The ocean had served as a lifelong solace.
He had played in it. Been taught by his father how to surf on it. Married his wife near it; both of his wives. Held his infant daughters in it. Taught them to surf in it, when they were old enough to understand. Had dedicated his life to working to protect it; initially the Pacific and Atlantic, with the initiative recently going global to extend to other oceans of the world.
Surfing normally served as a distraction, a way to shed all his problems and focus on nothing but him and the board in the surrounding nature.
Surfing used to serve as a distraction, until surfing brought with it memories of helping his wife to surf, as their two children glanced on from their own boards.
Discussing names for Callie on the board.
Paddling out on the board with Brenda in Biarritz when she had been in the early days of carrying Adrianna.
Teaching Brenda to surf, a pair of teenagers in Ensenada on their way back from their first trip to Baja.
Their breakup in the beach parking lot.
There wouldn't be another breakup in the beach parking lot.
Making out with Brenda on the beach, the first time he had believed he would lose her.
He hadn't lost her then. He wouldn't lose her now.
Sliding his hand through his drenched hair, Dylan returned to his lone spot on the sand.
He had purposely chosen a beach he had never taken his family to and all he could think about was how much all of his girls would have loved that beach.
This was ridiculous. He was Dylan McKay. He didn't just give up.
Not on his family. Not on Brenda. He persisted, sometimes to a vexing degree.
He had given her plenty of time. Enough was enough.
Dylan reached for his mobile, intent on incessantly calling Brenda until she picked up or he camped out in front of Val's until Brenda got there, whichever came first.
He'd incessantly call Val's own mobile, if he had to.
Hi, he read.
I'm willing to talk.
We'll have to do it within the hour, because I do have errands to run and then I'm chaperoning Callie's field trip to San Simeon. All chaperones have been asked to only use their phones if there is an emergency, as we're trying to show the kids that if we can unplug for the day, so can they.
No need to get Ade. Donna asked if Ruby could invite her over tonight. I said she could, so Don will be bringing Ade and Naomes home with her. I assume Kai will pop in.
That was all she had written, but to him, it might as well have been the size of a lengthy letter penned during the Regency era.
He checked the time on his phone.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
He attempted to call.
Another voicemail.
Still hadn't cleaned out her voicemails.
I'll chaperone the next one, he wrote; assuming he would be told about the next one, as he had not been informed about the San Simeon trip. Let me know your availability, and I can book us a table at the restaurant.
I love you.
And for fuck's sake, woman, clean out your voicemails!
The instrumental from his first dance with Brenda trilled out from the doorbell as he finished drying off his hair.
He'd have to change the doorbell.
He didn't want to change it.
"Hey, man," he said, opening the door. "When did you get back?"
Bearing more tattoos than he had when he had left for his year away from teaching to film a National Geographic documentary in Thailand, David Silver offered out a bottle.
"It was one fucking drink!" said Dylan.
David tilted his head. "It's a gift," he said. "Non-alcoholic mango dragonfruit. From Bangkok. I swear I drank this shit every day. Thought you might like it."
Dylan sheepishly accepted the bottle. "Thanks," he said.
"Did I miss something while I was away?" asked David.
"Donna didn't tell you?" asked Dylan.
"She confirmed Brenda and you are on the outs, mainly because Ruby brought it up," said David. "They didn't say why, but I kind of assumed you'd done something so I started pleading your case to Bren and I'm pretty sure she's ignoring my texts now."
"Apparently, it's her new habit," said Dylan. "I didn't do anything."
"So Brenda did something?" asked David. "Sorry, man. Didn't see that one coming."
"Neither of us did anything," said Dylan. "We're being toyed with."
"I'm gonna need more information," said David.
"Have you eaten? I was gonna order a pizza and then get some writing done. Wasn't expecting guests."
"I can leave if –"
"Stay, man. Please. I can use the company."
"Pizza sounds like the best damn thing on the planet right now," said David.
They waited for their pizza, Dylan listening to David recount plentiful stories about Thailand.
"And Robinson wanted us to climb Ton Sai, but I was adamantly against it, so a group of us got together and – Dylan, are you still listening?" asked David.
"I'm listening," said Dylan. "I'm just wondering when you're going to touch on what happened between you and Val before you left."
David's stature changed.
"Nothing happened between me and Val," he said.
"We all know something happened," said Dylan.
"No, nothing happened!" David emphasized. "I asked – and then she said – and look, I learned my lesson, alright? Won't happen again."
"Learned your lesson about what?" asked Dylan. "Does this have to do with the argument you and Val had on the balcony outside of Donna and D'Shawn's reception?"
"Did the whole room hear that?" asked David.
"You're in the clear," said Dylan. "I think just Bren did."
"And she told you, of course."
"Back when she was telling me things," said Dylan.
"Now that you've brought it back around to Bren," said David, "what happened with you two?"
"If you won't tell me what happened with Val, I won't tell you what didn't happen with Bren," said Dylan.
"Alright, then I'll pry it out of Donna," said David. "Or Steve. Or Kel; you know I won't have to pry it out of Kel. I'll start with her."
"My ex is knocked up, the kid is mine, and Bren's convinced I fucked the ex," said Dylan. "Surprised Donna didn't tell you."
"Probably didn't want to gossip about it behind Bren's back," said David, jaw askew. "You fucked your ex and got her knocked up? Which ex?"
"I did not fuck my ex," said Dylan. "I don't know how the kid is mine, but I'm going to figure it out. Somehow."
"Which ex?" David asked again.
"Gina," Dylan exhaled.
"Gina, my ex-wife's sister cousin who I once sorta dated and fought with you over Gina?"
"How many Ginas do you think I was with?" asked Dylan. "You've always had a decent relationship with Gina, haven't you? Think you can get her to tell everyone I didn't fuck her?"
"I don't know," said David. "You know I'd do anything for you, but if I get involved, Donna will be pissed thinking I'm going behind Bren's back or some shit…"
"You won't help me because you're afraid of your ex-wife?" asked Dylan.
"I am not afraid of Donna," said David. "I'm just not lookin' to have Ruby see her mom mad at her dad, that's all. It took years for Don and I to get back to a decent place, let alone be friends again, and I'd like to keep it there. And I assume Val's pissed at you for what you didn't do, so I'd rather she not be pissed at me, too."
"You might be the only one who can crack the truth out of Gina," said Dylan. "Please, Silver. I don't ask you for much."
"She isn't going to tell me something like that unless she's in lo – oh hell no," said David. "Hell no," he dragged out the words.
"You don't have to do it for real," said Dylan.
"I am not going to fake falling in love with Gina to get her to fall in love with me so that I can get the truth out of her," said David. "Are you trying to ruin any possible opportunity I might still have with Val? I thought we were friends, Dylan. Brothers, even."
"We are," said Dylan. "Were you not just denying that you wanted anything with Val?"
David didn't respond to that.
"Help me save my marriage, Silver," said Dylan. "Brandon won't do it. I can't get him to talk to me and since he isn't talking to me, Sanders ain't, either. Though I'm pretty sure Sanders would be more willing to talk if Val was."
"So your life lately has been shit."
"Understatement of the century."
At a time when he could have used the experience of experts in both hard-core news research and tabloid research, he had the help of neither.
"So you want Brandon and Steve to be pissed at me, too," said David. "Is there any option here where I can help you and not get the gang pissed at me?"
"No," said Dylan. "And there's always the possibility you could get Val crazy jealous over it," he hinted.
"You want me to do things to the woman carrying your child. I can't believe I'm being asked this right now."
"If that child is mine," said Dylan, "if the paternity test wasn't lying its ass off somehow, then I can assure you, Silver; however Gina got that kid in her, it was not by a willing party."
"Are you suggesting she –" David failed to finish his sentence.
"After everything she told me earlier this week – which, had I had a fucking recording device or even my fucking mobile on me, I could've played for everyone to hear, including Bren – I wouldn't put it past her," said Dylan. "I'd go after Gina myself, prove to everyone what a fucking liar she is, if I could trust that she wouldn't retaliate and use Bren to do it. This will work as a trifold. You'll get her to spill everything, you'll make Val jealous, and you can ensure Gina stays the hell away from my girls. All three of 'em."
"You're making her sound deranged, Dylan."
"I'm not convinced she isn't."
"You'll owe me for this," said David. "Massively."
"You'll do it?" asked Dylan.
"Currently questioning my sanity, as well as yours," said David, "also might be questioning the existence of our brotherhood; but if it has a shot of reuniting my family, then yes, I'll do it."
"God, Silver, you're the greatest," said Dylan. He pinned David's head under his elbow and smacked a loud kiss to David's cheek. "Do me a favor," he said as he backed away. "Do not fall in love with Gina Kincaid."
"I have no intention of falling in love with Gina," said David.
"Good," said Dylan, "because then her threats could turn on Ruby."
"Gina loves Ruby. I'm not worried. If I thought there was any chance Ruby could be harmed in this, I would've turned you down flat."
"Gina doesn't love anyone but herself," said Dylan. "If you catch her making one threat towards Bren, Silver; any threat? You get that shit on tape. Audio and visual."
"She isn't going to threaten Bren," said David.
"Not a crystal-clear threat," said Dylan. "Anything that sounds like one, any implication, you'll record it. Got it?"
"Got it," said David.
David headed off to work. Dylan went through his own workday.
It would have been the same motions from the day before, still waiting on a response from Brenda, if David agreeing to the plan hadn't added a skip to Dylan's steps.
The skip remained, despite Brenda failing to respond to him until the first hour of the new day.
Sorry, I crashed the second Cal and I got home. Never intended to sleep this long. What restaurant?
Dylan clicked on the text as soon as it appeared.
The Italian place I mentioned. It's okay; your phone probably buried it. So Italian?
The lack of a return text had Dylan assuming Brenda had again fallen asleep.
He set about preparing himself for bed.
I could do a phone call in the morning, appeared on his phone. The true morning, not this in-between that dares to call itself morning. I have some time after I bring the girls to school.
After seven weeks of non-communication, I'm not doing this over phone, Bren, Dylan texted.
We're doing it over phone right now, she texted back.
We're setting up a time to meet. Isn't the same. That's a no to the Italian?
The Pit. I'll meet you at ten.
I love you.
See you at ten.
He would continue texting he loved her until she texted it back.
In the meantime, at least he had gotten her to text at all.
"Naomes, I'm telling you; you don't need to be thinking about diets. You're a perfectly beautiful girl the way you are and your mom and I think that –"
"Please, not another lecture. I already got one from Mom."
"This isn't a lecture. It's showing concern for my daughter."
"I'm not using diet pills like Mom did, alright?"
"How did you hear about that?"
"Everyone at school knows. Were you and Mom ever planning to tell me she conked out in the bathroom over there at her eighteenth, or…"
"It isn't Kel's finest moment. She was hoping it would never be brought up again."
"If she hoped that, she shouldn't have put me in the same school you guys went to. Mom passing out is practically a school legend, as is Auntie Bren flying through the halls and didn't Uncle Steve get in massive trouble for stealing a key of some kind? Aunt Donna, she almost didn't graduate, and is it true that Uncle Dylan knocked up a girl in Paris when he was like, fifteen or something and punched out an actor who got mad he was flirting with the actor's actress girlfriend? Hi, Uncle Dylan."
"Hey, Naomes."
"Lookie here, the man in question," said Brandon. "Why don't we ask him himself? Did you knock up a girl in Paris, the way you knocked up Gina?" he asked Dylan.
Dylan ignored the question, avoiding eye contact with Brandon as he searched around the diner. "Is Bren here yet?"
"Yet?" asked Brandon. "I'm meeting Bren here."
"Incorrect," said Dylan, "I'm meeting Bren here. She said ten."
"She told me ten."
"You must have misheard. I have the text saying to meet her here, at ten."
"She told me in our call last night to meet her here, at ten," said Brandon. "Naomi," he turned to his daughter, "go over there and ask Nat if you can hang out with him for a bit."
"I thought the whole point of you pulling me out of school today was to take me to your Bring-Your-Daughter-to-Work-Day day and show me how successful my life will be if I just apply myself a little more," said Naomi, who Dylan thought had done a decent impression of both Brandon and Kelly Walsh.
"I will," said Brandon, "as soon as Bren tells me whatever she asked me here to tell me."
"You aren't cutting in on my time with her, Walsh," said Dylan.
"Excuse me," said Brandon, "I think you're interloping on mine."
"Ruby was right," said Naomi.
"Right about what?" asked Brandon.
"You two are one chick fight away from pulling hair and kicking each other," said Naomi.
"Over to Nat. Now," said Brandon.
"Going," said Naomi.
Naomi spoke to Nat, who headed over to the men.
"What's the problem?" he asked, his stern tone a strange juxtaposition with the ever-present joviality in his eyes.
"I'm not staying here if he's here," said Dylan and Brandon, in sync.
"Is Brenda actually coming?" asked Brandon. "Because if this is hers and your way of getting Dylan and I to speak with each other, it's frankly a waste of time that would be –"
"Bren's on her way," Nat interrupted. "She said she got stuck in traffic."
Brandon asked for an estimated time of Brenda's arrival to determine whether he would be able to meet with her and get to the office on time.
Dylan took a seat at the booth.
"You aren't sitting there," said Brandon.
"Where else do you expect me to sit?" asked Dylan. "The place is packed."
It often had been, ever since Nat's renovations funded by the McKays' money had restored the decrepit diner back to its old glory days and beckoned in the youth of Beverly Hills now obsessed with the days of olde.
Nat Bussichio's refusal to retire had bothered the gang, with Donna going as far as to persuade Ruby into working on occasion in the diner when she wasn't serving frozen yogurt to her fellow classmates at the local Pinkberry.
"Your truck's always an option," said Brandon.
"So's your van," said Dylan.
"As you can see," said Brandon, "my daughter and I just had breakfast. So that makes me a paying customer and you, a camper."
"Please. When's the last time you paid for any grub at the Pit?"
"Probably more recently than you have."
"Not my fault Nat refuses to ever let me pay my tab."
"Not my fault he refuses to let me pay mine," said Brandon.
"I'm not budging," said Dylan. "If I wait in the truck, I might miss Bren. You know, my wife."
"Your wife when it suits you."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"You know what it means."
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. His arms broke out into severe goose pimples. His knee bounced repeatedly, knocking against his elbow.
He knew she was at the door before Nat announced her presence.
"I'm glad you two could come," said Brenda as she stood beside the table, somehow having doubled in desirability that he already felt for her constantly. "If you'll please follow me to the back…"
Zero days since she had spoken to him.
"I thought we could, uh, maybe have breakfast," said Dylan. He held the back of his neck, giving Brenda the hooded-eyes-peeling-back-the-layers-to-the-interior-of-her-soul look that he knew for a fact she could never resist, considering how many times that look had resulted in their children. "Or I guess by now, it'd be brunch."
"Brandon has to get to work," said Brenda.
Her voice turned everyone else in the diner opalesque.
"We can do it without Brandon," said Dylan.
He imagined they were speaking in Howie's pub, instead of Nat's Peach Pit.
"I haven't waited this long for Bren to reschedule." Brandon's terse response both effectively returned Dylan to the Pit and worked Dylan's last nerve.
"You were having breakfast with Naomi," said Dylan.
"And we chose the Pit just because Bren asked to meet here," said Brandon.
"You chose the Pit because it's our go-to-breakfast place," said Dylan. "And dinner. Sometimes lunch."
"For your information," said Brandon, "Naomi asked to try a bistro one of her friends raved about. I brought us to the Pit specifically to meet with Bren."
"You can meet with her some other time," said Dylan.
"You two are unbelievable," said Brenda.
Throwing up her hands, she walked off in the direction she had asked them to go.
Both jumping up to join her, Dylan and Brandon dodged each other's elbows.
Brenda's back faced them beside the sink of dishes.
Dylan pondered whether she had set it up to have him and Brandon serve as the Pit's dishwashers until they could hold a more civil conversation.
Brandon shut the door. Brenda pivoted to look at them.
"As you both know," she said, "I have been ill for quite some time. Donna and Val convinced me to see a doctor and during that appointment, I was diagnosed with clinical depression."
"Gee, I wonder why," said Brandon, looking at Dylan.
"I did not give her depression," said Dylan.
"Just like you didn't give her depression in high school and London," said Brandon. "Only difference is now she finally allowed herself to be diagnosed for it."
"You mean how you were a jackass of a brother to her in high school?" asked Dylan. "And in college, or are we going to ignore how you immediately assumed she slept her way to a part?"
"Do we really have to bring that up?" asked Brenda.
"What about you letting Kelly and Brenda fight over you like you're the last slice of pizza pie on the plate?" asked Brandon. "Or is that acceptable because Brenda fooled around with Reek?"
"Hey!" said Brenda.
"Sorry, Bren," said Brandon.
"I haven't thought about him in years," said Brenda.
"And you're not thinking about him now," said Dylan, rushing to terminate Brenda's cogitation before it could build. "I didn't realize you were carrying around so much resentment towards me, B," he added, "considering the fact that for decades now, you've acted like you're my best mate. Or was that Best Man thing all for show?"
"I was," said Brandon. "Though I'm having trouble figuring out why, since you're a chronic cheater who keeps chronically cheating on my sister."
"Oh, don't act like you never cheated on Kelly," said Dylan.
"You mean the same woman who you left Bren in London to be with?" asked Brandon. "Despite you also cheating on Kelly, with my girlfriend?!"
"Lucinda kissed me," said Dylan. "You're one to talk about kissing someone's girlfriend."
"If you kissed her back, that's cheating," said Brandon. "Just like when Bren was in London and you went after my girlfriend thinking you were soulmates that were so destined to be together. That past life shit clearly didn't mean much, since you went back to Bren…until you left her."
"I didn't leave Brenda!" said Dylan.
"Oh yeah, that's right, you just lied about how long you had been with her after she dumped you and pretended like you'd never connected with her or I at all."
"Like you lied to Kelly about only seeing her as a sister and wasn't there something about chandeliers, or a lack thereof? Tell me, Brandon, do you often propose twice to and plan weddings with your sisters you have zero romantic feelings for, or was that a one-time thing? Erica's curious."
Brenda's brows puckered together. Her head bowed. Her legs curved. Her hand grasped the side of the metallic kitchen island.
"Bren!" Dylan raced forward.
Zero days since he had touched her.
"I'm fine, Dylan," said Brenda, securely back in his arms where she had belonged from before the first moment he had held her.
All those years ago.
He felt around her forehead, concerned at how clammy she seemed.
"You're not fine," he said. "You nearly crashed into the island. And you're sweating like crazy."
"It's warm in here," said Brenda.
It was not warm in there.
"Way to go, Groucho," said Brandon.
"Me?" asked Dylan. "This is all on you, Harpo."
"No," said Brenda, pushing off of Dylan's chest to separate herself from him. "See this? This is what can't happen. You two at each other's throats. We agreed to put all of that behind us when I got back with Dylan and Brandon got back with Kelly. I do not want you throwing any of it in each other's faces just because you're angry with each other. Our kids are best friends. Ade and Naomi will probably take turns being at one of our houses every day. They do not need to see this. Callie, Ruby, Kai, Sammy; they don't need to see this."
Brenda's voice, a mixed inflection of her decades spent surrounded by Brits and her brief life in California, still brought out the upper Midwestern accent on the occasions when she became truly incensed.
It bordered on that accent now, which sounded peculiar in a speech largely dominated by a London accent controlled by neither the accent of South London, nor the posh accent of the Queen's English.
"They won't see it," said Brandon.
"They have seen it," said Brenda. "Nat told me. You two, both grown men with years of friendship under your belts and children to boot, were fighting in front of Naomes like she was Kel standing in the Pit parking lot."
"Nat tattles," said Brandon.
"Now you sound like Callie," said Brenda. "You're going overboard, Brandon. You're going overboard because you still feel guilty about how you handled everything in secondary and I get it, I appreciate it, but you need to stop. You need to stop this before someone gets punched, probably Steve."
"Is that why you brought us back here?" asked Brandon.
Brenda answered in the negative.
"I asked for Nat to let us use this room," she said, "because I knew I couldn't get you two near each other without his involvement. And I needed you in the same room because, because…I've – I've considered many ways to tell you both, individually and together, and I've realized that I can't tell either of you. I've barely been able to tell myself."
"Tell us what?" asked Brandon.
"How sick are you, Bren?" asked Dylan.
His mind leapt to every possible condition his wife could be facing. His liver catapulted to his throat as he repeatedly drew the same conclusion.
The conclusion he refused to accept.
Brenda worked on unbuttoning her button-down blouse.
It had often been a debate amongst him and Brenda; who pulled off a button-down better.
Dylan said Brenda did. Brenda said Dylan did. They usually compromised by Brenda putting on one of Dylan's button-downs.
As she was wearing at that moment.
She had probably forgotten it was his.
"Brenda!" said Brandon. "We're in public!"
"Oh, relax, Bran; I'm wearing a bra and it's just us back here."
Dylan was inclined to agree with Brandon.
He wasn't sure he liked Brenda showing her chest in public, a chest usually displayed only to him.
Brenda began to unbutton her jeans.
"Bren, what the hell," said Brandon. "If you're doing a striptease for Dylan, tell me so I can leave."
"It's just a zipper and the top buttons," said Brenda. "When did you become such a prude, Brandon?"
"When my twin started removing her clothes at the Peach Pit," said Brandon.
Dylan tuned them out. His vision blurred, refocused, and then blurred again.
He had to be imagining it. Had to be dreaming it.
"You're – you're…" he said.
Brenda angled herself to allow more of her profile to stand out.
"I am," she said.
Had an army tank crashed through the back room of the Pit and plowed him down, it would have been substantially less painful than to have Brenda step backward when he stepped forward.
Trying to show that he respected her need for distance, he stood in place.
"How long have you…" he began, but he couldn't get the words out.
"A few days," she said. "I had to work out what I was going to do."
"You went to –" he continued.
"I did, but I couldn't do it."
As progressive as he liked to think he was, had Brenda rid herself of their child without informing him of her decision prior to entering a clinic, Dylan didn't know if he would have had it in him to speak to her again.
"You couldn't?"
She shook her head. "I couldn't."
"How far –"
"Thirteen."
"So you being –"
"It was a combination of things. The depression, a bout of pneumonia, this."
"Did you –"
"It's difficult to keep anything down, but I did grab a small bite before I took the girls to school."
"And you've been –"
"Yes, I have."
Brandon's focus volleyed between them. "English, please," he said.
"She's thirteen weeks," said Dylan, unable to tear his gaze from Brenda. "Pregnant."
"Well yeah," said Brandon, "I kind of gathered that. Can I congratulate you, Bren?"
"Why wouldn't you congratulate us?" asked Dylan.
"May I continue?" asked Brenda.
She was permitted.
"I have spent days weighing all possible options," she said. "I concluded that an abortion was the best possible solution and scheduled an appointment to get it done."
Dylan stuffed his hands in his pockets to avoid trying to reach out to her.
He couldn't take the rejection.
"But it wasn't the best possible solution, for me," said Brenda, "because when I was almost to the room where it would happen, I – I couldn't do it. I couldn't go in there. I panicked. And I ran."
"Thank you," said Dylan. A tear rolled down his cheek, followed by another.
"Here's the deal," said Brenda. "I want this child to have as similar to an upbringing as their siblings had as possible. Brandon, you will unblock Dylan's number. I will need to ensure that you can call Dylan in the event of an emergency, or vice versa. I do not want Adrianna to have to take on that kind of responsibility. I certainly do not want Adrianna to be the one who drives me to hospital, in the event I am unable to drive myself, and that is operating under the potentially incorrect assumption that Ade will have her license by that point."
"I'll unblock his number," said Brandon, "but I'm not contacting him unless it's dire."
"Good," said Dylan, "This horndog doesn't wanna talk to you, either."
"What did you just call yourself?" asked Brenda.
"Ask your brother," said Dylan. "He had no problem calling me it in front of our kid."
"Ade?" asked Brenda.
"Callie," said Dylan.
"Brandon!" said Brenda. "You called Dylan a horndog in front of our impressionable, young, parrots-everything-she-hears daughter?" she yelled.
"I didn't know Callie was listening," said Brandon. "I thought only Sammy was around," he mumbled.
"Oh, so that makes it okay," said Dylan.
"Well maybe if you didn't fuck around on my sister, again!, then I wouldn't have called you a horndog at all," said Brandon.
"Well maybe if you would get that stick out of your -"
"Brandon will refrain from insulting Dylan in any way, to avoid any of the kids overhearing," Brenda interjected. "This goes for the rest of the gang, as well, and yes, I am aware that Val has been just as bad as Bran in that department. I have already talked to her."
"But Brenda, he -" Brandon started.
"I mean it, Bran," said Brenda. "The kids do not need to hear more than they have already. That also means Dylan will refrain from throwing comebacks at Brandon, witty or otherwise."
"He started it," said Dylan.
"You started it," said Brandon.
"You are both more mature than this," said Brenda. "You're acting worse than Callie and Ade in one of their ridiculous fights."
"I resent that," said Dylan.
"And the fact that I can't stand to see his face, that makes absolutely zero difference?" asked Brandon.
"Yours isn't much better," said Dylan.
Brenda stared them down.
"Yeah, alright." Brandon slouched against the sink.
"I'll behave if he does," said Dylan.
"You both will," said Brenda. "You will pretend to like each other around the kids, as they have only ever known you to be best mates and they are not to know you as anything other than friendly with each other, do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Bren," said Brandon and Dylan in unison.
"Dylan," Brenda continued, "I'd like us to tell the girls, together." She briefly locked eyes with Dylan; much too briefly for his taste. "They will, of course, wonder what this means for them."
"You mean, they'll wonder if this means the end of our separation," said Dylan.
"If they ask," Brenda continued, "we will tell them only that the girls and I will be moving out of Val's and finding a place of our own, equi-distant to the both of you. You will, of course, attend all scans and relevant appointments. I believe we recall enough information from the previous antenatal classes to skip those altogether and we certainly do not require any tutorials on parenting."
Was he too late?
Had she shut him out? Shut off, until all they had become was a clinical arrangement?
If they had, he told himself, Brenda would not have reacted the way she did about Brandon saying what he had.
There's hope, thought Dylan. Whether she accepts it or not.
"I want to be there for everything," he cut in as Brenda continued to ramble. "All of it, just as I always am."
"I will inform you when the quickening occurs," said Brenda. "Once you are able to start feeling the baby in the weeks following the quickening, then you may come around more often. Until then, outside of the appointments, you and I will have minimal contact unless it pertains to the girls."
"I reserve the right to take care of you when you get sick," said Dylan, "including with any and all morning sickness. We are not putting that on Ade or Callie and I'm still your husband who swore to care for you in sickness and in health."
"Some husband you are," Brandon scoffed.
"Shut up, Walsh," said Dylan.
Brenda scowled at them both.
"Very well," she said. "If there are days when I feel sicker than other days, you may come by to check on me."
"And you're going to call and text me at least twice a day with updates," said Dylan. "Make that three times a day. Morning, afternoon, and evening. No exceptions. I do expect pictures, as well as an evening video call. You'll also clean your damn voicemails."
"That's reasonable enough," said Brenda. "As I do not want there to be any confusion with my medical paperwork or any question of whether Dylan can be around for delivery, I will, for the time being, retain the McKay name and wait to divorce Dylan until after the paperwork has cleared for this new addition."
That's what she thinks, Dylan told himself, inwardly swearing his mission to change Brenda's mind.
"Any questions?" asked Brenda, as if she had given information lacking in the textbook for a difficult test to a group of high schoolers.
"Not a question," said Dylan. "An insistence. I insist that for the entirety of our pregnancy," and then some, "you will not be seeing other men."
"But it's just fine for you to knock up another woman?" asked Brandon. "The hypocrisy with you is unreal."
"Walsh, I swear, if you don't shut your –"
"I have no intention of dating," said Brenda. "My priority is my children, and how to continue to care for all of my children whilst I balance my career and…other health difficulties."
"I will be taking turns taking Ade and Callie to school and their various activities," said Dylan. "This will allow me to check in on you and relieve the stress you may feel with keeping up with their hectic schedules. I will also be checking in on you on set to ensure you have properly eaten," he added, pushing his luck.
"You may come to set twice a week," said Brenda. "No more than that. I advise you both to not get too attached to this baby. I don't expect I'll be able to carry the baby to term, if I even make it that far."
"Alright no, we're not doing that," said Dylan. "After everything we've done to get this kid in you, we're thinking nothing but positive thoughts, okay?"
"Okay." Brenda finally managed the tiniest hint of a smile in Dylan's direction. It disappeared a nanosecond later. "And, I have given this a lot of thought, an awful lot of thought. I have decided that I would like for the girls to meet Gina."
That was where he drew the line.
"No," said Dylan. "Fuck no. Ain't happening."
"However that baby was conceived, it is an innocent child with your genetics," said Brenda. "It is our girls' sibling and I want them to decide for themselves if they want to accept their sibling into their family."
"Can you leave us be?" Dylan asked Brandon.
"I don't think I should," said Brandon, looking at Brenda.
"It's fine, Bran," said Brenda.
"I'll be right outside the door," said Brandon, staring down Dylan.
"Thought you had to get to work," said Dylan.
"Go to work," said Brenda. "I can take it from here."
Dylan made a face at Brandon behind his back, wiping the reaction off before Brenda noticed it.
"Is this arrangement acceptable, Dylan?" she asked, stiffly holding her arms by her sides.
"I can live with it," he said, "though might I suggest a small, teeny little, barely consequential tweak?"
"What kind of tweak?" she asked suspiciously.
"Instead of finding a place that is equi-distant to myself and that man who is your brother, might I suggest you," Dylan stepped closer, this time managing to secure Brenda by the waist before she backed away, "come home," he breathed against her ear.
"I can't," she said.
"You know home is where you and our kids belong," he said. He turned his face into her hair, sniffing the comforting tropical fragrance that had dissipated from their pillow. "You know home is with me. It's always been with me, Bren, and it always will be with me. Anywhere else you find will be temporary. Didn't we learn that lesson years ago?"
A poor substitute, he had nearly said, which would have surely upset Brenda.
He could see her resolve beginning to crack.
She wasn't as done with him as she wanted to project.
"We're going to bring this baby to term," he said, relocating his hand from her waist to her abdomen. "I guarantee it."
Peering into the eyes that couldn't cut away from his, Dylan leant in.
"Dylan," Brenda stepped away. Her voice crackled. "I can't."
"You can," he said. "You know I didn't sleep with Gina. I see it in your eyes, Bren. What do I have to do? Do I have to get you to fall back in love with me? Because I will. I did before and I will again."
"It's never been a question of whether I'm in love with you, Dylan."
"I've given you the space you wanted, the distance, the time. I let you and the kids move to fucking Val's."
"If after all of these weeks, you still think this is only about Gina, then –"
"It's because you found out from a security tape that I'd broken my sobriety," said Dylan.
Brenda stiffened.
"I get it." He traced the faded scar from the emergency Caesarean that had been Callie's dramatic declaration to the world of her presence. The delivery with Callie had been complicated, for both mother and daughter. He fervently hoped the third delivery would be closer to that with Adrianna. "I figured it out. You're upset I didn't tell you because it brought you back to – to that night. It's left you questioning if I've lied to you about anything else, which is why you can't fully trust me that I did not fuck Gina Kincaid."
"We have the girls," Brenda managed in a small voice. "And this baby, whatever they might be. We can't go back to that time, Dylan."
"We won't," Dylan promised.
"We have," said Brenda. "From the moment you lied to me and didn't tell me you drank, we went back to that night. You swore when we got back together that you would tell me if at any point you stumbled in your recovery. We swore we would work through any stumbles, any obstacles, together. After eighteen years, eighteen years of frequent meetings, eighteen years of thinking you understood that I will always support you no matter what, you didn't. You didn't tell me, Dylan. I found out from a fucking security tape!"
"It won't happen again," said Dylan.
"That's what you said then," said Brenda.
"I was messed up after K2," said Dylan. "It's different now, Bren. It was one drink. One damn drink. I kept thinking about how far I was from you and the girls and it was…it was one drink."
"One drink is never one drink," said Brenda. "You of all people should know that."
"It wasn't crack," said Dylan. "It wasn't heroin."
"It's your crack," said Brenda. "And now there's a child involved."
"Yeah, there is." Dylan smoothed his arm over Brenda's stomach.
"Gina's," said Brenda. She stepped away until Dylan could no longer touch her.
"Gina has lost it," said Dylan. "She's psycho. Fucking nuts. I don't want her anywhere near our girls; or near you and the little, for that matter."
"She is carrying your child," said Brenda. "I will not allow you to cast aside an innocent child like this. You have never been a deadbeat father and you are not about to become one."
"She fucking threatened you, Brenda!"
Brenda stopped in her tracks.
"That's not funny, Dylan."
"I'm not trying to be funny, Bren. She threatened you. She threatened our girls. She's not getting anywhere near any of you."
"If that's true –"
"It is true."
"If that's true, I'm still not letting it affect the girls' ability to take part in their sibling's life, if that's what they want."
"She also assa – "
"I have to get going," said Brenda. "I have a bunch of errands to run, then I have a phone interview scheduled with Glamour – they wanted in-person, but I convinced them I was too busy for that – then I have to pick up the girls, take Ade to her job interview, take Callie to 4-H since Christy's convinced her to join, and then I'm on set for the rest of the night."
"We'll pick up the girls and take them where they need to be, together," said Dylan.
"That's not an option, Dyl," said Brenda.
"Then I'll pick up the girls and take them where they need to be. You'll go to Val's, Donna's, Steve's or whoever's place is quietest after Glamour and rest before set claims you for the rest of the night."
"Dylan –"
"This is non-negotiable, Brenda. We are not having a repeat of your pregnancy with Callie and, no offense baby, but you look knackered."
"I am knackered," Brenda admitted.
"It's settled, then," said Dylan. "I'll get the girls. You go rest."
"I'll text you when I'm done for the night so that we can arrange a time to tell the girls."
"Does anyone else know? Or just me and…Brandon?"
"Val."
He wasn't surprised.
"You told her first," he guessed.
"I told her almost immediately," said Brenda.
"She brought you to the clinic," said Dylan.
"And picked me up from it," said Brenda. "I have informed her that you are allowed closer than one hundred feet to the house, so you shouldn't have any issue with giving lifts to the girls until I get the new place."
"I'm meeting the realtor with you," said Dylan.
"Absolutely not," said Brenda.
"If my wife and our kids are going to live somewhere by themselves, I want to make sure the place is up to my extremely high standards before you sign the lease."
"My standards are just fine."
"Your standards got you a hole-in-the-wall in Hackney."
"A million years ago!"
"And the place in Lewisham?"
"That's not fair; I barely lived there."
Temporarily tabling the discussion about the realtor, Dylan asked for details about Brenda's next appointment. Brenda said she would text the details to him. He asked when and how they would tell the rest of the gang. Brenda said they would discuss it after they informed the girls.
"I will also be asking Ade for updates," said Dylan. "There will be no you pretending everything's good when it's not."
"I don't know what you could possibly be referring to."
"You know you're not a very good liar, Bren."
"Whatever happens with us, Dylan, we need to ensure our children are never placed in the middle of us. Never feel like they're the go-betweens; especially Ade, because the oldest children often do become the go-betweens and there is no guarantee that she will not require significant therapy from a heap of trauma because of it. Understood?"
"Won't happen," Dylan insisted in a double meaning. "We aren't my parents. We aren't your aunt and uncle. Your cousin Ames' experience, my experience; they won't be Ade's."
He had taken her hand.
She must not have realized it, for she neither accepted his hand nor pulled hers away.
He held it up to her face.
"As long as you're still wearing this," he said, splaying out her hand, "there is a chance for us."
"I can't get it off my finger," said Brenda.
A convenient excuse, thought Dylan.
He refrained from voicing his thought, should Brenda take it as a challenge and prove to him that she could indeed remove her wedding band.
"Because it's where it should be," said Dylan as he kissed her ring and lowered her hand. "Just like kid numero tres is," he said, setting his palm against her abdomen.
"Cuatro," said Brenda.
"Tres," said Dylan, gently crossing his thumb over the bottom of her lip.
"Quatre." Brenda dropped her gaze to his thumb.
"Trois." He was nearly to the finish line.
"Four." Brenda slipped out of his hold.
"Three," said Dylan, exasperated.
"This is your fourth kid," said Brenda. "End of."
Dylan couldn't keep standing there as she continuously extracted herself from him.
He didn't want to keep bickering with her.
He didn't want to be apart from her again, either, but their various schedules were in control.
Mostly her schedule.
Research. He could pretend he was doing research, for a new novel.
Maybe he was doing research for a new novel.
A novel about a psycho ex with a dangerous grudge.
"Several years back," said Dylan, "my wife and I were encouraged to freeze our embryos. We were informed most of them became non-viable, and two didn't take. As I understand it, a couple remain. So what I wanna know is, if a character in a novel were to hypothetically want to steal an embryo, how possible would that be?"
"Sir," replied the receptionist on the other end of the phone, "which soap opera?"
"Sorry?" asked Dylan as he rapidly blinked.
"Every time a soap opera airs a story where a character steals an embryo, we get these calls," said the receptionist in a monotone. "Was it General Hospital? We had calls from concerned clients for months after their last storyline in this vein, convinced their spouses' ex-lovers would stage a break-in to take their embryos."
"My wife's more of a Corrie, EastEnders, Emmerdale, Home and Away kind of girl," said Dylan. "She's boycotted ABC since they took her beloved All My Children off of the air."
"All My Children," said the receptionist. "That was my soap, too. Grew up watching it with my grandmother."
Dylan said Brenda had done the same.
His father had been into Days of Our Lives.
He wondered if Jack had gotten his youngest son, also named Jack, into that series.
Last Dylan had heard about Jack Senior, the years of booze had finally caught up to him and his father's faux death had become a true one.
"Have the others you mentioned aired any story like this lately?" asked the receptionist.
"Not that I'm aware of."
"Then perhaps you did hear about the GH plot, or it might have been one of the NBC, CBS soaps –"
"Say a character, in a novel," Dylan emphasized, "was I don't know, obsessed with soaps, maybe, and decided to emulate them. What's the possibility Gi – I mean, the character, could steal an embryo?"
"We are the top-rated facility in the country, sir."
"I'm aware of that. It's why my wife and I chose your facility. What's the possibility?"
"As the top-rated facility in the country, it would be extremely difficult –"
"But possible?"
"As the top-rated facility in the country –"
Dylan rubbed his ear. "Let me speak with your boss," he said.
"My boss is away on vacation."
"Then I'll leave a voicemail."
"Sir, it might be better if you speak to the police about your concerns."
"Just let me leave a damn voicemail."
"Yes, sir."
He elaborated on his faux story idea in the voicemail to the new president of the facility, whose voicemail named her as Laralynn Furies.
Perhaps he was grasping at straws.
Perhaps he was fruitlessly searching for a way that Gina's kid could somehow still be Brenda's, if the kid truly was his.
Perhaps he just wanted the assurance that Brenda remained the only mother of his children.
It still wouldn't explain how the hell Gina had gotten hold of his sperm.
"Dad?"
Dylan spun around, balancing his stack of books.
"Oh hi, Ade," he said.
"What are you doing here?" they said at once.
"Research," said Dylan. "New novel."
"About what?" asked Adrianna, looking over the titles in Dylan's stack. "Soap operas?"
"Debating on writing a mystery about a psycho soap-obsessed fan who starts to blur the lines between fiction and reality to a…concerning extent," said Dylan. "Who's he?" Dylan indicated with his head to the unfamiliar boy standing beside Adrianna.
"Some depressed dads watch soaps," said Adrianna. "My dad writes about them."
"I liked Passions," said the boy with the dark Caesar Cut and darker eyes, much darker than Dylan's own warm brown. "Annie would make me watch that. It was cool. A hot mess, but cool."
"Dad listened to Guiding Light on the radio," said Adrianna.
"Excuse me, Ade, how old do you think I am?" asked Dylan.
"It was a joke, Dad," said Adrianna. "He and Mum are more into the British soaps," she told the boy.
"Bren's into that," said Dylan. "I'm not."
"He says that," said Adrianna, "but I've heard him ask Mum for updates on what Stacey Slater gets up to."
"Stacey reminds me of your aunt Val," Dylan defended. "She reminds Bren of Val. She reminds Val of Val. You still haven't said who this presumably nice young man is who I trust will be super respectful of my young, trusting daughter."
"Oh, sorry sir." The boy held out his hand, then withdrew it when he realized Dylan didn't have a hand free to shake. "Dixon Wilson."
"Dixon Wilson, what are you doing in the library with my daughter?"
"We've obviously been assigned a project together and went to the library to research where to start," said Adrianna. "Don't read more into it than that."
How could he not, when he knew what sixteen-year-old boys got up to with girls in libraries?
When he knew what he and Brenda had gotten up to at sixteen years old, in the library?
He and Brenda had also used the library for its intended purpose.
Perhaps Adrianna would do the same.
"Your Mum said you have an interview," said Dylan. "I'm supposed to pick you girls up and take you to your interview."
Perhaps he shouldn't have phrased it quite like that, he noted upon seeing the delight arise in Adrianna's eyes that mirrored the delight encompassing his soul.
"Mum's speaking to you again?" she asked.
"We did a lot of talking this morning," he said. "A lot."
"That's brill, Dad! So we're going home?"
Crap.
He hadn't meant to make it sound like that.
"Your Mum and I will talk it over with you girls," he said. "Dixon Wilson, can you tell me the time?"
Dixon responded.
Dylan asked the time for Adrianna's interview.
She responded.
"You might as well get Callie first," said Adrianna. "Dixon and I still have time to do some research for the project before I have to be there and Callie is going to be outside waiting right about now."
"I'll get Callie and come back," said Dylan. "And Ade, just know; your Mum and I? We're gonna get through this."
"I hope so," said Adrianna. "I truly hope so. I miss you, Dad. I want everything to be fixed. I want our family back to the way we were."
"Miss you too, kiddo," said Dylan. "No one wants that more than I do, trust me. It was nice to meet you, Dixon. Remember what I said about being super respectful to my daughter and remember this, as well: her aunt's studied Tai chi, her uncle over-bench presses, and some of her Mum's fans can go a little overboard thinking of Ade as one of their relations."
"Dad!" said Adrianna.
"You have my word, sir," said Dixon.
"Oh my God," Dylan heard as he walked away quickly enough to look like he did so with purpose, but slowly enough to overhear his daughter's conversation, "sorry, so sorry. He's never been like that with anyone before. Anyone."
"Do you frequently go with guys to libraries that your dad happens to be browsing through?" asked Dixon.
"Well…no, but…that is, unless you count Aiden…"
"Then cut the guy some slack. He's adjusting."
Dylan decided that he liked Dixon Wilson.
"I was worried he was going to tell me about Mum's meeting with the divorce lawyer."
Dylan stilled, nearly dropping his stack.
"A divorce lawyer?" asked Dixon.
"My aunt said Mum had a meeting and she wouldn't say what the meeting was. I'm convinced Mum met with a divorce lawyer."
"That sucks," said Dixon.
"My parents are not usually like this," said Adrianna. "They'd usually do the utmost to humiliate me, like snog right over there on a stack of novels until the librarian kicked them out. It took Mum seven weeks to speak with him. Seven weeks!"
"Sometimes Mom doesn't talk to Dad when she's super mad with him, like he forgets to fix something he says he'll fix," said Dixon. "What did your dad do to make your mom super mad?"
It was one drink! Dylan stopped himself from screaming on a loop.
He tuned out Adrianna and dove into his rumination.
Had Valerie referred to Brenda's appointment at the clinic as the mystery meeting? Or had Brenda truly met with a divorce lawyer?
Would she have told him if she had met with one?
If she had met with one, she had still chosen to remain a McKay, for the time being.
Not for the time being, thought Dylan, because even if she were to nix it from her name entirely, she's still a McKay. Permanently. Legalities won't change that.
She ain't fucking nixing McKay from her name.
Weights dropped upon his ears. His breaths became the loudest sound in the room, so much so that he was baffled no one else seemed to hear them.
Callie, he told himself. Check out your books, get Callie, and then come back for Ade.
Don't let this change anything. Do what you've always done. Be a good dad, a good husband to your once-more expectant wife, and make Brenda realize she's wrong.
Brenda doesn't like to admit when she's wrong.
She doesn't like to, but she has done, on occasion. Make her realize you aren't back at that night the shit went down in London.
Make her realize you'll never be back at that night.
If he did that, Dylan concluded, then he would successfully save his marriage, change Brenda's mind and ensure all their children were given the same stable upbringing, without any tweaks.
But if, at any point, she would suspect him of lying to her again…
Divorce lawyer.
He fucking loathed lawyers.
Furthermore, he fucking loathed that Adrianna believed their family would split because of whichever divorce lawyer had spoken with Brenda.
Assuming one had, and that Brenda in her vulnerability had listened to whatever asinine advice that fucking lawyer had doled out.
-x
This idea stems from a plethora of soap actors who were seen in both BH and 90210 over the years; as well as Luke and Ian starting in soaps, whilst Vanessa gained fame from playing Brenda on GH. You can guess why Jack's (played by Josh Taylor's) soap was DAYS. Also, Stephanie Beacham - our beloved Iris - played in Coronation Street.
Unfortunately, due to issues with FFN, I am only able to see reviews up until the ninth, so apologies if a response to yours may be delayed. They'll show up eventually.
Since FFN does constantly have issues like this and doesn't always send out updates, I will be putting a list of my likely-to-be-updated WIP's on my profile, with an indication of when they are updated. This was an idea another fic writer shared that I liked tremendously. Updates are also shared at wishuponadream91 on Instagram and wish upon a dream on Facebook.
The stories can also be found on Archive of Our Own, under wishuponadream91, and on Wattpad, under the same as AO3. If you are interested in joining AO3, I do have invitations I can share.
Source: Google.
(Shout-out to KJ to express my continued gratitude and appreciation, as well as those of you whose review I could [or will] respond to directly. Thank you, KJ! You know I can't ever stop writing that glorious Bren and Val sisterhood, lmao. You're picking up on the clues! Didn't expect this bit on DnV, or at least not so soon in the story, but here we are.)
Thanks a million! x