A tense peace settled between Dylan and me, and it stayed that way for almost an entire day.
I called him early Saturday morning. “We need to get going on the house.”
“What house?”
“My house. Our house.” Images flashed through my mind of all the details that needed fixing, not the least of which was the stench. “The Death Trap on Haber. We need to start working on it.” My heart raced to keep up with my thoughts. “Now!”
“Amber.” Dylan’s voice had that groggy morning waver. “You don’t close on that place for another three weeks.”
“And my parents will be here in two weeks! They’re going to want to see it.” My fist tightened around the phone. “What do you think they’ll say when they walk in and smell rotting corpses?”
“Look, Amber, you can’t just—.”
How could he be so calm? “Come over. Please just come over. I’m freaking out.”
Dylan promised to come. I hung up the phone but couldn’t sit still. My mind was racing. I needed to do something to put myself at ease, and nothing calmed me like cooking. I put on some Nora Jones and sang along as I prepared french toast, scrambled eggs, a green salad, a pot of coffee, hot chocolate, and fresh orange juice. I actually squeezed orange juice. I would have kept going had Dylan not arrived.
“You look freezing,” I said. He was all bundled up, jacket, scarf, hat, and nonetheless stood there shivering. “I’m so sorry.” I reached out to welcome him in. “I should have come to get you. I wasn’t even thinking about the weather.”
“It’s OK. A nice brisk ride gets the blood moving.” He took off his gloves and rubbed his hands together. One look in the kitchen set his eyes aglow. “You cooking for an army?”
“I’m anxious. When I’m anxious, I cook.”
Dylan’s eyebrows danced. “I’ll have to make you anxious more often.”
“What would you like first?” I bounced from one end of the kitchen to the other. “Coffee? Hot chocolate? Or do you want to dig right in on the french toast?”
“I’ll tell you what I want.” He removed his hat, jacket, and scarf, then took me in a bear hug. For the first time all morning, I exhaled. I sank into his chest and listened to his heart, which still pumped loudly from his bike ride. “I know you’re freaking out, but we’ll get through this.” He laid his lips on my hair and whispered, “We can get through anything together.”
My shoulders shook, and tears filled my eyes. “I wanted to buy this house and fix it up. Then I’d bring my parents out here to see it and tell them how they’d never believe how awful it seemed when I bought it. And they’d say, ‘you’re kidding, it’s so nice now.’ And I’d say ‘that’s because the house had great bones, a solid foundation, and great architecture, but it had broken windows and smelled of rotting corpses, and was filled with trash. I needed to be able to see beneath the surface, to find the beauty in it, and bring that out.’ And they’d say, ‘If that’s the case, then you’ve done a great job, Amber, because it’s certainly beautiful now.’ And they’d say how proud they were, and they could see that I’m on a healthy track with my life, and I’m no longer their little girl who needs looking after.
“But now they’re going to come and see this house filled with trash that smells like the dead, and they’re going to say, ‘We think you’ve gotten in way over your head, Amber. What happened to you that you’re driving a dented car and buying a broken-down house? We always wanted better for you, and frankly, we thought you’d want better for yourself. And we know why you’re doing it. You’ve lost your mind over that dropout boy who’s swayed you with his crazy ideas.’”
Dylan still held me tight. “Then what will they say?”
“They’ll tell me to pack my bags; that they’ll be taking me home because I’ve clearly shown I can’t be trusted to live on my own.”
Dylan released his grip and held me at arm’s length. He stared into my eyes, and I knew he was about to say exactly what I needed to hear to make everything OK. Instead, he said, “I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”
So we sat down to eat, and as we gorged ourselves on the feast I’d prepared, everything did start to feel better. “We don’t need to fix up the entire house, but if we can just get in there and get rid of the garbage and take care of the smell, maybe my parents won’t flip out when they see it.”
“Bad idea, Amber.” Dylan shook his head. “One of the rules of real estate is that you never want to mess with a property before it closes.”
“Why not?”
“Because there are still a million things that could go wrong.”
“What could go wrong?”
“What if the owner decides she sold for too little? She’s signed a contract, but we can’t exactly force her to sell. Yes, there are penalties if she backs out, but they’re not always so easy to enforce, especially if she says we made changes to the property.”
“I just want to clean it up.” I wiped a puddle of coffee that had dribbled onto the table. “We’re not going to make any big changes.”
Dylan made the voice of a witch preparing a stew. “What if that rotting corpse you’re always complaining about is her mother, and we accidentally throw away the body?”
I laughed. “The smell is probably from animals coming in through the broken windows and doing their business.”
“And you’d throw away her animal feces collection?”
“What if we just opened the windows and aired the place out?”
Dylan poured himself some hot chocolate. “It could rain through the window and warp the floorboards. Who knows what can happen? If you don’t mess with the status quo, you don’t give her any reasons to back out.”
“After you sign, you never go into a building?”
“I’ll go in and take measurements. I’ll have an architect or a contractor look the place over. I’ll start putting plans together and maybe even place orders for cabinets or appliances.” He topped his drink with a pair of baby marshmallows. “But I won’t change a single thing, and I won’t commit any money I can’t get back.”
“You think going in there, removing trash, and scrubbing the place down will cause the deal to fall through?” I buttered my umpteenth slice of toast. Perhaps if I got fat enough, my parents wouldn’t recognize me; then they wouldn’t take me away.
“Remember, it was the grime and the smell that drove away other potential buyers. The owner could never be bothered to deal with it herself, but if we take care of it for her, she might start to see the value in the place.”
“What if Jade says it’s OK?”
“You want to ask Jade?” Dylan closed his eyes, and I could tell he was working hard not to roll them to the back of his head. “Be my guest. Call Jade.”
So I asked her. “If you want to give me my $5000 up-front and take all the risk on yourself, you go right ahead.” Jade’s voice got bar-brawl feisty. “But if you’re planning on paying me only when the deal closes, you stay the hell out of that house.”
“You know,” I said, “if you told me I could go in, I might have invited you over for breakfast.”
“$5000 buys a lot of cereal. Don’t mess this deal up.” Without so much as a goodbye, Jade hung up.
“What am I going to do?” My head fell into my hands. “My parents are going to hate this place.”
Dylan rubbed my back. “What if we only show them the outside and pictures of the interior? We can say we can’t enter until after closing. At least that way, they won’t get the smell.”
I sat up and faced him. “My father can smell a lie like a hound smells blood. Never mess with that man.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know.” I bounced in my seat like a whiny toddler. “Distract me. Get my mind on something else.”
A hike would’ve been good—the exercise would’ve released anxiety. But it was cold and rainy, so Dylan and I spent the weekend playing games and cuddling on the couch, watching movies. He wanted to get romantic, but I couldn’t go there. Not now.
Things would have been different had Thanksgiving not been such a disaster. Had my family embraced Dylan, I could’ve let myself fall into his arms. But they were all convinced I’d wound up with a loser, and now my parents were coming to prove it.
I know I shouldn’t be so influenced by my family’s opinions. Plenty of women could care less if their family approved of the guy in their life—hell, half the reason Maria Rose ran around with bums was to antagonize her folks—but I wasn’t like that. My parents had looked out for me my entire life. Was I going to blow off their opinions now?
The next weekend arrived without any new ideas on how to ward off the impending disaster. The weather dropped below freezing, and then below zero. I offered to pick Dylan up Saturday morning, but he’d had to deliver appliances the day before for a remodeling job, so he had the company van for the weekend. He came by with groceries, and we spent much of the day cooking. I taught him how to make ravioli, and while I made the sauce, he made a thick, brown bread, which tasted delicious even though it didn’t go with the meal.
Sunday, I had a lunch date with Libby and our friend Kara, who’d recently gotten engaged. I got into my car at noon and turned the key. The car made this sound like an 86-year-old man climbing uphill with a refrigerator on his back. I tried again. Same thing. I called Dylan in a panic. “My car won’t start.”
“I’ll be right over.”
It was a good thing he had the van. Five minutes later, he pulled up. “Show me what’s wrong.” I turned the key and let him hear the car gasping. “It sounds like the battery. When was the last time you drove it?”
“Friday, home from work.”
“Pop the hood.” I searched around until I found the release button. Dylan took one look and shook his head. “Cold can be a killer for batteries, especially when you haven’t used it in a couple of days. Fortunately, I’ve got jumper cables in the van.”
Dylan pulled the van around so it stood nose to nose with my car. He was good with his hands, but not terribly knowledgeable about cars. Dylan had to look up how to jump a car; he knew doing it wrong could fry out the electrical system. At first, I let Dylan figure it out. I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t say a single word, but I couldn’t help pacing like a crack addict itching for a hit. After checking my watch for the umpteenth time, I jumped in and tried to help as best I could, even though I probably only slowed Dylan down.
Finally, we were all set. He revved up the engine on the van, and I turned over the Honda. It started right away. “Give it some gas,” Dylan called. I did, and the engine roared to life. “You’ll want to let it run as much as you can,” he said, but I was already off.
I arrived forty minutes late to lunch, apologizing profusely.
“Did your mascara break or something?” Libby pointed to my hands. I looked down to see my fingers coated in car grease. My pants weren’t looking too good, either.
“Yeah, well…” I said. “Car trouble.”
Kara yanked a bunch of napkins and handed them to me. “What did you expect buying something that old?”
I didn’t know what to say. I just stood there and shrugged like an idiot. The napkins weren’t doing much; they stuck to the grease and tore as I rubbed.
“Excuse me.” I scurried to the bathroom, pumped half the bottle of soap into my palm, and scrubbed my hands until they stung. Black guck still lined the insides of my fingernails, but at least I wasn’t a total embarrassment.
Libby and Kara were well done with their waiting-for-Amber-to-show-up coffees and had already ordered by the time I sat down and hid behind my menu. Dylan’s diatribes about unnecessary spending rang through my ears, so I quickly ordered the cheapest dish at the cafe.
“Chicken fingers?” Kara asked. “Missing middle school, are you?”
“Come, on, Kara,” Libby said, “I’m sure Amber’s just trying to be frugal. You can’t expect her to order the seared tuna while she’s dating Dylan, can you?”
I squirmed in my seat. “I can order whatever I want. It’s not like I’m his pet or something.”
Libby’s hands went up in self-defense. “I’m just saying.”
I grabbed another napkin and started folding it into origami. “I like chicken fingers. They remind me of my Grandma Mona.”
Kara’s head tilted towards her shoulder. “Wasn’t she the amazing Italian chef?”
“Yeah. She makes a mean chicken parmesan.” I shrugged, my eyes still glued to the messed-up napkin concoction I had going. “It’s basically chicken fingers.”
From the edge of my vision, I saw Libby and Kara eyeing each other. My pathetic retort hadn’t swayed anyone. Better to change the subject.
“So.” I finally faced Kara and offered my most enthusiastic impression. “Tell me about your wedding plans.”
Kara laid her hand on mine “We’re thinking of a destination wedding.”
“Really? Where?”
“Aruba. We figure we’ll get married next December when everyone’s got vacation. But who wants to get married when it’s an igloo outside?”
“Everyone will fly out to Aruba?” I could imagine Dylan’s reaction. You want me to spend all that money to attend your friend’s wedding? Think about the flights and hotels…
The waiter arrived with our drinks. I’d gotten water, but Kara and Libby had each ordered rum and coke.
“Yeah.” Kara sipped a bit of her drink. “We can get one of those group rates, you know?”
Still, Christmas break is the most expensive time to fly. There was Dylan’s voice again, pointing out all the financial pitfalls. Kara was just trying to make a fun weekend for everyone. “I bet the water’s beautiful there,” I said.
Kara nodded. “The brochures look stunning! We’re talking to this travel company that makes packages including hotel and food and everything.”
“Ooh.” Libby dangled her cup in the air. “Does that mean open bar?
She and Kara toasted to Aruba, but all I could hear was cha-ching cha-ching! You gonna pay for that on a teacher’s salary? Good thing you got all that money from your grandma… I wanted to smack Dylan, and he wasn’t even there, yet his voice kept ringing out in my head. Kara and Libby were my best college friends. I wasn’t going to let money get in the way of that. “Sounds so fun,” I said, “like the weekend of a lifetime.”
“Yeah,” Libby said, “you only get married once, you know, so you might as well make it count.”
Dylan piped in again, but this time with Aunt Sofia’s high pitched squeal. Once? You know, fifty percent of marriages end in divorce. And debt is a massive contributor to that. “Shut up!” I said.
“What?” Libby and Kara both eyed me with confusion.
“I mean, shut up. You know, like ‘I can’t believe this’ll be so great!’”
Libby perked right up. “I’m even thinking of not telling Kyle and making the whole weekend a surprise.” She and Kara squealed like schoolgirls, and I half-heartedly joined them.
I was already feeling the heartburn from my lunch when we headed out to the parking lot. Kara had given Libby a ride there, and I offered to take her home and stop at the fabric store to pick out curtains along the way.
“It kinda smells like… what is that?” Libby sniffed around the passenger seat like Fido on the prowl. “I know! It smells like my great aunt Alice. Her house oozes that funky combination of cold cream and tattered books.”
I shivered as if from the frigid air. This was Libby’s first time in the gray Honda, and that definitely didn’t sound like a compliment. “Well, the couple who had this car was really old, so maybe—.”
“Yeah. You know what’s even worse? The smell of new car. Some people claim to like it, but to me, it just smells like plastic and chemicals.”
I knew Libby was trying to make me feel better, but I loved the new car smell. If fresh starts had a smell, that would be it.
It smells like a freshly dug hole in your bank account.
“Yeah.” I grinned. “I’m just saving up to—.”
“I know exactly. You’ve got Dylan on the brain.” If she only knew.
I shoved my keys into the ignition as though it were a knife cutting into flesh. Rather than a rumble, all I heard was click-click-click. I turned the key again and again, but that clicking sound kept coming back.
“I think it’s dead,” Libby said.
A sour taste filled my mouth. “It’s the battery. Dylan jump-started it this morning.”
Libby lay her hand on my arm. “You’ve barely driven this thing, and it’s giving you problems already?”
“Yeah… well…” My head fell onto the wheel.
Libby got that cheery voice she used when she wanted to make everything OK. “Whatever,” she said, “let’s just figure out how to get out of here. Want to call Dylan to come jump it again?”
“No. I can’t have him rescue me all the time. Besides, he said I should drive it a bunch, and I didn’t. I just came over here.”
Libby patted my back. “He can’t expect you to drive around in circles when you have somewhere to be. I mean, we waited for you for almost an hour.”
It was just 40 minutes Libby, chill out.
“Oh!” Libby’s voice lifted my head enough that I could see where she was pointing. “I bet they could help us.”
The new car handled beautifully. Over four inches of snow had fallen over the past three hours, but the all-wheel drive cut right through it. Despite the freezing temperatures outside, the heater made the cabin downright balmy, and the radio blasted away with crystal clear surround sound. The best thing was the color, my favorite cherry red.
I drove straight to Dylan’s, bracing myself for what was to come. He was outside, shoveling the snow off his walk. I flashed my lights at him and lowered my window. As he watched me drive up, confusion tightened his face. “What’s this car?”
“Come in and sit.” I offered my best smile and patted the seat beside me. “It’s nice and warm in here. And we need to talk.”
He put down his shovel and came around to the passenger’s side. A blast of chilly air hit me as he climbed in. “Did your car fail to start again?”
“Yeah.” I turned away from him. “We couldn’t get it going after lunch.”
“It needed to run longer.”
I shrugged. “I’m sure you’re right, but I was late.”
“So what’s this? A loaner?”
“Sort of.”
Dylan’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t buy it, did you?”
“No. Not yet.”
“What’s going on, Amber?”
“The place we had lunch was right next to a car dealership.” I started fidgeting with the heat controls. “When the car wouldn’t start, the guys from the dealership came over and took a look. They said the car still had its original battery, almost a decade old, and it’s a miracle that it lasted this long.”
“Why didn’t you just have them replace it and be on your way?”
“They’re doing that now.”
Dylan dropped his head in an attempt to catch my gaze. “It doesn’t take very long to replace a battery, Amber.”
I picked at my cuticles, a habit my mother said to never do in front of a guy, but I couldn’t help it. “I know, but while the mechanics worked on my car, the salesman showed me around. They still had this one lying around from last season’s models. They offered me a deal on it, plus they’ll give me $2500 for my car, which is more than I paid for it, and not even charge me for the battery.”
“So let me guess, they talked you into taking an extended test drive while figuring out how to drag out your battery change for as long as possible?”
“Pretty much.”
“You’re considering this, aren’t you?”
My face grew hot. “The lease terms are good. And you never know how many more problems a ten-year-old car is going to serve up.”
“This isn’t just about the car, is it, Amber?”
I swallowed back tears. “No.”
“You’re terrified of your parents’ disapproval, aren’t you?” He brushed my hair behind my ear, but I shrugged him off.
“Yes, but it’s not just that either.”
“What is it?”
“Both Kara and Libby were going on and on about their weddings and honeymoons. Karen’s ring is so elegant, nowhere near as flashy as Libby’s.” I turned the wheel back and forth as I spoke. “They both seemed so light and normal and happy. It struck me how I might never have that with you.”
“The happiness or the ring?”
“The lightness. The normality. And the ring. We’ve never talked about it, but you’d never get me a ring, would you?” I still couldn’t face him, but I searched his expression from the corner of my eye.
Dylan’s eyes bulged. “Do you have any idea what Libby’s ring cost?”
“We never talk about those things. I’m sure Libby doesn’t even know herself.”
“She probably doesn’t. But I know. That ring cost Kyle $15,000. You think he had the cash for that?”
I so didn’t feel like going into this. “He probably financed it.”
“Exactly.” Dylan’s tone grew heated. “So this $15,000 ring will end up costing him $25,000 at least. That’s the type of future where you can only keep your head above water if you never stop working for money. You must realize by now that I’m building us something far more stable and lasting.”
“I do.” Despite my best efforts, a tear slipped out of my eye and ran along the ridge of my nose. “I’ve worked hard to poke holes in your plan, and I can’t. Your numbers are solid.”
“But?”
“But I can’t just run my life on numbers.” I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Everything with you is so serious. We watch every dollar spent. When’s that going to change?”
“In three years we’ll—.”
My hands shot up. “I know. In three years, we’ll move into the next phase of your Cash Machine. But will our lives be normal then?” I finally mustered the courage to face him. “My gut tells me some things will never change. Do you see yourself buying a new car in three years?”
“Yes, I expect to get a car when phase one ends.”
“I didn’t say a car. I said a new car.”
Dylan tried a boyish grin. “It’ll be new for me.”
“I’m right, aren’t I. You won’t buy yourself a new car in three years. You won’t buy yourself a new car in 33 years, will you?”
“No, Amber, I won’t.” Dylan gritted his teeth. “The depreciation on a new car is just too high. I value money too much to throw it in the toilet that way. In three years, I might buy myself a car like you drive now. In ten years, I might buy a car that’s half that age. And in twenty years, I’ll probably buy cars that are one to three years old, cars that are still in like-new shape, but which no longer have new car price tags.”
“So I’m right. We’ll never have a normal life, will we?”
“Amber, the normal thing is to be up to your neck in debt.” Dylan smacked the dashboard. “The normal thing is to work like a slave your entire life. The normal thing is to stress out when your daughter needs braces because you’re already spending everything you make, and you don’t know where you’ll get the extra money. I see no appeal in being normal. You think these high-end new cars are being sold to millionaires, but you’re wrong. Most of them are being sold to people who, if they got laid off tomorrow, would be broke in six months. Those who are truly wealthy don’t live paycheck to paycheck; they spend their money wisely and build solid foundations for their future.”
“And the ring?” I studied my bare fingers. I’d decided as a girl I’d never wear a ring of any kind until I got engaged. I wanted that diamond ring to be the first, to be special. “You’d never get me one of those either, would you?”
“Do you know that diamonds are not even a particularly rare stone? Their crazy prices come from the De Beers family restricting their supply and marketing the hell out of them. That diamond that Kyle is going to spend over $25,000 paying off will probably not fetch them $7500 if they ever need to sell it.”
Dylan pivoted to face me, but I couldn’t look him in the eye. “A diamond is not a sign of love; it’s a sign of conformity to a nonviable system. If you feel like you need to play along for the sake of appearances, I’ll get you cubic zirconia, which will look the same. But after all that you’ve learned these past few months, I’d hope you’d proudly walk around without a ring, and tell anyone who asks about it: ‘My love for Dylan is real. I want to build a future with a solid man, and I no longer want to play society’s backward money games. I’d rather use the money to buy a house that can provide for my family for decades, then walk around with an expensive-as-hell non-rare stone on my finger!’”
Dylan was shouting by the time he finished. It was the first time he’d raised his voice to me since that first date on the hike. I deserved it; I knew I did. Everything he said was right. Technically. He was that solid guy, and he’d sacrificed so much to build that solid future. He deserved a woman equally strong in her convictions, who would stand by his side every step of the way.
“I’m not the woman you want me to be.” My lips trembled as I struggled to get the words out. “I don’t want my life to be so heavy. Are society’s values screwed up? Of course. But I don’t have the strength to be constantly fighting back. I can’t bring my parents to a house that smells like death. I can’t have my friends waiting on me for lunch and then running over to an auto dealership because my pre-dented car won’t start.” By now, a mixture of tears and snot blubbered all over my face. “You need an extraordinary woman, Dylan. And I’m not. I’m very, very normal. I want normal things like a nice car, an engagement ring, a beautiful wedding, a romantic honeymoon.”
I grabbed a tissue from my purse and sloppily blew into it. “I was willing to kill myself hauling garbage out of that house to make it look to my parents like I’d gotten a decent property, but the truth is, I don’t want to buy a house where I need to haul garbage. If they see the house as it is now, they’ll say it might be a good investment for someone, but it’s just not right for a girl like me. They won’t say this because they’re narrow-minded, they’ll say this because they know their daughter.” All the hope I had for “us” slipped right out of me in one long, sad exhale. “This house is not what I want.”
Dylan’s voice quieted to match my own. “Then why did you buy it?”
“For you.” I searched his eyes. They had that ‘Why do girls have to be so confusing?’ look. Didn’t he know, deep down, why? “Because it’s what you want. And I wanted to make a life with you.”
“And now?”
My heart felt made of paper, and I’d just ripped it up into little pieces. “You’re a great, great guy, Dylan. You’re going to make some amazing woman very happy someday. But I don’t think I’m the right girl to go on this journey with you.”
“So that’s it, then?”
“Almost.” I reached out and took his hand. They felt cold and stiff and unsure. “I want you to do me one last favor.”
“What’s that?”
“I want you to buy the house. You can do that thing you were talking about. What was it? The cold thing.”
Dylan spoke with a lifeless, quiet voice. “The BRRRR.”
“Right.” I tightened my grip around his hand, as if trying to convince both of us that everything would be just fine. “You can do it. I know you can. I believe in you so much. You said yourself this house would be perfect for that strategy.”
Dylan released his hand and grabbed my shoulders, as if trying to wake me out of some stupor. “Amber, buying this house will completely change your financial picture. Even if you don’t want me, take it. It will bring me comfort to know that something good came to you from this relationship.”
“Dylan, there was so much good here. But I don’t want the house. I’m asking you, I’m begging you, as a favor, take it. If you don’t, I’ll back out on the deal anyway, and I’ll lose thousands of dollars, a giant chunk of the money Grandma Mona left me.”
Dylan motioned as if to argue, but I lay a finger on his lips. “If you take it over, there will be no breach of contract. You can pay me back for what I’ve already spent on the inspection and the title search, and I’ll be right back where I started. You’ll wind up with a great property at a great price, and you’ll do that BRRRR thing, and build your Cash Machine that much faster. You have the money to do that, don’t you?”
“I do,” Dylan said, but his head kept shaking in disagreement. “I can borrow against my other properties. Is this really what you want?”
“To thine own self, be true, Dylan.” I nodded, and my chest fell in exhaustion from trying too hard, wanting so much, but feeling like I’d failed not just Dylan, but also myself. “I’m not made for the kind of journey you’re walking. I want my normal life back.”
“Very well.” Dylan gripped the door handle. “Then may it bring you the love and happiness you desire.” Dylan climbed out of the car, shut the door, and didn’t look back.
Still feeling the tingle of my now ex-boyfriend’s hand in mine, I drove back to the dealership to sign the paperwork for my new car.
When my parents heard I’d broken up with Dylan, backed out of the house deal, and bought myself a new car that didn’t look like it had been through a demolition derby, they cancelled their trip. It was too bad. I could have used someone’s shoulder to cry on.
Somehow, driving my new cherry red Chevy didn’t give me the satisfaction I’d imagined, nor did shopping with Libby and buying myself a beautiful winter coat.
Weeks passed. Dylan closed on the house. I knew he did because his attorney called to ask for some of my paperwork. I could have mailed them, but I decided to bring them to Dylan in person.
Every time I checked my phone to see if he’d messaged, I reminded myself that breaking up had been the right move. Dylan’s path had diverged from mine the moment he dropped out of college, and I was only fooling myself by believing otherwise. I was a normal girl and needed to find myself a nice, normal guy. Shouldn’t be too hard, right? If they’re normal, then by definition, there should be a ton of them out there. Still, before going over to Dylan’s new house, I put on his favorite blue dress and did up my makeup.
I buzzed downstairs, and Dylan let me up. He was working on the second-floor apartment, the one that would have been ours. The first thing I noticed was the scent of powerful antiseptic and fresh paint. The windows had been replaced, and sunlight shone through, making the apartment feel bright and airy.
“It’s amazing how much you’ve done in such a short time.” I sounded so nonchalant, despite the rabbits thumping in my chest.
Dylan offered a polite nod. “Not much, really, but odor is one of the easiest things to fix.”
I gave Dylan one of my warmest smiles. The one that said I’m sorry. The one that said, with one word, I can be yours again. But Dylan was ever the stoic. He’d never learned to chase. He’d never learned that girls don’t mean everything they say during a hysterical rant.
For a moment, our eyes locked in a dance of memory and sadness and longing.
Should I tell him? Should I come out and tell him that I’d just caved under pressure, but that deep down, I believed in him, believed in what the two of us could build together? Or had that ship already sailed?
All I could say was, “I have the paperwork for you.”
“You can just put it on the counter. I’m covered in paint.”
I’d paid little attention to what he was doing, but then I noticed a massive tub of paint by his ladder, which leaned up against the arches. The very arches he promised me he’d paint cornflower blue. He’d laughed at my choice, saying it wasn’t practical for a rental, but he’d do it if that’s what I wanted. Now they glowed a very practical off-white, the same color he painted all his walls.
I knew then Dylan would move on. He didn’t make emotional choices, he made practical ones. And in my stupidity, I’d convinced him I was not the woman he needed by his side for this journey.
