Awkwardly Ever After

by Marni Bates

  Even if he was pretending that the entire scene was nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Okay.” Dylan nodded slowly before he turned to Logan. “You’re staying here with her.”

  It wasn’t a question; it was an order.

  “Yeah, I’m staying.”

  “Hey, isn’t that my call?” Mackenzie pointed out, probably in an attempt to lighten the mood a little. Dylan was having none of it.

  “No, it isn’t. Not when you want to bring . . . him into the house. As for the rest of you—” Dylan briefly looked at each of us, although I doubt he noticed that Izzie’s shoulders had hunched as if that would make her less intrusive during this incredibly personal moment, or how Spencer was already reaching into his pocket and pulling out his car keys. And if he had any thoughts about me . . . well, none of them showed. “You’ll make sure they get home safely.”

  That was aimed at Spencer. Once again Dylan wasn’t really making a request.

  “I can see myself home,” Izzie said quickly. “And give Mel a ride too. So why don’t I just call my mom and—”

  “You afraid to ride in a car with me, Isosceles?”

  “That’s a triangle.” Izzie shoved her glasses higher up her nose and glared back at him. “And no, I’m not.”

  Spencer grinned. “Excellent. Then why don’t you go grab your stuff from the living room while I—”

  But before Spencer had a chance to finish that sentence, Dylan had tugged open the door. I half expected his dad would have left. Based on everything I had just overheard, the guy had a reputation for bailing when things got rough. No reason for him to start sticking around now.

  He was standing right where we had left him, though. Actually, he had moved a few inches to the right so that he could lean against the porch railing, but I hardly thought that little detail was significant.

  He didn’t appear to be going anywhere.

  I couldn’t resist turning to Mackenzie to see how she was handling all of this. It sounded like this was the first time she’d seen her dad in years. And this probably wasn’t the way she had imagined their reunion playing out. Given Mackenzie’s love of history, she probably would have wanted more time to formulate her plan of attack. Time to create an intricate web of excuses should she need to fall back and re-strategize.

  At least she had her boyfriend by her side.

  Logan wasted no time stepping forward, as if placing his body between Mackenzie and her father could somehow protect her emotions.

  “Hi . . . Dad.”

  Dylan flinched as if hearing those words emerge from his sister’s throat had somehow registered as a slap across the face. The kind that would leave a handprint afterward.

  “There’s my girl! How’s my little Mack-Attack?”

  Mackenzie ignored the question entirely. Probably because she didn’t want to snarl that he’d lost the right to use all nicknames when she was back in elementary school.

  “You should have called.”

  Spencer cleared his throat lightly and edged his way to the door. “Thanks for suggesting the movie. It was . . . interesting. Come on, Poca—Melanie. Time for us to go.”

  But I couldn’t seem to move. My feet were transfixed as I stared at Mackenzie and watched a virtual rainbow of emotion transform her features. Discomfort. Anger. Hurt. Hope.

  The air was thick with years of unexpressed pain.

  “I did call. A few times. Your mother promised to give you the messages.”

  Mackenzie jerked back and her eyes instantly flicked over to her younger brother. “And I told her that I wanted nothing to do with you. You should have taken the hint.”

  “Speaking of hints . . . Melanie. We’re. Leaving. Now,” Spencer hissed as he moved past Mackenzie’s father and headed straight for his car. Izzie didn’t need to be told to get out of there. She was uncomfortable enough with the scene taking place to willingly spend one-on-one time with Notable royalty.

  Which meant that I now owed her about a billion more favors.

  “Why don’t we discuss this privately, Mackenzie? I know a great little Mexican restaurant—”

  “I’m pretty sure that eating anywhere with you would spoil Mack’s appetite. And last time I checked, she had a strict ‘no asshole’ policy with her life.” Logan raised an eyebrow skeptically as her dad straightened in an effort to look as intimidating as possible. “Interesting. I always pictured you with more of a weasely face. I’m kind of disappointed, actually.”

  Mackenzie jabbed him in the side. “Not. Helping. Logan.”

  “Really?

  “Really.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Sorry.”

  And that simple apology was enough. But I didn’t exactly have a chance to awww over the cuteness of Mackenzie’s relationshipbecause Dylan nodded one last time , not in response to anything in particular, but as if he had just confirmed something for himself.

  Then he turned very deliberately and walked right past his father.

  He didn’t shoulder-check him.

  There were no snarled insults or teeth-baring or any other kind of alpha-male display to assert that the son had taken up the role of man of the house. Dylan made sure that he didn’t so much as brush against his father as he walked away at a steady, deliberate pace while everyone else gawked at his retreating figure.

  For half a second I hoped he was going to climb into Spencer’s car and order the Notable to start driving. That the four of us would go see some new action movie or something. Nothing like a postapocalyptic society to put your life into perspective, especially when combined with the brain-numbing power of subzero movie theater air-conditioning.

  Dylan didn’t slow down.

  He passed the car without even sparing Spencer or Izzie a glance. That’s when I knew that I would be owing Izzie even more favors. A lifetime of them, in fact.

  Because I wouldn’t be accepting that ride home with her.

  I started running down the street after Dylan.

  Chapter 7

  Dear Anonymous,

  The Mardi Gras theme was selected by the prom committee. Maybe instead of whining, you should try to join in some leadership position. And if you’re really that sick of hearing about prom—then stay home!

  Sincerely,

  Lisa Anne Montgomery

  —from “Hello Anonymous,”

  by Lisa Anne Montgomery

  Published by The Smithsonian

  I’m not sure what I expected to happen.

  If my life were a romantic comedy, I probably would call out Dylan’s name and watch him pause. Then there would be a slow-motion running scene where my long hair would ripple beautifully behind me. I would draw up to him, attractively out of breath and yet remarkably sweat-free, and he would singe me with a kiss.

  “I knew you would come after me,” he’d murmur right before I plastered my mouth against his again.

  “Always.”

  Roll credits.

  Too bad real life didn’t work out that way.

  “Hey! Wait up, Dylan!” Even as the words left my mouth I knew that I would have a better chance trying to convince Izzie to wear three-inch stiletto heels to school than I’d have slowing him down.

  At least he didn’t pick up the pace. He kept his stride long, but he wasn’t running and as long as I could keep my feet smacking the pavement in a rhythm that rivaled a full-out sprint, I was only seconds away from drawing up to his side. There wasn’t anything glamorous about the way I was sweating.

  Dylan didn’t so much as glance my way, though.

  “Now isn’t really a great time, Melanie,” Dylan said calmly, as if he were running a few minutes late for a dentist’s appointment.

  I didn’t say anything—partly because I was still struggling to keep up with him and partly because what was there for me to say? Hey, buddy, sorry your dad is such a jerk. If it helps, my dad spends most of his days staring at the bottom of a beer bottle.

  Yeah, pass.

  “Uh . . . w
here are we going?” I asked finally when I had regained my breath.

  He shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  “I guess not.” We descended into silence for another block . . . then two . . . then three.

  We passed the elementary school and the blacktop where only a few weeks ago I had been cracking up with Dylan as Mackenzie did a celebratory dance after finally making a shot in rollerblading basketball.

  I wondered if he was remembering that or something else entirely. Some distant moment from his childhood back when his dad was actually a part of his life. I tried to picture him as a toddler wobbling around the adjacent soccer field, a wide grin splitting his face, and found myself wondering how long it had been since he’d felt that carefree.

  “So I take it you don’t want to talk?” I said eventually. One of us needed to break the silence at some point, and it didn’t look like it would be him.

  “Not particularly.”

  “Mind if I talk anyway?”

  He shrugged, but he didn’t make eye contact. “Nothing stopping you.”

  I took a deep breath. “Okay, well, I’m pretty sure I owe you an apology.”

  “Oh yeah?” There was a slight hitch in Dylan’s step, but he didn’t allow it to happen a second time.

  “Well, there are a few things, actually.”

  “Start wherever you’d like. Alphabetically. Numerically. Categorically. It’s all the same to me.”

  Great. He wasn’t giving an inch and now I had talked myself into one hell of a situation. I had planned to say that I was just trying to be a good friend—to help him deal with his dad and then split—but I hadn’t realized that any apology would inevitably lead to the truth: that I liked him back.

  And I still wasn’t sure what to make of my feelings.

  “I shouldn’t have treated you that way back at the house.”

  He considered that for a moment and then turned to look at me—really look at me—for the first time since Mackenzie had agreed to talk to their dad. “Care to be more specific?”

  I kicked at a pinecone and sent it careening forward as my guilt kicked into high gear. “You know . . . when I was making popcorn?”

  He slowed, slightly, but I had a feeling that one wrong word and I’d be left in the dust. “That was . . . what? Fifteen minutes ago? Yeah, Melanie. I remember our conversation just fine.”

  “It was an intense fifteen minutes. You saw your dad again for the first time in years and—”

  “Get to the point,” Dylan interrupted.

  “I’m just sorry about some of the things I said.”

  Dylan pulled up short. It was funny that I’d been hoping I could make him stop for the past six or seven blocks, and yet now that he was truly stationary and staring me down, I would have gladly accepted any interruption. I would have welcomed a phone call—a text, heck, even a tweet—if that would provide an excuse for me not to face Dylan head-on. The frustration and pain that gleamed in his deep brown eyes made my stomach lurch and twist.

  “I’m really not in the mood for one of your head games right now, Melanie. I mean, I’m never in the mood for them. But now is a particularly bad time. You say you’re more interested in being with Spencer? Fine. Go find him. I’m not stopping you.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Not what?” Dylan cut me off again. “Not what you want? Are you sure about that? Because I have a feeling he’s exactly what you want, Mel. He’s one of the most popular guys in school. He’s not just a Notable—he’s a freaking legacy! And then there’s the added bonus that as a junior he could actually take you to prom. That probably sounds pretty exciting to you too. So why don’t you go pick out your dress and leave me alone?”

  “Because he’s not you!” I blurted out and then clapped a hand over my mouth as if that could help me magically take the words back. No such luck. So I was stuck standing there while Dylan gaped at me in disbelief.

  “Are you for real right now? You don’t want me, Melanie. So if you’re feeling guilty for blowing off your best friend’s little brother—get over it. I certainly will.”

  I sucked in a deep breath and reminded myself that he was hurting right now. That I deserved a rejection after unintentionally toying with him. He was right about the mind games. Or at the very least, I had been sending some seriously mixed signals.

  Still, I’d hoped that the first time I ever told a boy I liked him, you know, that way, I wouldn’t be feeling quite so vulnerable. That his whole face would light up at the words.

  “What . . . what if I didn’t want you to get over it?”

  He took a step back and then glanced over his shoulder as if he needed to make sure that this wasn’t some elaborate prank. Dylan slowly cleared his throat before answering. “Then I would say I never realized you were this selfish.”

  That stung.

  In fact, it burned.

  “What. Do. You. Want. Melanie?” Dylan enunciated each word and I felt them all like a backhanded slap.

  “I-I don’t know! We can’t be together. You know we can’t be together, so—God, I just don’t know anymore!”

  Dylan crossed his arms. “Want to run that logic by me again? Why exactly can’t we be together? Overlooking the whole I never asked you to be with me thing for a moment.”

  I glared at him. Maybe he hadn’t asked directly, but he had made his intentions more than clear. And when he put it that way . . .

  I sounded absolutely nuts. Borderline delusional.

  But I knew it wasn’t all in my head, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that he was—

  “You’re Mackenzie’s little brother!” Somehow I managed to get the words out. “There are rules against that sort of thing!”

  “No, there aren’t. We can go to any state—hell, any country —and be together if that’s what we wanted. Nobody has legislated against dating a friend’s sibling.”

  “It’s the Girl Code,” I mumbled, embarrassed to have to say the words.

  “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

  Liar, I thought bitterly, but Dylan deserved a straightforward answer. Maybe he would never be able to get one from his dad, but he certainly could from me.

  “Girl Code,” I repeated defiantly.

  The excuse sounded increasingly stupid as it hung heavy in the silence between us.

  “Oh, Girl Code. What rule am I breaking, exactly? I’d really love to take a look. Here I thought that involved dating your best friend’s ex. Apparently I need to look over the rules again.”

  “Well . . . yeah. But—look, I really value Mackenzie’s friendship, okay?”

  Dylan began walking again and I scurried to keep up. “Okay, then you probably shouldn’t try to date Logan. Beyond that—”

  “What happens if we have a fight?” I blurted out. “A big one. You want me to go somewhere with you and I can’t go and—”

  “That’s your idea of a fight?” Dylan’s eyebrows had shot up in disbelief, but his eyes kept boring into me, past the fake confidence that functioned as a veil and hid my nervousness from sight, right to the heart of the girl who was sick of pretending to be fine.

  I flicked a long strand of hair back away from my face, using the movement to cover some of my discomfort.

  “Well . . . yeah.”

  “If I wanted to go somewhere and you couldn’t make it, I’d be disappointed. That’s it.”

  “Right,” I laughed hoarsely. “You’d just be disappointed if I didn’t make it to your middle school graduation because it would make me feel like a cougar?”

  “One year, Melanie. I am one year younger than you are. And yeah, it would suck if you didn’t show up. Is that what you want to hear? Hell.” He started walking, only to stop abruptly in his tracks. “You want to know why I hate my dad, Melanie?”

  I did. I wanted to know all his secrets. To be the one person he could confide in even when his whole life felt upended.

  But now I was terrified by what I might hear.

  “Yes
.” I couldn’t manage anything beyond that single word. Dylan didn’t need a bigger opening, though.

  “He bailed. That’s why I hate him. He could have been my father and still raised two other kids with his home wrecker. I would have been furious about the way he treated my mom—I’m not sure I could ever overlook that—but I still would have loved him.”

  I nodded speechlessly.

  “But he wanted a fresh start. That’s why he pretended that Mackenzie and I never existed. He took the easy way out. He bailed.”

  Those two little words began repeating over and over again in my head.

  He bailed. He bailed. He bailed.

  My stomach sank as it hit me that I was doing the exact same thing to Dylan. Making him believe that for reasons beyond his control he wasn’t good enough for me.

  “And I never confronted him about it.”

  “You were what? Five at the time, Dylan?”

  He acknowledged that point with a brittle smile. “Yeah, but as you can see, I’m a whole lot older than that now. And I never called him up. Never yelled at him over the phone. None of it.”

  I bit my lip as I searched for the right words. “Do you want to—I mean, should we turn around? Do you want to talk to him now?”

  Dylan shook his head. “I don’t need to anymore. Mackenzie may need to have him answer her questions, but I don’t. I already got mine years ago: not interested. That came through loud and clear.”

  I flinched. That was the same message I was supposed to be giving him.

  Isn’t it?

  I didn’t even know anymore.

  “I don’t hide now, Melanie. Not even for you. So if you actually want to do this thing—well, you’ve got my number.”

  This time when he started walking, I stayed in place.

  I didn’t feel I had the right to be anywhere near him.

  Because I had been lying; not on purpose, but I’d been misleading him nonetheless. Dylan wasn’t too young for me. He wasn’t too immature. He wasn’t lacking anything.