or later."
"Of course the whole school knows," Brenda sighed. "I thought the grapevine back at Roosevelt was bad enough."
"Please tell me."
"Why can't Kel tell you?"
"Because she won't admit she said anything."
"Not surprised."
It took more urging until Brenda gave in, telling Dylan what Kelly had said about their year of flirting prior to Brenda's move and that Kelly had tried to get a date with him after he had begun dating Brenda.
"I don't know what she's talking about," said Dylan. "I really don't. She was with Steve all freshman year. Last thing I'd do to Steve is make a move on his girlfriend."
I'll take How to Spot a Fucking Liar for 1400, Alex.
There's a Val dating Steve, a Kelly dating Brandon, and a Gina dating David you can talk to that say otherwise.
It's not a lie. That all happened after Bren left us behind, not before.
"Is that why you're hesitant about us?" asked Dylan. "Because you think I'd hurt you with her?"
That's exactly what you did, dipshit.
I know that, but it ain't happening again.
And if I'd known Kelly had lied her ass off to Brenda then, it would have never happened at all.
What, is she trying to purposely come between me and Bren? Why would she say shit like that?
"Brenda?" he asked after her lack of a response. "You know I'm not gonna hurt you with Kelly, don't you?"
"You can't hurt someone you're not with."
Brenda had answered quietly, softly, yet the answer slashed through Dylan's chest regardless of tone.
She's gotta know. Itero said she doesn't. Maybe she doesn't, but she's gotta feel it somehow. She wouldn't think I'd hurt her with Kelly if she didn't somehow know that I did exactly that.
Maybe it's the dreams. Maybe they're telling her.
Is Anteros manipulating Bren's dreams to prevent her from returning to me?
There was only one person he knew who was well-studied in the art of dream analysis.
I gotta talk to Mom.
"You can hurt yourself by not being with the one you want to be with," Dylan said, forcing the quiver out of his voice.
Doesn't matter how many replacements you use.
"Yeah, you can," Brenda agreed. "But you should be sure of who you want to be with before you get in too deep, or someone's gonna get hurt."
"I think we've been in deep from the moment we saw each other."
"We have," she admitted. "Maybe that's the problem." She pointed to the towering screen. "Movie's starting."
He could have stood there and argued with her all night. It wouldn't have done any good, not if she had the tiniest bit of feeling for Reina.
Are you sure she does? Maybe she only likes Reina because he's never given a flying fuck about Kelly.
It was always Brenda that Emilio had wanted, in both timelines.
And he didn't need to go to kindergarten with her to feel that way.
That's a defeatist attitude, McKay. Brenda is yours. She's been yours. She'll be yours.
Because she wants to be yours, not his. She'll realize that. She'll accept you're the man who electrifies her.
Boy. You're just a boy.
Are the Monaghans having a boy?
It just had to be Dylan's luck that the film's script slipped in a mention of fucking Ireland.
In the nineteenth century.
He would require a break from his research if it planned to taunt him in the time he set aside for the sole reason of a relaxing moment with his Walshes.
He wished he could contact his Madster and wondered if the next time he dreamt of his old Brenda, she could be the one to pass on a message from him.
Mads and Steve had planned to surprise the Monaghans with a visit before the arrival of the twins.
If Dylan could communicate with his goddaughter, he would ask her to use twenty-first century resources and her voracious curiosity to find the information he could not.
Then he would be able to confirm, without stepping foot there himself, if he and Brenda had once shared a past in, of all places, the wondrous island that lay within the rough Irish Sea.
-x
As always, thanks a million for the readership, reviews, follows, favourites, alerts, discourse, plot ideas, etc. Stay healthy and safe out there. x