She had never been overly fond of the concept of blind dates, at least when they applied to her life.
She was especially wary of blind dates that also served as double dates.
"You must stop this - how do you say - moon of Steve," said Kai.
"I am not mooning over Steve," said Clare; who, had she indeed been mooning over Steve Sanders, certainly didn't need to sign up for a double date with Luca and Brenda to prove otherwise.
"We will not have that belief in you unless you agree to see Ilmari," said Kai.
Clare asked why it had to be a double date.
"Because you are friend of Brenda and I and Ilmari is friend of me," said Luca.
Clare reached over and deftly swiped a slim Jenga board.
"Do you think it's the best idea to continue seeing Brenda?" she asked, peeking at Luca from the tower where Clare's coaching had helped the two brand-new Jenga players form a decent structure.
"Pardon?" asked Luca.
"Look, I care about Brenda," said Clare. "I know you miss Trish; we all do. And if it was just you and Bren in this scenario, I'd encourage you to stick it out, see what can come of it. Except it's not just you two."
"Clare," Luca began.
"Let her finish," said Kai.
"By all means," said Luca.
"I realize that this thing with Brenda is a mutual agreement to see if you both can date others," said Clare with a grateful nod to Kai, who sent her one in return, "but I've seen how Bren and Dylan are with each other. She might not see it, but the rest of us sure do. And it's not just them. There's a child involved here. I'm concerned if you keep on with this, if you let yourself get closer to Bren; Luc, you're gonna wind up hurt."
"I have tried to tell him the same," said Kai, gingerly sliding a board into the tower. "Luca, my friend; Brenda, she is elegant, she is lovely, she is everything you deserve, but this - arrangement, did you call it? It must end."
"I will not dispute if Brenda chooses to end," said Luca. "But I will not be one to end."
"I'm not saying you wouldn't be a great guy for Bren, or for anyone," said Clare, "but Luc, you're just asking to get rejected if you keep on with this."
She didn't change Luca's mind, but she did get him to rescind the double date invitation.
She could not, however, convince Kai to cancel on Ilmari.
"He is great man," said Kai.
"Then how about I skip the date and you go instead?" asked Clare.
"If Ilmari considered exploring, we would have done in university," said Kai.
The date, whilst not the worst evening Clare had had, did not succeed in getting Steve off of her mind.
Calling her close friend Carl for their annual chat on life updates didn't help, either.
Nor did Carl's announcement of his engagement; not that Clare wanted Carl, or an engagement.
"I brought wine." Valerie opened the bag to show Clare. "And a dartboard with Steve's face on it, if that helps." She set down both items.
"I made her remove David's picture from it," said Brenda, holding out a box of jelly-filled chocolates.
"I just don't understand why the universe keeps giving me this string of bad dates," said Clare, uncorking the bottle. "I'm happy for Carl, really, but it just hits different when your childhood friends have these big life events happen and it's like you're left behind, you know?"
"You don't say," said Val.
"Sure you don't mind me drinking in front of you, Bren?" asked Clare.
"Savor it for both of us," said Brenda.
Although Brenda didn't touch the wine, she did practically salivate over the bottle.
"You know, Luca asked if I would go on a double date with you and him," said Clare.
"Did he?" asked Brenda. "What did you say?"
"I said no, of course. Kai wouldn't let me get out of the blind date, but I'll save any double dates with you and Luca until I know if you're more serious. So, are you getting more serious?"
Clare asked in a way that would come off as more of a casual interest than prying.
She cared about all three people in the situation, including Dylan. Clare thought that Brenda might be headed for her own hurt if she hurt Luca; but if Brenda instead hurt Dylan, Clare wondered if that would affect Brenda more.
She thought it would.
"If we're getting more serious, then shouldn't I kiss him?" asked Brenda.
"You haven't kissed him?" asked Val and Clare in unison.
"I mean, I've thought about it, but; but there's got to be some kind of rule about not kissing someone when you're hauling around a glass paperweight belonging to another person, a paperweight that likes to use your ribcage as her own personal bouncy castle," said Brenda.
"Well sure," said Val, "but that usually comes more into play when you have feelings for the father of your kid and aren't dating someone else. Or, you know, if you're married to him." Val gave Brenda a good, lengthy, inquisitive stare. "Are you admitting that you do have feelings for Dylan?"
"I'm not admitting anything," said Brenda.
"Except that you've gone on over five dates with Luca and haven't kissed him once," said Clare.
"I would've had him in bed on the first night," said Val.
"You aren't eight months pregnant," said Brenda.
"Nor were you when you met him." Val backtracked. "Not eight months, anyway. Even if I was pregnant, it still wouldn't've stopped me."
"I don't think David would've been too pleased with that."
"Who said it'd be David's?" said Val. "'C'mon, babe. You gonna tell me you haven't once considered shredding the clothing of either of the men who have expressed an interest in you? 'Cause if so, you might be the only person on the planet whose sex drive doesn't skyrocket in the third trimester, and the only person who doesn't want to immediately drop their drawers when Dylan flashes those dimples or Luca looks at you with those eyes."
"It's difficult to think of sex when your groin is slowly killing you," said Brenda, "and your back isn't acting much better. Do you have any idea how fucking difficult it is to stay asleep?"
"I'm sure it is especially fucking difficult to stay asleep when Dylan's right beside you; breathing on you, spooning you," said Val.
"How - how do you know how Dylan and I sleep?" asked Brenda.
"'Cause some guys like to spoon," said Val.
"Does David like to spoon?" asked Brenda.
"Why does the conversation always have to come back to David?"
"Why does it always have to come back to Dylan?"
"Because you're sexually driven towards him," said Clare.
"I didn't say that," said Brenda.
"Oh, you didn't have to say it," said Val. "It's written all over your face when we say his name, like you despise the thought of anyone who isn't you dropping their drawers for Dylan."
"I think I preferred when you and Dylan weren't getting along," said Brenda.
"You did not," said Val.
"I can't get into anything serious right now," said Brenda. "Luca and I are just enjoying each other. Dylan and I," she sighed, "Dylan and I don't even know if Jim is going to succeed in coming between us. And if he does, then it doesn't matter which man I'm more drawn towards, because Jim will take me to the other side of the world and it will be a whole fucking year until his guardianship of me comes under review."
"Hey." Valerie and Clare both comforted Brenda. "None of us will let that happen. You know we won't."
"None of you would've let me get in a trainwreck and forget my life, either, but it still happened," said Brenda.
"They aren't comparable, Bren," said Clare.
"We couldn't do anything about that," said Val. "We can fight Jim for as long as it takes to ensure you stay where you belong. You know we'd keep fighting, whatever happens."
Clare and Valerie shared a mutual look of understanding to create a diversion that would taper Brenda's worry.
"How's the mom-in-law?" asked Clare.
"Iris isn't my mother-in-law," said Brenda.
"She might as well be," said Val.
"Dylan said we used to get on well. Iris said she thinks she can help my mother, which is the main thing. Except Iris suggested hypnotherapy and Dylan's exact response was 'no fucking way in hell,' so they're working together to find another solution."
"You called Cindy your mother," said Val.
Brenda's lips curved into a tiny circle.
"I did, didn't I?" she asked.
"Think you're developing some kind of emotion towards her?"
Telling Val it was certainly possible, Brenda squirmed about in search of a more comfortable position.
Clare pondered whether the third trimester of pregnancy was synonymous with misery.
She applauded the parents who balanced parenthood as they pursued a higher education. She, however, knew with certainty that she wouldn't have been able to handle the third trimester on top of her graduate studies. She would have absolutely not pulled out of grad school after all the hours she spent penning the perfect entry essay.
Clare did consider the impossibility of her small stature successfully carrying the child of broad-shouldered Steve Sanders, an impossibility she quickly rejected due to the smaller Brenda seemingly having little issue with housing the lanky Dylan's.
Clare hadn't spent hours mulling over how her child with Steve would have turned out.
But she did, on occasion, wonder if she could have been a decent mother.
If Steve would have made a decent father.
Clare believed herself far too independent for motherhood. The last thing she would want would be for a living, breathing, tiny human being to rely on her.
She wouldn't let herself regret her decision.
She also couldn't tear her eyes away from Brenda's abdomen. If she wasn't careful, Brenda would soon notice and question Clare about it.
Shaking out her hair as a distraction, Clare refocused on another point in the room.
"Just lay against me." Valerie offered out her shoulder. "Next time, it'll be twins."
"Don't even joke about that," said Brenda. "I already dreamt that she was a twin, and then all of a sudden, there were six of her. I woke up mad at Dylan. He was so confused. Spent the whole morning trying to see if he should apologize over something he had no clue about." Brenda moved into position against Valerie. "You might be even more comfortable than Dylan."
"I'll be sure to rub that in his face," said Val.
Clare asked if Brenda's recent symptoms had changed Brenda's outlook on pregnancy.
"It isn't that bad," said Brenda. "Sure, I could live without the aches, pains, and the struggle to sit somewhere comfortable, but I know it won't last and then I'll have my little girl. So it makes it all worth it. Plus, people are more willing to let you use them as a cushion if they see how uncomfortable you are."
Valerie eyed Clare and then switched topics, which Clare felt certain Val had done on purpose.
"People like Dylan," said Val.
"You sure mention him an awful lot for someone who claims she doesn't love him," said Brenda.
"Tell you what, Bren. The second we get home, I'll pull Dylan aside and start macking on him. Might toss a kiss or two on his neck, maybe one on that, mm," Val smacked her lips, "delectable scar of his. Will that make you happy?" Val waited a beat as she checked Brenda's reaction. "Yeah, I didn't think so."
"It'd make me unhappy because it would make David unhappy," said Brenda in an attempt to disconnect herself from the idea that Clare could tell bothered her.
"We both know that isn't the only reason you'd be unhappy," said Val.
"I'll just turn around and do the same to David," said Brenda.
"You wouldn't dare." Valerie wore the same sad attempt at indifference as Brenda.
"You're right," said Brenda. "I'll get Clare to do it."
"Leave me out of this," said Clare as she raised both of her palms.
"Truce?" asked Val.
"If you promise to stop trying to make me jealous over Dylan," said Brenda.
"I'll stop," said Val, "but you might wanna take a second and examine why you're reacting that viscerally to my innocent comments."
"Innocent," Clare snorted, "right."
"You're not that innocent yourself, Miss Locked-Herself-to-Brandon's-Bedpost," said Val.
"You did what?" asked Brenda. She emitted a noise of repulsion, complete with a scrunched nose.
"Your brother was hot," said Clare unapologetically.
"Who was hotter?" asked Val. "Brandon, or Steve?"
"Excuse me, those are my brothers you're talking about," said Brenda.
"When did Steve become one of your brothers?" asked Val.
"I'm - I'm not sure." Brenda donned a mask of concentration. "Maybe he's just around the house too much."
"Maybe." Val didn't sound convinced.
"Were Steve and I close before?" asked Brenda.
"Not really," said Val.
"Oh," said Brenda.
Valerie asked if Brenda had developed a familial affection for Steve.
"I don't know about that," said Brenda, "but he does have nice hugs."
"He does," agreed Clare, failing to think before she spoke.
Valerie and Brenda both made to respond when Clare was saved by the buzz of a raucous intercom.
She hopped up, nearly losing her footing from standing too quickly.
"Careful," Brenda smiled as she helped to righten Clare.
Clare gave Brenda a smile in return and went to answer the intercom.
"It's me," said the voice that instantly cast a glow upon Brenda's person. "Can I come up?"
"Sure thing," said Clare.
Dylan entered the apartment.
Steve followed suit, just as Clare had begun to close the door.
"What are you," her voice let out a squeak before she cleared it, "what are you doing here?"
"Nat told me he wouldn't make me any more megaburgers until I talked to you," said Steve. "I don't think he can actively prevent me from getting them if I show up to the Pit and pay for them, but I wasn't taking a chance."
"Since when do you pay for anything at the Pit?" asked Dylan. He held out his hands for Brenda to hold onto as she tried to raise herself up.
"I pay for things at the Pit," said Steve.
"You have an open tab," said Dylan.
"So do you," Steve fired back.
"Which Nat knows I've been making good on for years." Dylan tucked his arm around Brenda's back. "Val, you still planning to come along with us to class?"
"Unless your class decides to switch locations, hell yeah, I'm coming," said Val. "Gotta scope out all those delicious doctors. One of them's got to be single. Plus; you know, supporting Brenda and all."
"Good save," said Brenda. She glanced between Steve and Clare. "Should we skip it?" she asked hesitantly.
"Go," said Clare. "Steve and I need to talk."
"You? Skip class? Unlikely," said Dylan.
"You'd be surprised," said Val.
"Call us if Steve gives you grief," said Brenda.
"He won't, will you, Steve?" Valerie straightened to her full posture to try to stand on Steve's level.
"The shorties are on the attack," said Steve.
"Hey, only I get to tease Bren about her height," said Dylan.
"Uh, you do not," said Brenda.
Dylan probed Valerie for stories about Brenda's rare instances of skipping class as Steve and Clare were left alone.
"Can I get you anything?" asked Clare.
"Not unless you can get me the keys to a DeLorean," said Steve. "Has to be one with a flux capacitor. Or the phone booth that Bill and Ted use. That'd work, too."
"Bill Taylor?" asked Clare through her perplexity.
"No, it's - damn, Arnold, you're missing out on a cinematic masterpiece."
"I've seen what you consider cinematic masterpieces, so if I'm missing out on one, I'm good. That's a no on a drink?"
"Not if it's your girly wines."
"Akvavit, actually. Kai left a bottle over here the other day, but if you're gonna act like that -"
"Why is Kai leaving bottles in; never mind. Hit me."
Clare poured two tall glasses of golden Akvavit and handed one to Steve.
Steve's eyes tacked to Clare's stomach.
"Here." Clare waved the glass in front of him.
"I'm sorry," said Steve.
Clare was taken aback, knowing how rare it was to receive a sincere apology from Steve Sanders.
"For stealing my notes? For ignoring me for weeks?" she asked.
"Again, they were not stolen; ergo, no apology required. Yes, sorry for ignoring you, but mostly I'm sorry that I slept with Val when you were on that plane to Paris. If I'd known you were pregnant…"
"Wait. You slept with Val when I was on the plane? Steve, I left the very same day we broke up!"
Steve told Clare that he had been intoxicated and that Valerie had been there.
"Don't be mad at Valerie," said Steve.
"Val and I weren't friends then," said Clare. "If she did something like that now, it would destroy our friendship, but that one I'm putting solely on you."
Steve asked why it would destroy their relationship.
"What?" asked Clare.
"Why would it destroy your relationship with Val if I slept with her now?" asked Steve.
"Because it - because -"
"Because," Steve echoed. His eyes again dropped to Clare's midsection. "Was Kai with you?"
"Sorry?" she asked.
"Was Kai with you?" Steve repeated.
From the way Steve continued to stare at her stomach, Clare realized his implication.
"It was before I met Kai," she said.
"So Carl was with you," said Steve. "He fly you out to the finest clinic monarchy money could buy?"
"I didn't tell Carl," said Clare.
At any other time, Steve's smug satisfaction would have caused a crawling of Clare's skin.
"One of your Paris friends, then," he said.
"I," Clare sipped from her glass and stumbled as she sat down, almost as if Brenda's weight had been thrust upon her without any warning of how to handle it, "I went alone."
"You went alone?" Steve kept space between them as he also sat. "Is that why you didn't tell me? You wanted to go it alone?"
"I didn't want," Clare took another sip, "Steve, look, I get that I didn't try hard enough to tell you. I could've easily called Donna and told her to get your ass on the phone. But I didn't. Donna didn't know."
"Donna didn't know," echoed Steve, somewhat more cheerfully despite his dismal tone.
"Maybe I was worried you'd want me to change my mind. Or maybe I was worried you'd insist on me going to the clinic. A million thoughts ran through my head, Steve. I didn't want to rely on Daddy's money. I wanted to stand on my own, and on my own, I couldn't afford to raise a kid. I didn't have time to raise a kid, not if I still wanted to go to grad school."
"Rush would've helped," said Steve.
"More like you would've been cut off if Rush found out you'd knocked me up."
"Rush cut me off anyway."
"He did?"
"Not important," said Steve. "Your Daddy? How did he react?"
"I didn't give him the chance to."
"Clare," Steve reached out and grasped her hand, "did you tell anyone?"
Clare tried to not think of how right their hands felt together, of how perfectly they matched up.
"I told Kai," she said.
"At the time," said Steve. "Did you tell anyone, at the time? Did anyone know what was going on with you?"
No one had known, she told him.
Not a single soul.
"You went the whole thing alone. You didn't have to do that. You could've told one of us." Steve sat back and downed the rest of his glass.
"I figured you'd call if you heard the voicemail and if you didn't, then you'd be too angry with me to care." Clare finished off her own glass. "Maybe what I was really worried about was that you'd be apathetic."
"You think I could be apathetic toward you?" Steve turned his head until his chin met his shoulder. "Clare, you know how many nights I've lied awake since you've told me? Wondering if you'd felt him kick? If you had Kai with you?"
"Him? Steve, I went to the clinic long before I felt any movement. Long before they could tell if it was a him."
"Call it a gut feeling," said Steve. "Answer me one question."
"Depends on the question."
"Did you decide on the abortion because he was mine?"
"Is that what you think?"
"Do I think you would've made a different choice if he was Carl's, Dick's, or the saintly Kai? Yeah, I do."
"There was a plethora of reasons, Steve. But none of those reasons were because of you."
"Swear?"
"I swear."
If there hadn't been grad school, said Clare; if her father hadn't been ill, if it had happened when she and Steve were older, when Clare was more settled and financially prepared, then Clare said her decision may have been different.
The admission lingered in the atmosphere.
Steve leant in.
Perhaps it was the heady feeling from the alcohol, perhaps it was the emotions stirred during their conversation, perhaps it was leftover frustration over their parting.
Whatever the reason, Clare found herself remembering why she had once held a strong attachment to Steve's lips.
And, as they fell back against the futon, Steve cupping Clare's back, Clare realized she didn't have any desire to detach from him.
Until the morning.
She may have regrets in the morning.
But that could wait until the morning.
"I love you," Steve whispered against her lips. "You don't have to say it back. I just need you to know."
"Is that you talking, or the glass?" asked Clare.
"Maybe a little of both," said Steve as he resumed their muted affection.
Muted except for the groans that emitted from both as they shifted positions and Steve's shirt slid to the floor on its own accord.
And Clare's safeguards crumbled.
She just hoped Kai wouldn't walk in and gloat that he had been proven correct.
It was bad enough that Steve would.
xx
They were two women who had little in common, yet effortlessly bonded over their mutual love for tea.
Tea that Brenda had begun to drink less, until Iris offered her a cup freshly steeped.
Dylan's protests were largely left unrecognized as Iris regaled Brenda with tales of Iris' youth.
Some of which, Dylan considered far too much information.
"Bren doesn't need to hear about you losing your clothes at Monterey Pop," he said.
"Oh, pish posh," said Iris. "Brenda's enjoying my stories, aren't you?" She tapped Brenda's hand.
"Alright, I don't need to hear about you losing your clothes at Monterey Pop," said Dylan.
"It was for a worthy cause, dear," said Iris. "Oh, but your father had the same reaction when I told him."
"This tea is lovely, Iris," said Brenda.
"Helped me through many an aching bone," said Iris. "It's cured many an unfortunate cramp, too. It is especially helpful for indigestion."
"Mom!" said Dylan.
"Would you rather I tell stories about you, Dylan?" asked Iris.
"I'd prefer it if you didn't," said Dylan, but Iris was already off on another memory, one starring her son's first time on a surfboard.
"I didn't lose my footing," said Dylan. "Jack pushed me off!"
"He insisted you'd get back on," said Iris.
"Did he?" asked Brenda.
"Six months later!" said Iris.
"It was a massive wave," said Dylan.
"I can't wait until I can go surfing," said Brenda. Her hand moved in a repetitive vertical direction over her stomach.
Dylan stilled Brenda's hand with his.
"Everything alright in there?" he asked.
He didn't need to check to know Iris was following their every movement.
"She goes deep-diving any time you even mention the ocean," said Brenda.
"That's my girl," said Dylan. "Just wait 'til Daddy gets you out there. You're gonna love it, maybe even more than your Mum does."
"Not possible," said Brenda.
Upon seeing that Nat and Cindy had returned, Iris excused herself to see if Nat's planned talk with Jim had garnered any level of success.
Dylan lifted Brenda's shirt and grazed his finger over her navel. "It's official, Bren. You've an outie. And hold on! Is that - Bren, I think I see her hand!"
"I - I see it, too," said Brenda. She slid their hands down to the indentation, awestruck.
"That's our little girl, baby," said Dylan.
"She's definitely responding to your voice," said Brenda.
"Our voices." Dylan became a willing wayfarer in Brenda's eyes.
He would have leant in, had the doorbell not caused Brenda to jump up.
"Shit, he's here!" said Brenda. "I completely lost track of time. I still need to get dressed!"
"You look fine," said Dylan.
"I'm wearing a giant tomato stain from lunch."
"You are? I didn't notice." Dylan reluctantly stood. "Need me to stall?"
"Would you? If it isn't too much trouble?" asked Brenda.
"Yeah, I'll stall," said Dylan.
He would have liked to have commanded König to get the hell off of Dylan's property, but it wasn't just his property and he was trying to be halfway decent.
He made small talk with König, mostly about König's enjoyment in his career and the progress of Dylan's writing.
"Where are you off to tonight?" asked Dylan in what he thought was a pleasant enough tone.
"I take Brenda to new art show," said Luca.
"She's not into Surrealism," said Dylan.
"This I did not know," said Luca.
"Now you do," said Dylan.
Luca said it was good that the show didn't feature Surrealism, then.
Dylan told Luca it was super, with an extra punch on the first syllable.
He sent Brenda off with a kiss to her head and an offhand comment about clothing removal in Monterey; which, with any luck, would have Luca questioning.
For a few hours, at least, Dylan was able to distract himself with therapy.
He even managed to speak about K2, which he credited Brenda for helping him do.
He spoke about Wilhem, about Ronnie, about the avalanche.
He spoke about how guilty he felt over losing Brenda's ring, like that moment had been the catalyst for the cracks that grew to form a chasm between them.
"This Brenda; she has a great meaning to you," said his therapist. "You speak of her often."
"I cannot begin to describe how much," said Dylan. "I don't think anything has ever meant more to me than she does, with the exception of my daughter. If I could go back and tell myself something at seventeen, it'd be to not fuck it up with Brenda. To not break her heart at eighteen. But would Bren and I have had London if we'd never split? Would she have still gone to London? That, I can't determine, and London's too crucial for us to wish it all away."
Dylan examined the framed photos lining the desk, photos he assumed depicted a family, maybe on their holidays. He recognized the city: Copenhagen, a place Erica had loved when he and Brenda had taken her on one of their spontaneous weekends away.
He had failed Erica, just as he had failed Brenda.
As he had failed so many in his life.
"Maybe Bren means too much," he said. "Maybe I'm scared to love her."
"Because of the way your wife died?"
"Maybe. I can't watch Brenda bleed out in front of me. But she does, when I sleep. She bleeds, and she bleeds, and I can't stop it. She bleeds out, or she bleeds out our child before she also bleeds out, and all I can do is watch. Or she's nailed down to that fucking train. Or she's buried under an avalanche. Sometimes, it's a cash register. Some high fucker has Bren chained to a cash register. I look at the high fucker, and see me. Bren dies, there in my arms, and I don't get the chance to tell her goodbye because my addiction kills her."
"You are frightened of losing her."
"I am. I'm scared shitless, and maybe that's the problem. Maybe it's been easier for me to push her away than to accept that someone like her can love me, with all my baggage and all my damaged parts. I don't excel at much, but I sure do excel at pushing her away. I must get that from my parents."
"Do you think it is better if you and Brenda are apart?" asked the therapist.
"I can't stand the idea of us being apart. It's fucking torture, every damn time."
"Then you must tell Brenda what you have told me."
But he had told Brenda; hadn't he?
Dylan returned home too early and took advantage of Brenda's absence to fully unpack the box of their memories.
He lifted out the final picture in the box, buried towards the bottom.
He found a frame and hung the picture up beside the nursery mural so that his daughter could see her parents' first dance.
Once Dylan had hung up all the pictures, either in the nursery or in his and Brenda's room, he began to put together the bookcase that had just been delivered for the nursery.
The solace that had embraced him in his task didn't last when Brenda's laughter wafted in through the closed window.
Dylan clung to the curtain. The smart decision would be to walk away, or at least to turn his head.
The smart decision evaded him.
Don't do it, he thought. Don't kiss him.
Dylan experienced a temporary relief when Brenda turned her cheek and Luca's lips landed inches away from their presumed planned location.
Enough of a relief that Dylan could release the curtain and pretend Brenda was currently in the process of breaking up with Luca König.
He didn't dare open the window to hear otherwise.
"I saw that," said Nat as he brought in a toolbox imprinted with Brandon's name.
"Saw what?" Dylan focused on screwing in a shelf.
"You missed one," said Nat.
He had said it about an overlooked screw, but Dylan comprehended the additional meaning.
"Don't start, Nat," said Dylan. "You have any luck with Jimbo?"
"Sorry, kid. He isn't budging."
"If you ever thought I was ridiculous for thinking Jim had it in for me…"
"Not sure that's the whole story," said Nat. "But I didn't come in here to talk about Jim, or my suspicions of why he's making the choices he is."
"Nat…"
"Dylan, how long have I known you?"
"A long time."
"A very long time. Since before you were born. Since your mom walked into the diner back when it was still managed by Pop and ordered our finest slice."
"Nat, what are you getting at?"
"You know I always give it to you straight, don't I?"
A few too many times, thought Dylan, who had been the focus of many of Nat's scoldings.
Unlike Jack's scoldings, however, Dylan never questioned whether Nat's were underlaid with care.
And if it hadn't been for Nat caring, Dylan would have never stepped foot into an AA meeting to begin with.
Even if he did have to take over dishwashing duty for most of his eighth grade year to make it up to Nat about the damaged parking meters.
"Always," said Dylan. "Even when I'd prefer you didn't. Which is most of the time," he ribbed.
"So then can I ask what you're doing?" Nat queried.
"I don't know what you mean," said Dylan.
"Tell me, how long have you been in love with Brenda Walsh?"
"You know exactly how long."
"Want to hear you say it."
"Since we were sixteen. But what does that -"
"You've been in love with Brenda Walsh for the past eight years, through all the times you were with others; all the times she was. Brenda Walsh, who's about to bring your little tyke into the world, and you're really gonna sit there and act like you're alright with her dating someone else?"
"What can I do, Nat?" asked Dylan, certain that the desperation in his voice reflected on his face. "It's not like I can tell Brenda she can't date Luca; not after being with Kelly, and with Gina."
"I'm not condoning cheating of any kind," said Nat, "but have you tried fighting for her?"
"Of course I've fought for her!" Dylan couldn't help but be a bit nettled by the question. "I live with her, don't I? I take her to work when she lets me, I grab every opportunity she gives me to be around her. I've somehow managed to get Bren to trust me again, to think of me with something other than contempt. You don't understand, Nat. It was only two months ago when Bren would barely let me around her if it didn't have to do with our kid. There was a point I wasn't sure if she'd ever let me back in her bed."
"Then you've told Brenda precisely how you feel about her seeing Luca," said Nat, unfazed.
"Well, no, but - but she should -"
"She should what? Know? Didn't you say that Brenda isn't as quick to understand things as she was?"
"Yeah, but…"
"Then how is she going to know how you truly feel about her dating Luca without you telling her?"
"I don't want to screw this up," said Dylan. "I've screwed it up so many times with Bren. Now we're in a good place, a great place, bordering on a fucking fantastic place, and I; I don't want her to have reason to push me away."
"So instead, you'll stand by and wait to see if Brenda's arrangement with Luca becomes more permanent."
"It won't."
"It might."
"Bren said she's only trying dating to figure out how she feels about me. It's only fair, Nat. I had my chance to realize I'm not interested in dating around. Bren's getting her chance to realize the same."
"And if Brenda changes her mind and decides to keep seeing Luca for reasons that don't have anything to do with you?"
Dylan again insisted the relationship wouldn't go that far; if it could even be called a relationship, he snipped.
"Cowardice has never looked good on you, Dylan."
"I'm not a coward."
"Do you remember what happened after Andrea told you that Brenda was flying off to Vegas to elope?" asked Nat.
"Do we really have to go there?" asked Dylan.
"I'm an old man, Dylan. Not as sharp as I once was. Humor me."
"Please," Dylan harrumphed, but then said, "you offered me pie."
"And how did you respond?"
"I told you I couldn't think of a fucking pie when Brenda was on her way to marry a scumbag like Carson," said Dylan. "You and I were the only ones who knew the full story about him."
"That's what happens when you haul up a drunken middle schooler behind a diner and tell his so-called friends to scram," said Nat.
"You saved my ass that day," said Dylan. "Did I ever thank you for that?"
"You mumbled out a thank you day of," Nat replied dismissively. "Remind me of what I told you."
"You told me to quit moping, get my ass on a plane and stop her in whatever way possible. Then bagged up a slice for the road. Had to scarf it down before I hit TSA."
"So quit moping and get your ass on a plane," said Nat.
"I'm not moping." Cupping the space between his nose and his lips, Dylan slid his hand down towards his chin.
"You make it a habit of clutching onto curtains, do you?"
Dylan despised when Nat spoke valid points that contradicted Dylan's own.
"Thought my ass already got on a plane," Dylan tried again.
"Getting on the plane was step one. Think of how you stopped Stuart," said Nat.
"I didn't. Bren did, all on her own." Dylan straightened out his back. "Bren did, all on her own!" he repeated.
"By George, I think the boy's finally got it," Nat exclaimed with great panache.
Dylan decided that Nat had missed his calling to become an orchestra conductor, renowned in a national symphony of a great European city.
He pictured Nat showing up in a waistcoat and top hat to the premiere of Brenda's animation and wouldn't have been at all surprised if Nat would select a similar ensemble when the premiere occurred.
"So what should I do?" asked Dylan. "I've taken her to Helsinki, to a national park, rented a cabin. We've kayaked. Gone to the beach. Brought her to an islet. It's not like we can leave the country with this lawsuit breathing down our necks, unless we want Jimbo accusing us of making a run for it. Even if we could, Bren's not getting on a plane anytime soon so I can't take her to our favorite haunts in London. Baja's completely out of the question. I'm running out of ideas here, Nat."
"You'll think of something," said Nat. "I myself lean toward a whole lot of colors. There's just something majestic about seeing a lot of colors at once, especially if there's a hint of green. Don't you agree?"
Dylan caught the hint.
"Might not wanna wait too long," Nat added. "I hear the nights are about to get a whole less dark. Some things are easier to see in the dark."
"Dylan?"
"In here, Bren!" Dylan called. "Don't mention this conversation to her," he told Nat.
"James would always say there was no better confidant," said Nat.
"James, as in Dean? You were not James Dean's confidant."
Brenda walked in, catalogue in hand. Her finger served as a bookmark for a page.
She said a warm hello to Nat, who greeted her in the fatherly way he often bestowed upon various members of the gang.
"I found a crib I like," said Brenda. She briefly glanced up, and then did a double-take as Nat slipped out. "Is that the newspaper dress hanging on our daughter's wall?"
"It's my favorite picture of us," said Dylan. "It wasn't planned. One of the Yearbook staff caught us in a moment and asked if they could snap our photo. We were supposed to be looking at the camera, but I looked at you instead and you followed suit. They ended up not using it in the yearbook, so I paid them for the sole copy and gave it to you."
"It's a nice picture," said Brenda.
"Then I don't have to take it down?"
"No, you can keep it up."
"There's some photos of our travels I could show you, see if you want to add any to her wall."
"That would be fine. We can see about adding other people to her wall, too. I like the idea of her having a photo wall to introduce her to travel when she's young."
"We'll talk it over," said Dylan. "Now let's see this crib." He closed the space between them.
"I have an hour before I'm supposed to talk with Donna about my new promotional idea," said Brenda.
"Then we'll put that hour to use," said Dylan. "Hope Donna won't keep you up too late like she did last time you talked to her."
Brenda said she was that much closer to getting Donna to break it off with Noah and Brenda would therefore stay on with Donna for however long it took.
"He's flirting with that Gina person you used to fuck," said Brenda. "Or Kel says he is, at least. Kel said Gina walked in wearing the same shade of lipstick they found on Noah's collar, and yet Don still can't bring herself to break up with him. I told Donna if she doesn't do it soon, I'm gonna break up with him. Is Donna usually this much of a shag carpet, or is it just Noah making her this way?"
"A shag carpet?" asked Dylan.
"How she lets Noah walk all over her," said Brenda.
"A doormat," said Dylan.
"We don't have a doormat," said Brenda.
"No, it's the expre - crib. Let's talk cribs."
"We'll need a bassinet, too, and a stroller."
"Cribs. Bassinets. Strollers. Whatever she needs."
Dylan allowed himself to be swept up in discussion of all three, along with changing tables, and various other bits of furniture required for a nursery. It wasn't a discussion he had ever thought he would participate in willingly, but the more domestic the conversation he had with Brenda, the more natural Dylan found it.
The Walshes made domesticity enjoyable; perhaps because with Brenda, Dylan didn't think domesticity dull.
He instead thought it the greatest ongoing adventure of his life.
He asked Brenda about going away for the weekend.
"The weekend?" she asked. "Luca had asked about this weekend."
"There's something I want us to do for our family before she's born and if we don't do it this weekend, we might not get the chance to," said Dylan.
Brenda rescheduled with Luca.
Dylan rescheduled his research session with Brandon.
"But that doesn't mean you get to skip researching," he told Brandon.
"Until we know what's going on with Val and until we know why Rawlins has involved himself with both of Brenda's cases, fat chance of me skipping," said Brandon. "You'd think it'd be easier to find something on Abby."
"Then if you can't find anything on Abby, try researching your mother," said Dylan.
"Don't know why I didn't think of that," said Brandon.
"Because you should give yourself a break from the screen every once in a while," said Dylan. "You're gonna get to the point where the words blur together."
Brandon said if that happened, he would just buy readers. Dylan said Steve would tease Brandon mercilessly if Brandon bought readers in his twenties. Brandon said a journalist's job was never done and there was nothing wrong with readers if it helped him in his career.
Dylan brought Brenda to the studio that Friday morning, which he had rarely done as of late since Brenda had begun using the bus as her main source of transportation.
Brenda inquired whether Dylan thought she might be approaching the point where she could relearn driving. Dylan told Brenda that if she thought herself ready, he would happily help her to relearn.
He dropped her off as she had requested, and spent the rest of the morning browsing through bookshops until he received Brenda's text that she had been given the approval to leave.
"They all wanted to know where I was going, but as usual, I couldn't tell them," said Brenda as she buckled in.
"No glad to see you again, Dylan? No glad you survived the crowds, Dylan?" asked Dylan, helping Brenda readjust her lap belt.
"Are there crowds in bookshops?" she asked.
"When there's a new release of a popular author," he said, slightly miffed whilst simultaneously pleased that Brenda instinctively knew where he had been.
"How many books are we adding to her shelves now?"
"Just a handful. Barely a handful."
Dylan was admittedly a bit nervous.
The road trip he had planned would be the longest he and Brenda had ever been in a car together.
Road trips, he knew, could bring out the worst in people, and he certainly didn't need Brenda to see him at his worst.
The driving time would far surpass the last time they had road tripped together whilst apart, when the gang had gone up to Yosemite during their first summer together as a group.
Brenda had preferred to ignore him then.
Their accommodation was said to be immensely more comfortable than that leaky cabin, if the pamphlet Dylan had read held any truth to it.
"It's a long drive ahead," he told her. "Might want to try and get comfortable."
"Keyword is try," said Brenda.
She sang along to the radio, her voice shifting decibel with each song.
Dylan also sang, a sweet baritone that melded to Brenda's second soprano.
"You really do have a lovely voice," said Brenda.
Dylan thanked her and offered the same compliment.
"I, uh, I picked up something in the shop for us," he said, aiming his thumb behind him before returning it to the steering wheel.
"Looks like an instrument," said Brenda.
"It is an instrument," said Dylan.
"You play an instrument?"
"Haven't in years but I figured if I'm gonna pick it back up, might as well do so now. Get in some practice before I subject her to it."
There were several additional stops than Dylan would have normally permitted; mostly for Brenda, but also a few for himself.
The further north they got, the greater the number of stops.
Dylan thought Brenda's camera would run out of film before they made it to their destination, the way she kept insisting on snapping him in front of various geological landscapes.
He stole the camera from Brenda to ensure she had some photos of herself, along with a few of them together.
In one, Dylan kissed her cheek. In another, he showered affection upon their child. In a third, he did nothing but look at Brenda as they stood entangled beside a waterfall.
He'd seen the Walsh albums, the photos that had lined Brenda's old bedroom wall. He'd sat with Brenda and Valerie as Val flipped through album after album in an effort to jog Brenda's memories. He'd watched David's videos on repeat.
Brenda had always been photogenic, but her ability to photograph well seemed to heighten when Dylan held ownership of the camera.
Or perhaps it was due to her permanent glow.
"You know, I often think about the fact that I may have never seen such a glorious landscape if Brandon hadn't thought Alina could help us. So I guess I can be grateful for that," said Brenda.
"It wasn't on your bucket list," said Dylan, lowering the camera, "but you could've found your way here eventually."
"I'm glad we found our way together," said Brenda. "I wouldn't want to be here without you."
Dylan said he felt the same.
When they returned to the car, Brenda sifted through the books Dylan had bought and began to read one.
The one which, unbeknownst to Brenda, Dylan had picked out specifically for her.
The air grew frostier the closer they got to the border. Brenda reached behind her to grab a fluffy blanket that Dylan had made sure to place on the backseat.
"You're always so thoughtful," she said.
Brenda curled into the blanket until Dylan heard the lulling sonata of her snores.
"I can be incredibly selfish," he said, though it seemed only the air heard him.
Dylan pulled over to button the shivering Brenda into her parka coat.
"This'll be another first for your parents," he told their daughter. "König's not the only one who can do things with Bren for the first time."
Brenda opened one eye and rolled her head towards the window.
"Are you taking us to the North Pole?" she asked as she stifled a yawn.
"Not quite, but we are about to step into a shit ton of cold," said Dylan. "See the land over the river?"
Brenda gave a sluggish nod.
"You're looking at Sweden," he told her.
No, they weren't going to Sweden, he told the disappointed Brenda.
But when Dylan parked in front of the holiday resort, Brenda's disappointment dissipated.
She tilted her whole face towards what would have been a pitch-black sky, had it not been blanketed in vivid shades of bright emerald.
"Oh my God," said Brenda. "The Auroras. These are the Auroras?"
"Well, we can't live in Finland and not see the Auroras before they go into hiding for the summer, can we?" Dylan crossed his hands over Brenda's shoulders. "Who knows when we'll have an opportunity like this again?"
"It's like the sky is bejeweled with diamond-laced pear skins," said Brenda.
Dylan hid his laugh in the hood of her coat.
"I guess that's one way of putting it," he said.
"And how would you put it, O Great Writer?" asked Brenda.
"It's wishes," said Dylan. "It's hopes. It's Mother Nature dancing in a field of peacock feathers. It's the reflection of the sun barely peeking through a forest of bright green leaves capturing mankind's hankering for adventure."
There were plenty of other comparisons he could have made, if only Brenda could recall Baja.
"Okay, you win," said Brenda.
"And if your pear comment is any indication, someone needs food," said Dylan.
They ate in bed, where nature's hued lava lamp continued to hover through the glass-domed ceiling as they warmed themselves under the sherpa fleece covers.
Dylan told Brenda of his progress with speaking of K2, listening to Brenda's encouraging response. He asked her if she held an interest in participating in a clinical trial, which Clare's team believed may help to unlock some of Brenda's memories.
"We'll likely have to wait until she's born in case there's any negative side effects," said Dylan, "but what do you think? We can discuss it with Alina if you have any concerns. The results aren't conclusive. There's no guarantee it will work, or that it'll unlock much, but if you think we should do it -"
"I think if this trial unlocks even one memory of you, then it will be worth it," said Brenda.
She deflated Dylan's swelling ego by adding, "or of Donna."
Not to be defeated, Dylan lifted his new guitar out of its case and began to strum.
He started out with quick, lively beats that Brenda swayed along to and then, to his astonishment, recalled the notes to his Grandfather McKay's favorite folk song.
Dylan sang the Gaelic opening, convinced he had butchered the words.
"I - I think I've heard this before," said Brenda in a tone drenched with uncertainty. "Maybe from someone in my family."
Dylan ensured to keep his eyes locked on Brenda's as he sang.
"Sad I am without thee. / When I'm lonely, dear white heart, black the night and wild the sea / By love's light my foot finds, the old pathway to thee."
Brenda sang the chorus. Dylan joined her in the second verse.
"Thou'rt the music of my heart, harp of joy, o cuit mo cridh / Moon of guidance by night / Strength and light thou'rt to me."
He waited for the impact of the lyrics to sink in with Brenda.
They did, but not in the way Dylan had expected.
"It was my aunt Sheila." Brenda astounded herself. "She took us to a Scottish folk dance, back when she was dating my uncle Daniel."
"Your aunt dated your uncle?" asked Dylan.
"A Walsh dated a Beevis," Brenda explained. "It didn't work out, but Uncle Daniel still to this day remembers Aunt Sheila fondly. Maybe because they'd known each other for so long before they tried dating."
"I really oughta meet these uncles of yours someday. All those aunts and cousins I hear about, too."
"You've never met my cousins?" asked Brenda.
Dylan told her he had met Bobby, along with Bobby's sister Lottie.
"Then those are the only ones I'd want you to meet," said Brenda. "Maybe Owen, too."
"You don't get along with the others?" asked Dylan.
"I don't remember the others," said Brenda.
Damn. Dylan almost thought Brenda had recalled her entire family.
He supposed continuous bits and bobs were a solid start.
Remembering her favorite aunt certainly was.
"My grandfather constantly sang it," said Dylan. "I would hear him sing it to my grandma."
"Do you think people can stay together for as long as their grandparents have?" asked Brenda.
"If they love each other enough and they take the time to remind themselves why they fell in love, take the time to work through arguments, then I think they can," said Dylan.
"I think they can, too," said Brenda.
In the morning, they drove to Kilpisjärvi to catch a boat to the Three-Country Cairn.
"Bet you didn't plan to see three countries at once," said Dylan. He jabbed his elbow in the direction of the land that the skipper had said belonged to Norway.
"You found a way around us staying in one place until the suit is over," said Brenda. "Damn, Dylan. Were you always this great with surprises?"
"Considering she surprised both of us…" Dylan pouted out his lips as he shrugged.
"Life with you is an endless adventure," said Brenda.
"You were pretty adventurous, too," said Dylan.
He proceeded to tell Brenda of the time she had talked Dylan into missing their train back to London to explore a monastery in Montenegro.
"I was so fun," said Brenda.
"You're still plenty fun," said Dylan. "Never thought the domestic life could be fun until I started going through it with you."
"Is that why we haven't had an issue living together?" asked Brenda. "It's my understanding that we had a lot of issues with that before."
"Bren, you're the only person I'd want to do domestic life with."
Dylan's words, which he thought the perfect buildup to the real reason for their trip, sent Brenda into what Dylan knew must have been a revisit to struggling with how she viewed him.
They explored a few surrounding villages, mainly in bookshops as had been their custom since living in London.
Mostly, they delighted in the rural area around them and the animals they didn't ordinarily see.
They had barely returned to their lodging when Dylan released the inhibitions he had held onto for longer than he normally would have done.
His lips attacked Brenda's neck; nipping, suckling at her delicate skin.
Gently, yet firmly, etching his mark upon her.
"Tell me you want me to stop," he said, gathering Brenda's hair to the other side of her shoulders.
"I - I don't know if I want you to stop," she stammered.
"Then tell me you and König are no longer together."
"I can't do that."
Dylan withdrew his lips.
"I've made a lot of moronic decisions in my life, Bren. A lot. I've willingly been the other man, and I've gleefully turned women into the other woman. You and I weren't built on that foundation, and we aren't going to start now."
"Dylan, I -"
"I need to say this, Bren." He held her elbows and bent to get her to look at him. "I won't be the other man," he said. "I won't do to König what I've done to Steve, to Brandon; hell, even to Durning. I don't like the guy that did those things, and I'm not bringing him back. I won't encourage you to cheat on König. You want to be with me, then König's got to be out of the picture."
"I," Brenda sucked in a jagged breath, "I don't want us to hurt each other and ruin what we have."
"I assume you also don't want to hurt König."
"I don't."
Dylan grasped her to him, as much as he could with her jiggling belly pushing between them.
"Tell me you feel nothing," he said. "That all we are is platonic. That I've shredded our chance for us to be more, the way a vicious storm wave shreds a board. That the chandeliers don't shiver with excitement when I hold you like this. Tell me you don't want this, that you don't want us. That you don't want her to see her parents feeling each other up in front of her classmates. That you've never once thought about what it would be like to kiss me."
"It's just - it's all very confusing," said Brenda. Her eyes pleaded with him to understand. "When you first came around, I thought you were in love with Val. Then I thought you were in love with Kelly. And now - now -"
"Now you're realizing what's really between us?" asked Dylan.
"Am I, though?" asked Brenda.
"If you'd stop doubting your gut, you would."
"Maybe my gut is doubting for a reason."
"Maybe your gut's doubting König," said Dylan.
"Dylan, you said you wouldn't press me. You said you'd give me time to figure this out."
"I do want to give you that time, Bren. I don't want to press you, but I also don't want you to misunderstand this bond between us. It isn't just about her, and it will never be just about her. Before I met you, my life was nothing but tenebrosity, like that sky out there. You were - you are the Auroras that broke through that tenebrosity, that showed me life didn't have to be bleak. That life could have a perpetual force of color."
"Damn," was all Brenda answered, dragging out the word.
"I get that people can peacefully co-parent," said Dylan. "That's fine for them. But that's them. We aren't them."
"We - we aren't?"
"Fuck no, we aren't. I love you." He punched out the phrase, hoping Brenda would realize the strength behind it. "I love you with an intensity so fierce that seeing König's hands kneading your back, hearing you laugh with him; it's a knife to my gut. I've made shit decisions. I've hurt you, and I know that. I probably don't have the right to tell you any of this, but you asked for my honesty. I'm giving it to you."
"Are you ordering me to break it off with Luca?"
Dylan hurriedly cut in before Brenda could become offended on behalf of women everywhere.
"I'm giving you all the facts so you can make an informed decision," he said. "You Walshes like to do that. Wouldn't be surprised if you've already made some kind of pro/con list about me and König."
He'd gotten her there, Dylan noticed as Brenda tried to conceal her response.
"And the fact is," he continued, "you could never stand to see me with anyone else, either. You still can't. You're unsure you can love that way again. I believe you can. I believe you do love me that way."
Dylan checked Brenda for signs of her blood pressure rising or falling. It seemed unchanged. Brenda also appeared to be lacking the onset of a migraine and appeared willing to listen, so Dylan barged on.
"However hidden it is, however deep inside you it is, you love me just as much as you always have. We crave each other, Bren; just admit it. If anything, our daughter is proof of just how intense that craving is. Pie can't satisfy you the way I can. We need each other, the way a writer needs words or an actress needs the stage. You need to feel me. I need to feel you. I fell in love with my best friend a long time ago, and nothing on this planet has ever gotten me to fall out of it."
"Dylan…" Brenda seemed unable to grasp a proper vocabulary, or perhaps Dylan wouldn't let her search for the venomous shark bite words of rejection.
"I want to be the only one taking my girl on dates," he said. "I want my love back. I want my family back. I want you back, Bren. Does that make me an ass? Fine, then I'm an ass. You wanna call me a tosser; go right ahead."
"You aren't a tosser." Brenda temporarily recalled how to form coherent sentences, though her voice remained lower and raspier than usual. "You might do tosser things sometimes, but that doesn't make you a tosser. Your heart's too big for that."
That spurred Dylan on.
"The next time you put on a wedding dress, I want to be who you're wearing it for," he said. "I want to be the one you stand beside. I want to be the one who takes it off when you're too tired to reach for the zipper."
And I want to be the one who fucks you when it's off, he mentally added.
"Is that a," Brenda seemed to have trapped air in her throat that gave it the impression of picking up a speedy case of laryngitis from a lungful of rainwater, "are you proposing?"
"I'm telling you one day, I'm gonna," said Dylan. "Maybe traditionally, on a knee; maybe something more us. I'm gonna because I want to be your husband. I want to come home to you and our family every night because that's what we are. That's what we've been from the start. Each other's family; each other's home. The only home I've known that can be repaired, where the worst things you've done can be forgiven, and abandonment is only temporary. Where it's possible to change and try to be better than you were."
"I wish you had grown up in a different home," said Brenda. Her hands sat stiffly against her hips, likely to prevent Dylan from trying to reach for them.
"If I did, I might never have met you," said Dylan. "I'd take my shitty childhood over not meeting you anyday. Our daughter; she won't grow up like that. She can grow up like you did. She can see her parents dance at their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. She can see her parents dance at her twenty-fifth anniversary. You and I, Bren; we're the perfect dance partners. This - this thing, with you and König; it pales in comparison to what's between us. Everyone we've been with; they've all paled in comparison. They've all failed to match our rhythm. There's a reason for that."
Brenda searched Dylan's eyes as she softly asked, "and what reason is that?"
"Because we belong together, baby," said Dylan. He coaxed Brenda's stubborn hand into his and brought her fingers up to rest on the place under his jawline that thumped out his pulse. "Minneapolis knew it. Minneapolis sent you to me, twice. London knew it. London led me back to you. Finland knew it. Finland called me from oceans away, because you were here. The oceans can't stop this. The rivers can't stop this. The glaciers, the geysers, the volcanoes; none of them can stop this. Nothing can stop this. Nothing except you."
"This is," Brenda dropped her hand, grasped her chest, and for a moment, Dylan debated on whether it was possible to inflict heartburn on another person, "it's - it's a lot to take in. I just - I need to think it over. Can you give me that?"
"It's not an ultimatum," he said. "It's not like I'm gonna go anywhere if you decide you don't want this. We're still best friends, either way. I'll still be around for her, and for you. I'd just rather it be in a greater capacity, and I know it's the capacity you secretly want me to be in. However long it takes you to realize that."
But whatever Brenda decided, said Dylan, he would no longer be playing the charade of accepting Luca König as some romantic partner trying to home in on Dylan's family.
Or any partner that might come after Luca, he added to purposely undermine Brenda's purported relationship.
Dylan itched to tell Brenda that anyone she dated would not be allowed to be part of their daughter's life, but he somehow managed to refrain.
He wanted her ardor, not her fury.
And trying to take control of the people permitted in their daughter's life was a surefire way to piss Brenda off.
Dylan stepped away.
"I've said my piece. Basketball's in your court now."
He wasn't sure that was quite the scenario Nat had had in mind, but it was the Dylan Michael McKay way to make shit happen.
He wouldn't take back anything he had said.
It did sting when Brenda didn't immediately throw herself on him and announce she too felt the overwhelming passion of their love, but Dylan told himself he wouldn't let Brenda's silence get to him.
He had given everything he had, until his shoulders sagged in both relief and terror that Brenda would turn him down.
If she still doubted the way he felt, then Dylan had officially run out of ways to tell her.
He had crossed the pathway back to his Brenda.
Now she just had to do the same.
She had to incinerate her safeguards, once and for all, the way Dylan had finally managed to do to his.
-x
New-ish Val video up at WISHUPONADREAM91 on YT and WISHUPONADREAM91 on Insta. If you have FB, I'm also wish upon a dream on there.
Sources: Google and Google Images, the websites for BabyCenter, Capture the Atlas, Contemplator's Folk Music Site, Finnwards, Netmums, St. Mary's Regional Medical Center, Visit Finland, Visit Lapland. Lyrics: Eriskay Love Lilt.
(Shout-out to KJ, Guest, and rogers saundra to express my continued gratitude and appreciation. I love Val's relationships with all of the main men, so it makes it easy to intertwine them into her story, as well! Nat was inevitable to come along eventually.)
Coming up next: If chapter twenty-five goes according to plan, Clayton Claiborne shows off his skills in a courtroom.
Now the question is, will Itero get to 25 first, or will Lethe...
Thanks a million! x