If she squinted her eyes hard enough, she could almost imagine a dark red marker staining the hand of an imaginative child.
Instead of the needle that had suckled at her blood.
She hated needles. No amount of time in the hospital had changed that.
"Done," announced the nurse in careful English, to Brenda's relief. "We'll have the results of your serum screening in a matter of days."
"I fucking hate this part," Brenda told Val.
"I know you do, sweetie," Val soothed with a gentle touch to Brenda's head. "But it's important."
"Doesn't mean I hate it any less," said Brenda. "I've completely lost count of how many needles I've had stuck in me in this year alone."
"You're in a tricky situation."
"Yes, I know."
The appointment continued, concluding with the part that made Brenda's blood draw worth it.
"That's my baby," she told Val, pointing at the screen that contained the clearest picture she had seen thus far of her child.
"Bren," Val's voice became laden with emotion, "oh Bren, she already looks so stunning."
"I know." Brenda knew without looking that she appeared every bit the picture of a proud parent. "That's our girl," she said. "And that's her heart," she added as the resonating thrum filled the room.
"I'm gonna spoil her rotten," Val declared.
"No, you aren't."
"Want a bet? I'll get her that canopy bed your dad said was too expensive."
"The one with the rhinestone curtains?"
"Are you the father?" asked the smiling gynecologist to Valerie.
"The aunt," answered Val. She reached out her hand for Brenda to squeeze.
"My baby doesn't have a father," said Brenda.
"That isn't exactly true," said Val.
"I don't want to know anything about him," said Brenda. "He's not part of my child's life."
"Brenda -"
"I mean it, Val." Brenda sat up and re-layered her clothing. "I don't want to know. End of."
Confirming the child's health and strong heartbeat, Brenda's gynecologist swept from the room.
"Look," said Val, "Bran and I may have been a bit hasty to agree that we wouldn't tell you about the dad. In fact, you might be fal -"
"Valerie Eugenia Malone."
"Fine!" said Val. "No need to middle name me, Brenda Analiese Walsh."
"Unlike you," said Brenda, "I happen to love my middle name."
"Yeah, well, if your parents had named you Eugenia, you'd hate it too," said Val in a huff.
"You can't be mad at me. I'm pregnant."
"That's not how that works."
"Eh. It was worth a shot." Brenda glanced at the floor. "Help me down?"
"C'mon, shortie," said Valerie, submitting to Brenda's request.
"I'm barely shorter," Brenda protested.
"You're short enough," said Val. "Better hope your kid doesn't outgrow you."
"At the moment, I'm just hoping my leg doesn't cramp like it did yesterday and I don't get dizzy again like I did last night."
"I did tell you you stood too fast."
"Your fault for buying me a chocolate fountain."
"It was on sale. And I figured it would satisfy your cravings much more easily to turn everything chocolate."
Already bundled for the arctic air outside, Brenda waited in front of the toilets for Valerie. Her thoughts, as ever, turned to Dylan.
He had been a constant, daily presence. He prepared her tea exactly the way she liked it. His hotel room silenced unwanted sounds. He filled her life with activity, usually with some form of the arts that she could enjoy without overcomplication.
He had taken her to the ballet, a private showing arranged solely for her. He had brought her, as promised, to the beach, though the excursion had been cut short by an imminent snowstorm. He had arranged for art classes and improv classes, with small groups Brenda could handle. He had brought her anywhere that had stirred her curiosity. He had been patient, and kind. Encouraging. Read to her to help soothe her in the moments she stiffened. Willingly joined her in errands she had begun to take on herself.
They were always accompanied by Valerie, but Brenda only saw Dylan.
No memories had arisen. Their story remained a mystery to her. Dylan had offered to tell her everything, the good and the bad. Brenda had said she wanted to get to know him better first.
That's what they had been doing for the two weeks he had been tending to her: getting to know each other.
Or, Brenda got to know Dylan. What he liked. What he disliked. His goals in life. His favorite food: lasagna, specifically baked by her mother. His passions, most of them aquatic. His favorite poets. His favorite films. His favorite locations he had visited.
That he wrote.
He had written her a play, presented in parts.
Brenda had welled up at the gift and immediately fell in love with his writing.
She wondered if she had ever experienced a love as poignant as the one Dylan had written, the one where the bubbly girl had taught the lonesome boy the meaning of love.
Brenda had begun to read the words to her child, in hopes that it would stir activity within her womb.
"Brenda."
One hand held to her heart, she spun around.
"Dylan." She laughed. "You scared me."
"Sorry about that," he said, granting her the most brilliant smile she believed had ever existed. "Hey, Bren. Missed you today."
"Brandon had the day off," she said. "He took Val and I dancing."
"Dancing?" asked Dylan. "Your brother willingly went dancing?"
"No, he stood off to the side and probably flirted with half the women there 'cause he's on an ongoing mission to prove to me he isn't in love," said Brenda. "Although the more he tries, the more it's clear he's in denial. But Val and I danced. Alina told Bran it's a good exercise for me."
"Is it?" asked Dylan. "Then what do you say to me taking you dancing sometime?"
"I'd like that," she said. "Val would probably have to come."
"Probably."
A little girl appeared, tugging at Dylan's trouser leg.
"And who is this?" asked Brenda.
"Hannah," said the girl. "I'm four," she added, holding up five fingers. "He's my Da."
Da?
Brenda felt woozy.
"Your daughter?" she asked, steadying herself against a chair. She glanced to the woman coming up behind Dylan.
"Mommy!" said Hannah.
"You're - you're married?" asked Brenda.
She didn't understand why her stomach sank to her knees at the notion that Dylan may have had a family.
She forced herself to not examine the woman's hand for a wedding band.
Of course Dylan was taken. She should have expected as much. He was far too appealing to be single.
"Oh no." Tinkling, nervous laughter emitted from the woman. "No, Dylan's a friend. A good friend."
"I, uh; I don't have any kids," said Dylan, keeping his eyes on Brenda. "Or a wife. Hannah calls me Da because she thinks Dylan is uncool."
"It is," said Hannah.
Brenda heard half of his response.
Dylan didn't have any kids.
That ruled out Dylan as her baby's father.
As their time together had increased, Brenda had begun to suspect that the child who would soon be growing out of her clothing may have been fathered by Dylan.
In the event that she was incorrect, Brenda had chosen to remain oblivious.
Had she been with Dylan, and he with her, then Brenda felt certain that Dylan would have realized his impending fatherhood when he had been told by Val about the pregnancy.
If he were the father, Brenda thought, surely he would have mentioned it to her.
Her child was indeed fatherless.
"I'm sorry," said Brenda. "I shouldn't have assumed."
Dylan shook his head and waved his hand to ensure her error had not been a bother.
"Hi, Hannah," said Brenda brightly. "You're quite beautiful. And all this hair!"
"I get it from my Mommy," said Hannah, tossing about her thick curls tied with a forest green ribbon that perfectly matched her jumper.
Brenda wondered if her child would also have curls, or perhaps the straightest of hair.
"Hi," Brenda told Hannah's mother. "I'm -"
"Brenda Walsh," smiled the woman donned in a tailored pantsuit. Her hair was cut at her ears, in the mom style Brenda planned to avoid. "It's been entirely too long," said the woman, picking up Hannah, "but I do still receive pictures from Brandon on occasion."
Brenda didn't remain baffled for long before Dylan spoke up.
"Bren," said Dylan, "this is Andrea Zuckerman. She's a close friend of your brother's. We; ah, we all went to high school together. Crazily enough, Andrea's attending med school nearby."
A puzzled Andrea looked between the two of them. "Dylan, what are you - oh." Realization dawned, and then the most humiliating of reactions: pity.
Brenda had begun to loathe the faces that displayed pity.
She had survived with her tiny baby an incident that had killed several and injured multitudes. She possessed an immeasurable strength even she could not comprehend to its full extent.
Brenda didn't want anyone's pity, especially from a stranger.
Or a former friend, whatever the case may be.
"Oh, Bren," said Andrea sorrowfully. "Yes, I'm Andrea. It's a," she hesitated, "pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise," said Brenda. "Were we friends?"
"A long time ago. In fact, you and your brother are responsible for the friends I have now. Including Dylan here."
Dylan hadn't once removed his gaze from Brenda.
"Are you and Brandon still friends?" she asked.
"I certainly hope so," Andrea laughed. "He's Hannah's godfather. That would make her bat mitzvah and quinceañera rather awkward."
"Then you should come for dinner," said Brenda. "You and Hannah. Val!"
Valerie exited the toilets and hurried over to their group.
"You screamed?" she asked.
"We're inviting them to dinner," said Brenda. "This is -"
"Andrea!" said Val. "Holy shit. What are you doing here?"
"Finding out how small the world really is," said Andrea with another laugh. "How have you been, Valerie?"
"Fine fine," said Val. "For the most part, anyway. I'll be a lot better once my girl here is no longer in pain."
"Are you in pain?" asked Dylan, sticking one hand out of his pocket.
Brenda had noticed he often did that and wondered if he didn't like to touch her.
Maybe she had annoyed him by only asking for his touch when she became frightened.
"It's ongoing," said Brenda. "It's just something I'm learning to live with."
"Then why are you at the hospital?" asked Dylan suspiciously.
"Ultrasound," said Val. "Blood draw."
"I see," Dylan's glance shifted to Val. "Everything still good?" he asked.
"Everything's good," said Brenda. "Strong and healthy."
"Excellent," said Dylan, his eyes pinned to Val's waist as he explained that Hannah had stuck a pebble up her nose whilst he had been in the company of the Zuckermans.
It slapped Brenda in that moment, a sharp bite against her cheek as if it had been devoured by a ravenous bumblebee.
Dylan McKay was in love.
And he was in love with Valerie Malone.
It should have been obvious to Brenda from the moment Dylan's gaze had dropped towards Val's stomach as they had watched the ballet.
He focused on Val's waist to avoid appearing a debauchee if he permitted himself to drool over Val's chest. He took Val's insults without throwing comebacks of his own. He always stopped for food if Val brought up hunger.
Brenda wondered if Dylan had realized his love was unrequited.
Valerie wasn't in love with Dylan, but she was certainly in love with someone.
Brenda wondered who.
She wondered who Brandon was determined to forget.
She wondered many things to the point that her brain began to pulse.
Promising Andrea that she would have Brandon call with details of their dinner, Brenda asked Valerie to leave with the explanation to Dylan that she had to get home in time for her medication.
Antidepressants for her post-traumatic stress disorder, and those abysmal prenatals she detested with every fiber of her being.
"I hope you enjoy these," Brenda told her stomach, "because I sure don't."
She had retreated to the sofa to watch her nightly program and color in a page of her new coloring book, when a strange sensation overtook her.
An army of caterpillars, carried by a blimp.
"Brandon!" she screamed.
"What?" Brandon came racing out and bumped his knee against Brenda's footstool. "Oh, fuck!" he said, grasping his knee.
"Sorry," she said. "Give me your hand," she commanded.
"Everything okay?" he asked concernedly.
"Just give me your hand."
Brandon held it out, which Brenda practically ripped off of his arm to place on her lower belly.
"Do you feel that?" she asked.
"I don't feel anything, Bren."
"Well, I did." Brenda shifted her awestruck expression to her stomach. "She's moving." Brenda beamed. "This is real, Bran."
"I thought we decided it was real when you had that awful morning sickness and swore you'd never be able to look at pasta again."
"Yeah, but now it's really real. I can feel her. I can feel my baby. And pretty soon, so will you and Val."
"And the father?" asked Brandon.
"What?" Brenda's delight quickly faded.
"I've been thinking it over and I'm not sure keeping the father a secret from you is the best idea. I thought initially that it was better that way, but now I think we ought to tell you so you can tell him -"
"Oh come on, not you too," said Brenda. "Like I told Val, I don't want to know about him."
"But Brenda -"
"You said he's a tosser," she cut in. "Is he or is he not a tosser?"
"I mean, he can be, but he's also -"
"Then that's all I need to know," she said, getting up and stretching out her cramped legs. "Goodnight," she told him.
"Night," he sighed. "Should I leave the light on in the hallway?"
"We both know I'm gonna end up there when the terrors come on, so yes please."
"But you have been doing better, Brenda," said Brandon. "I think Dylan has a lot to do with that."
"Maybe," she said. "Does that mean he can be your friend again?"
"I'm not sure I want him to be, but I do appreciate how much he's been helping you. What do you think?"
"I like him," she said. "A lot." She thought it over. "Maybe too much."
More than he might like me, Brenda thought.
"You should consider forgiving him," she added.
"You don't know what he's done, Bren."
"Because I told him I don't want to know," she said. "Maybe eventually I will but right now, I like having him as my friend. And I don't want anything to ruin that." She yawned. "Night for real."
"Good nighty, little sis."
Brenda tossed and turned, dreaming of distorted images she couldn't decipher and conversations she didn't understand.
When she screamed, Brandon and Val came running in to calm her.
Brenda wondered if she would ever stop screaming.
She wondered how she would hear her baby's cries for their nightly feeding if she screamed straight through them.
Had she made the wrong decision to keep her child? Would it be better to put her child up for adoption?
She didn't want to put her child up for adoption.
But she didn't want to be a mother who screamed, either.
The evening she had a hankering for a large slice of peach pie was the evening Brenda persuaded Val to search the record shop with her.
She was looking for a CD by The Rave-Ups, with one song in particular.
She didn't know why. She just knew she had to buy it for her collection.
Valerie, however, seemed to become gravely ill at the mere sight of the records.
Brenda didn't think the shop that horrible, even if it was painted in a putrid green that turned her stomach.
Or perhaps that was the quickening.
"Val?" she asked.
Valerie turned to walk away, and was halted by the voice that floated over from a row of well-categorized records.
"Val?"
"David." Valerie slowly pivoted, as if she had metamorphosed into the rusted dancing figurine on a treasured music box. "Hi."
"Hi yourself," said David. "I thought you were in New York."
"I thought you were in LA." Valerie glanced at the woman beside David, whose back faced towards them. "But you're here," she said. "With a woman." Her brow furrowed. "Donna changed her hair again?"
"Donna's in LA," he said. "It's just Clare."
"Clare?" Val shrieked.
"Val?" the woman shrieked back.
"Oh my God!" said Val. "How long have you been in town? Why are you in town? Girl, tell me everything!"
The two women Brenda thought were both gorgeous began chatting animatedly amongst themselves as Brenda looked over the unfamiliar man.
He was cute, she thought. He had nice eyes. They reminded her of her own.
"Hello," she said.
"Hi?" he asked. "Ah, you okay?"
"Why do you ask that?"
"Because you're looking at me like you've never seen me before," said David.
"Have I?" asked Brenda, losing the confidence she had in coming to the shop.
"Oh fuck," Val said, withdrawing from Clare. "God, Bren, I'm so sorry."
Valerie made the introductions, and Brenda's enclosed circle grew a little wider.
Val explained the man as David Silver, an ex of Valerie's and friend of Brandon's and Dylan's.
"Oh," said Brenda. "Another former friend of mine?"
"Not quite former," said David. "We've exchanged a number of emails since you moved away. I visited you that first summer, on layover from Japan. I like to think we're still friends."
Brenda decided she liked David Silver.
"Do I know you as well?" she asked Clare.
"I can honestly say you don't," said Clare. "Clare Arnold. I know the people you hung out with, including your brother, but we weren't familiar with each other. This is the first time we've ever talked. It's nice to meet ya, though I do wish it had been in much different circumstances."
"Thank God," said Brenda. "One less person I have to work to remember."
"Remember?" asked David.
He listened to Valerie's explanation, and then offered to buy the CD Brenda had in her hand.
She asked if David knew why she had been drawn to the band.
"They played at a spring dance we all went to once," he said.
Brenda wondered more about that spring dance, and whether she had attended solo.
She wondered if Dylan had attended, as well.
She wondered, most of all, what she had worn.
She hoped it had sparkled, the way Dylan's smile did when it paddled through his eyes.
xx
If he heard any more complaints, he'd need a Tyenol.
"Why do I have to be the one to wear a dress?"
"Because when I stumbled across Bren in London, she was performing in a production of Chekov's Three Sisters. You, Andrea, and Hannah are the three sisters."
"I don't even know Chekov. He could have been the lamest guy ever."
"Russian playwright and writer," said Dylan. "Considered one of the greatest of all time. He sought to reform prisons, even going so far to live in a penal colony. He was a doctor who prioritized his patients over their insufficient funds. And he constructed free libraries for the public, among other things."
"The prison thing is cool," said Steve, "but I don't know why you think the library thing would impress me. Why can't Val be the third sister?" he whined.
"Because Val says she's not ready to trust that I'm here to stay," said Dylan. "So maybe if she sees that I'm recreating the memories Bren and I had together, then she will. And if Val does, then Brandon might. If Brandon does, my days with Bren might become curfew-less."
"That doesn't explain why you all always pick me to wear the dress," said Steve.
"Maybe because you look the picture of gentility in it," said Andrea.
Steve huffed at her and stepped out of one of the nineteenth century-era dresses Dylan had persuaded a local shop to loan.
If agreeing to fund the shop's travel expenses for a year counted as a loan.
"If you're making me wear this," said Steve, "I better get to see Bren."
"You can come along when I see her today, alright?" said Dylan. "I already got the approval from Brandon. Just remember what we've told you."
"Don't force her to remember things," quoted Steve. "Got it. It's not like I was there for Kel's amnesia, or anything."
"Bren's is different. There's a significantly higher risk to pushing Bren past her limit."
"Don't worry," said Steve, "the only person I'm pushing to their limit is Clare."
"I take it breakfast didn't go so well," said Andrea.
"What breakfast?" asked Steve. "The one where her boyfriend Kai showed up and demanded I hand back over Clare's notes or I'd be taken in for stealing confidential property in a foreign country?"
"What on earth possessed you to think blackmailing Clare into breakfast was a good idea?" asked Andrea.
"I just wanted a proper hello," mumbled Steve. "She didn't have to get all uppity and legal about it."
"Meanwhile, you still haven't gotten a proper hello, have you?" asked Dylan.
"Hey, I'm not the one calling up every consignment shop from California to Fiji to track down that dress Brenda and Kelly wore to the spring dance," said Steve.
Dylan didn't understand why it had to be so fucking difficult to find one fucking dress that neither Cindy Walsh nor Brenda had kept in their possession.
"If I don't find it soon," said Dylan, "Donna's said she'll make it. But it won't be the same."
"I always thought Kel looked better with it off," said Steve.
"Steve!" admonished Andrea.
"I just mean she looked way better in other things!" said Steve. "Like her prom dress. She looked like a bride in her prom dress." He kicked at the wall. "I bet Kai's planning to make Clare his bride. She'll make a fucking hot bride."
Dylan would rather not think of prom and the date he should have had with Brenda, rather than the date he did have with Kelly.
Kelly had spent the evening after prom accusing Dylan of staring at Brenda dancing with Tony Miller.
So what if he had?
Quarterback Tony Miller couldn't dance to save his life and certainly hadn't been a decent match for Brenda on the dance floor.
"Enlighten me, Steve," said Andrea. "Haven't you moved on from Clare? Weren't you with Carly? Didn't I hear about something stirring between you and your partner at the Beverly Beat, Janet?"
"Who says I haven't moved on from Clare?" asked Steve. "Just because I happen to think she can do better than Kai -"
"- who you said is a neurosurgeon," said Andrea.
"- and just because I think I deserve a hello after she ditched me and now threatened legal action, I just must be in love with her, is that it?" Steve finished.
"Who said anything about love?" asked Andrea.
"You - just - oh, can it," said Steve.
He remained in a tizzy until nine o'clock, when Dylan patiently waited against the library paneling for his girl and her friend.
"We aren't going in, are we?" asked Steve.
"You'd benefit from entering the library more, Sanders."
"And you'd benefit from entering it less."
"What should you enter less?"
"The library," said Dylan, throwing Brenda his trademark grin. "Bren, I'd like you to meet -"
"Steve Sanders!" said Brenda.
What the fuck? thought Dylan. How the fuck does my girl remember Steve and not me?
It was bad enough that Brenda kept walking ahead so that Dylan either had to run to catch up or be stuck walking beside Valerie. Or that she had stopped asking for him to hold her. Or that she kept asking Val about other men Dylan had never heard of.
He didn't know what he had been doing wrong.
It seemed the more he tried to help Brenda, the more she withdrew.
"I'm a hard one to forget," said Steve triumphantly.
"Oh." Brenda looked between the men. "No, sorry. It's just; well, I saw a picture of you."
"You did?" asked Steve.
"I did," said Brenda. "In my new friend Clare's apartment. But the way she talked about you, I thought you'd for sure be in jail."
Steve grew surly.
"Now, Steve," said Dylan, cracking up, "you've been looking forward to this for how long? And how many times have you asked Brandon and I when it could happen?"
"Yeah yeah," said Steve. "Well," he turned to Brenda, "before I knew Clare, I knew you. We -"
"Went to high school together," said Brenda robotically. "You're Brandon's friend." She looked at her feet. "I'm starting to wonder if I have any friends that aren't Brandon's."
"I am going to try to not resent that," said Val.
"You had plenty," said Dylan. "In London."
"London," said Brenda dreamily.
He, too, missed London.
And the other gang he had left behind.
"Well," said Steve, "I may be Brandon's friend, but I think I was yours also. At least, you liked to send me postcards when you travelled around. And I loved to read them."
"Which is saying something," said Dylan, "because Steve doesn't read."
"Clare has a whole library," said Brenda.
"Does she?" asked Steve. "What else can you tell me about Clare's place?"
"Lots," said Brenda. "Clare took Val and I there, with some guy named; oh fuck, Val, what was his name again?"
"David, honey," said Val tonelessly. "It's David."
"That's right," said Brenda. "David. David Gold. He was nice," she told Dylan. "He bought me a CD."
Val looked torn on whether to correct her.
Silver's in town? mouthed Steve to Dylan.
Dylan couldn't be sure, but he thought Steve may have also mouthed the question of whether David was hooking up with Clare.
Dylan, meanwhile, wondered if David buying Brenda a CD meant more than a friendly gesture.
Was David the reason Brenda had begun pulling away?
Dylan decided he had to up his game.
His primary goal was to bring Brenda back to herself rather than to him, but if he had to compete with another man for her interest, he would.
Even if that man was his friend David Silver.
"This is ridiculous," Steve said, interrupting another one of Dylan's Internet searches that had become routine. "Clare will offer her place up to her ex David, but won't let me see her once? Who broke up with who again? Rich of her to act like I'm the one who hurt her."
"What I want to know is what Silver's doing, buying Bren CD's," said Dylan. "I could've sworn he yelled at Casa Walsh that he still loved Val. You did hear that, right? I wasn't just imagining things?"
"Val!" Steve snapped his fingers. "That reminds me. I completely forgot to tell you, bro. Andrea saw Clare and Val, girl talking over drinks."
"Val wouldn't do that to her kid, Steve," said Dylan.
"I know she wouldn't. So maybe," Steve lowered his head as if they shared a state secret, "maybe Val lied. About the baby."
"You think she lied?"
"Wouldn't be the first time," said Steve.
"I know she's not the world's most honest person, but I doubt she would lie about something like this. Andrea could be mistaken. Val probably had a soda."
"That's 'cause you weren't around when she did before. She had us convinced she'd been knocked up, only for it all to be one big massive lie. Faked an abortion and everything."
"I know what I saw, Steve. The bottle clearly said prenatals."
"But did you see Val's name on there? Or did you just take her word for it?"
Dylan didn't recall seeing anyone's name.
"But," he sputtered, "but she has to be, because - because if she isn't, then - then -"
Then the prenatals had been in Valerie's possession for someone else.
Brenda.
It couldn't be. Brenda couldn't be. Surely he would have noticed.
Or she would have mentioned it.
Dylan ransacked his mind for every conversation, every moment he had stood near Brenda.
Every fucking moment had involved a coat or sweater, some aspect of winter attire.
It had been so fucking freezing, Dylan hadn't thought anything of it.
Was his Brenda pregnant? Did she know he was the father? Had she chosen to exclude him from their child's life?
He never would have thought it possible of Brenda, no matter how they had ended things.
"Then Brenda's the one who's pregnant?" asked Steve, voicing Dylan's reverie aloud. "Damn. Who do you think the father is?"
Four months.
Donna had asked about four months.
Brenda was four fucking months pregnant? screamed Dylan internally.
"It's me, you idiot," he seethed. "I've seen her almost every fucking day since they let me start taking care of her. She's gotta be at least five months now, if not almost six. Why hasn't she told me?"
"Maybe she doesn't know," suggested Steve.
"How wouldn't she know?" asked Dylan.
"Maybe she didn't want to know. Maybe she thought the father didn't want any part of it, so she didn't care to know."
"Damn right I want a fucking part of it!" Dylan struggled to contain his rage. "Let me guess. Walsh and Malone thought if I knew, I'd either a) leave, or b) stay, but only for the kid. Don't you think I fucking deserve to know if Bren's having my kid, Sanders?" he roared. He grabbed at his rented helmet. "I have to see her."
"Not in this state, you aren't." Steve leapt up to stop him. "You go over to Bren the way you are now and every bit of progress she's made, every bit of progress you've made, will go flying out the fucking window. You'll terrify her. Assume she's lying to you and you'll do permanent damage to how she sees you. And that's if you don't crash. Hasn't anyone ever told you not to get on a bike in a rage? You want them to sweep your brains off of the street? Wanna lose your memory like Bren?"
"Then what do you suggest I do?" Dylan asked. Ire. Hurt. Betrayal. Misery. They all coiled over him in the manner of a sheet over a partially deflated water bed. "Keep pretending Val's pregnant? Pretend I'm clueless to the lies? Let myself be shut out of my kid's life so one day my kid can ask their mother about their deadbeat father? All to avoid upsetting Bren?"
He didn't want to upset Brenda. He didn't want to undo her hard-earnt progress, or push her to her breaking point.
He just wanted some goddamn answers.
The goddamn truth.
Maybe if he hadn't fucking lied, he would have had them, he thought self-deprecatingly.
Had he really missed out on Brenda's first trimester? On the beginning of her second?
Worst of all, had he almost lost Brenda and their child to that fucking train?
Bile rose until he thought he would vomit all over the hotel carpet.
"Forget about you for a second," said Steve. "For that matter, forget about Bren. What about your kid? You think yelling at your kid's mother is going to be at all helpful? You want to make Bren have a fucking miscarriage? Because that's what you'll do."
Fuck.
He hadn't considered that.
Dylan sat, every piece of him weighed down by a monster truck. "Then what do I do?" he timidly asked. "If Bren's carrying my kid, I don't want her to have to go through this alone. I - I don't want to be my father. I want to know my kid. I want to be around for them, and for their mother. Especially when I - when I -"
When I close my eyes and every dream I have is of her, he thought.
"It's still possible," said Steve. "What we need to do is catch Val in her own game. Find out for sure she isn't pregnant, and then you can calmly and rationally go talk it out with Bren. Calmly! And rationally!"
"You sound like Andrea."
Steve confessed that he had overheard Andrea telling Hannah to calmly and rationally discuss the reason for Hannah's temper tantrum.
"Great," said Dylan. "You think I'm a fucking four-year-old who has to get medical attention for putting a fucking pebble up her nose when she's throwing a temper tantrum over not getting the picture book she wanted."
"I'm trying to keep you from destroying in one night everything you've been trying to rebuild."
"When you start sounding the reasonable one, that proves I need to calm down. Though I don't know how the fuck you expect me to do that when I don't even fucking know where my kid and their mother are sleeping tonight."
"It's simple," said Steve. "Who knows Val better than anyone?"
"The twins," said Dylan. "That doesn't really help us, Sanders."
"Wrong," buzzed Steve. "I mean, right, but wrong. Not who I'm talking about. And it'll keep him away from our gir - I mean, your girl."
Looking up at them, David Silver set his fork on the edge of his plate.
"You want me to do what?" asked David.
"Invite Val out," said Steve. "Dinner. Drinks. Dancing. You know, the works. Whatever floats your boat."
"Is there a reason you're telling me to ask out my ex-girlfriend who I'm pretty sure would rather swear off sex for life than agree to a dance with me?"
"Correct us if we're wrong," said Dylan, "but didn't you tell an entire room how much you love Val? You guys are still friends. That's got to count for something."
"You know; it's weird, but I've got this crazy feeling that you," David's bemusement rapidly became deadpanned, "aren't telling me to do this for my love life."
"Silver, buddy," said Steve, draping his arm around David's shoulders. "We're hurt that you think so little of us that you don't think we want you to be in a loving, happy relationship with the hottest woman this side of the Atlantic who we've all been with."
"Did you have to bring that up?" asked Dylan.
"So in other words, you think Val's hiding something and you need me to get it out of her," said David.
"Pretty much; yeah," said Dylan. "An actor you are not," he added in an undertone to Steve.
"Hey, I deserve credit for trying," said Steve. He turned back to David. "That's Val, by the way. The hottest woman we've been with. Val. Not Clare."
"What's up with him?" asked David.
"Nothing," said Dylan, muttering under his breath for Steve to rein it in.
"I'm just saying," said Steve. "When you think of the best sex of your life, it was with Val, right? Not Clare."
"Is this your way of asking me to convince Clare to see you?" asked David.
"No!" said Steve. "I'm just reminding you that Val's some great sex. That's all."
"If you mention sleeping with my ex one more time," said David, standing up.
Dylan stepped between them.
"Will you do it, Silver?" he asked, holding one palm out towards Steve and the other towards David.
"I'll do it. On one condition," said David.
"And that is?"
"I get to punch Steve every time he mentions fucking Val."
"Not in the face," said Steve. "And you go for the nose, I'll go for your record collection."
Dylan kept an extra close eye on Brenda and Valerie the following day, more so than he usually had on Val.
If only Brenda would lift her shirt, just a little.
And Val too, for that matter.
"Sleepy, Bren?" he asked.
"Actually, I'm good," she said. "Val?"
"Yeah, I could use a nap," said Valerie.
Sure you can, thought Dylan.
He tried to move beside Brenda, who slid away from him.
"I could make food?" asked Dylan.
"No thank you," said Brenda. "We had a big breakfast. I think I'm good until dinner."
"What about tea?" he questioned. "You want your tea? Are you hot? You could remove your sweater. Want ice-cream? I've got a gallon in the freezer."
You gotta relax, man. You're gonna freak her out.
"I had a lot of coffee this morning, so I might be jittery," he said by way of explanation.
It wasn't a complete lie. He had drank more coffee than usual, an anxious wreck hoping that if Brenda were carrying their child, she was unaware of his being the father.
He didn't want to reconsider the alternative. He didn't want to believe Brenda had it in her to knowingly prevent him from being in their child's life.
"I'm comfortable," she said. "But I do wonder if Val's on her phone again."
"On her phone?" asked Dylan.
"She was telling someone earlier she didn't know how long she could keep something with David around. I think she likes David." Brenda looked at Dylan. "Sorry."
Sorry? Why would I care if Val likes David?
I want to know what that goddamn conversation was about, and whether the person on the other end is Bren's dear twin brother Brandon.
"Want me to hold you?" he asked. Maybe if he got close enough, he could feel her stomach through his own clothing.
Had their baby started to move?
"Not today," said Brenda. "I'd rather not be touched."
"We could go to the beach," said Dylan, hoping to get her in a revealing ensemble.
Five or six months pregnant, her chest must have expanded in preparation of their child's feeding needs.
Her bulky sweater wasn't giving away anything.
Neither was her face.
"It's too cold," said Brenda. "Maybe another time."
"Another time," he echoed in dull agreement.
By the time Brenda and Val left, Dylan had almost convinced himself that he and Steve were wrong.
Almost.
He felt the epitome of a fucking stalker, sitting in a car with Steve outside of Clare's apartment.
"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," said Dylan.
"You want to know if Val's pregnant or not?" asked Steve.
"I don't feel comfortable with the fact that we're staked out in front of your ex-girlfriend's apartment building, who has done everything she possibly can to avoid you. Including threatening legal action, which she can easily take against both of us if she thinks you're stalking her and I'm helping you do it."
"Well, we offered to get Silver a hotel room," said Steve. "He thought that would be too obvious."
"And it would have been. But Clare's not gonna take kindly to you knowing exactly where she lives."
"I won't do anything else with the information. Swear. I won't come back to her place. I'm doing this for you."
"Just as long as you know that if you do start stalking Clare, I will gladly kick your ass. Without hesitation."
"Shush!" said Steve as he ducked. "They're back."
"They can't see you, Steve," said Dylan. "The windows are tinted."
"Old habits," said Steve, sitting up.
That did not reassure Dylan of Steve's good intentions in the slightest.
"Silver texted," said Steve once Dylan had been on the verge of fitful sleep. "It's go time."
Once outside of the building, Steve prepared to bust the door open.
Dylan reminded him that David had left it unlocked.
They burst in to find David and Val in a compromising position. Two empty bottles of beer sat on the table.
"What the fuck?" screeched Val, jumping up to cover her chest.
For the first time, Dylan got a proper look at her abdomen.
Her bare abdomen.
Her flattened, toned, ready to crush the competition at a gymnastics tournament abdomen.
"Second trimester, huh, Val?" asked Dylan with dripping acrimony. "Mid-second trimester, isn't it? Should I assume you're the world's shapeliest pregnant mother? That you've been lifting weights in your spare time? Running marathons? Cartwheeling your belly away?"
"That'd be hot," said Steve. "I'd pay to see that."
"David!" Val yelled. "This was a set-up? You set me up?"
"Set you up for what, exactly?" asked Dylan. "You know, I've heard you aren't supposed to drink when you're pregnant. Pretty sure beer's bad for the baby. Don't you think beer's bad for the baby, Steve?"
"Very bad for the baby," said Steve. "It'll come out all cross-eyed."
"What are they talking about, Val?" asked David. "What baby? Are you," he glanced at the empty bottles and at the condom wrapper on the floor, "you were seriously gonna let me have sex with you without telling me you're pregnant?"
"Save it," said Val, buttoning up her blouse. "This was a mistake, such a fucking mistake. I gotta go. Hope you got some real nice kicks off of using me like this, David, because it ain't gonna happen again."
"Wait." David reached out for her. "I didn't use you. Yeah, they wanted me to invite you out, but I," he shouted out to her retreating back, "listen to me, Val! They may have wanted me to do this, but I asked you over here because I've missed you and I - and I lo -"
"I don't want to hear it. I'm leaving. Fuck all of you." Shaking, Val thrust out a finger in every man's direction. "Especially you, David Melwin Silver. Fuck you to the fucking Milky Way. Whatever friendship we still had? Consider it cancelled. And the benefits we discussed tonight? Null."
"Melwin?" asked Steve, looking at Dylan.
He shrugged.
"Val," David choked out as if he had taken a baseball bat to the chest.
He probably had, thought Dylan, though it couldn't have possibly pierced as much as the sledgehammer that had gone through Dylan's.
Val hurriedly slid up her skirt and made for the door.
"I don't think so," said Dylan. "You aren't going anyfuckingwhere until I get the fucking truth, Val." Dylan crossed his arms and pressed his weight against the door to block Valerie's path. "You aren't pregnant, are you? You were never pregnant." He looked Valerie straight in the eye, searching for a shred of remorse. "It's Bren. Bren's the one who's pregnant. Bren's the one with the cravings. Bren's the one taking the prenatals, on top of her other medications. You were there for Brenda's ultrasound and blood draw, not the other way around. She's gonna be a mom, and I," Dylan's voice became entrapped in his ribcage, "I'm gonna be a dad."
"Congratulations, man," said Steve. "I'll buy the cigars."
"I don't think it's the best idea in the world to give Dylan a cigar," David got out through his bewilderment.
"No one said they had to be real," said Steve.
Dylan's mind hollered for him to call Brenda.
The incessant buzzing of Valerie's phone halted her second attempt at escape, and Dylan's planned movement.
Then exacerbated the tension when they all immediately recognized the voice on the other end.
Brandon, bearing the staticky news that Brenda had slipped on a patch of ice whilst exiting memory training and had been brought to the hospital for observation.
Dylan's knees detached from his body, directly into Steve's chest as the air vacated his lungs.
He fucking hated cellphones.
-x
This chapter sped out so rapidly, I swear it had to have written itself.
Sources: Google + the websites for Baby Center, Brain Injury Canada, The Calvert Journal, Cosmopolitan, European Journal of Psychotraumatology, F1OOOResearch, Flint Rehab, MaineHealth, Mayo Clinic, National Library of Medicine, SpinalCord, VoegelinView
Thanks a million! x