“Where did you learn to fold?” she snapped back.
“I never fold. I toss on the floor, shove in a drawer, and throw back if I don’t know where the hamper is.” He grinned. “If it smells good, I know it’s wearable.”
“And that alone is why you need a wife,” Dylan teased through a burst of laughter. “Christ. You better not let this one get away, Charlie. You need her. For the sake of hygiene, go get her.”
Charlie laughed and shook his head. “I have to go. Thanks for the talk, though.”
“Umm, you’re welcome?” Dylan hadn’t felt like she did anything but yell about the folding. “Anytime,” she said sarcastically.
Charlie stuffed his feet back into his boots and kissed Dylan on the top of her head. “Bye,” he said quickly.
“Where are you going?” she asked, practically dizzy from his movements.
“I have to call someone,” he said as he bolted from her room.
He said nothing else. He raced down the stairs, out the garage door and, in only a matter of minutes, Dylan was listening to the sound of his truck revving up and pulling away.
She hoped he was going to make up with Meredith, something she should do as well. It had been nearly a month since the fitting blunder, and the two still hadn’t spoken. Dylan wanted to pretend that she was a completely stubborn person, maybe a little like Ben, but she couldn’t hold out for long. Meredith was her friend and she needed to make it right with her. However, she’d let Charlie go first. She had packing to do.
In the evening, Dylan heard the door to the garage open and close. Assuming it was Charlie, she stayed on the couch and continued to sketch a picture of her father.
A quiet whimper released into the room, and Dylan was puzzled at the fragile, feminine sound, knowing then it wasn’t Charlie.
“Mom?” Dylan called out. “Is that you?”
“It’s me,” Meredith answered in a shaky voice, showing her blotchy face at the same time.
“Oh, Meredith!” Dylan gasped at the sight of her.
Meredith was a wreck. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut from crying so hard, her hair was stringy and uncombed. She wore sweatpants and a jacket, which shocked Dylan more than anything else. No one had ever seen Meredith looking like this.
Dylan stood to her feet and hurried over to her friend. “Sit,” she instructed, with her hands on Meredith’s shoulders.
“Oh, Dylan!” she sobbed and threw her head to Dylan’s chest. “I’m so awful!”
“No. Don’t say that,” Dylan whispered.
“I am!” she cried. “If you knew what I’d done, you would think so, too.”
“Where’s Charlie?” Dylan hated being the shoulder. How awkward. She hated the sniffling and crying. Not to mention, the wet spot that she could already feel forming on her sleeve. If the wetness wasn’t bad enough, she realized too late that the small chunk of charcoal she had been sketching with was still in her hand and was now mashed between her chest and Meredith’s. Odds were, if she ever made it out of Meredith’s grasp, there was going to be a large black smudge on them both.
Meredith shrugged her shoulders, but kept her face jammed into Dylan’s arms. “He won’t talk to me. He won’t even text me back.” She lifted her chin and sobbed. “He left me!”
Dylan snapped her head back. “What? I was sure he was leaving to make up with you this afternoon. He left as fast as he arrived. I thought maybe he had come to his senses.”
“He was here?” Meredith took a few sobbing breaths.
Dylan nodded. “This afternoon.”
“He must not have told you why he’s so angry with me.”
“No. He didn’t seem to want to.”
Meredith collapsed into the chair behind her. “You’re going to hate me, too.”
“Meredith, no one hates you. I’m sure it’s not that bad, whatever you’ve done.”
“I’m the one that told Ben to leave you alone because he wasn’t good enough for you!” she blasted. She covered her mouth with her hands and released several drops of tears that went streaking down her already wet cheeks. She uncovered her mouth, and added, in a quick speech, “Charlie said I’m just jealous of Ben and—I don’t know—I think he’s right. I was jealous of him. He doesn’t even have to work for his place in your family and I always feel so left out. Now look, my fiancé wants to end it with me for him.” She took in a long, shaky mouthful of air. “I am so jealous of him.”
Teetering on the edge of fury, Dylan drew in a long breath through her nose. “I see,” she answered in a quiet, controlled voice.
“I’m so sorry, Dylan!” She threw her face into her hands and cried even harder, if that was at all possible.
Dylan sat silent for a good amount of time. She watched Meredith’s guilt stricken breakdown and contemplated all of her actions. Of course, her first instinct was to scream with fists at her sides and tell Meredith what a nosy bitch she was. She wanted to tell her about Ben’s childhood, his parents, and all the people in his life that told him he could never be good. She was sure Charlie had already done that, though, and now didn’t seem like the time to go round two on Meredith. It would be very parallel to kicking an injured animal, Dylan thought.
Meredith looked up from her wet hands and stared at Dylan. She stood to her feet and drew in a few dramatic breaths. “I’ll leave you alone,” she said. “I shouldn’t even have come here. I really don’t know what I’m even doing.”
Dylan stared at the vulnerable mess of Meredith in front of her. She let out a deep, surrendering sigh. “You’re not the reason he left, Meredith.”
“I’m not?” she asked with a doleful expression.
Dylan shook her head. “Ben does what Ben wants. He left on his own. I’m sure he had his mind made up way before you got a hold of him.”
“But I told him—I told him he would be doing everyone a favor. I—I told him he didn’t know how to love and that you deserved better than someone like him. I told him he didn’t even deserve your family.”
Dylan laughed, picturing it. “All very true things,” she agreed. “Still, Ben wouldn’t have left unless he absolutely wanted to. I fell for his garbage and it’s my own fault. I knew how he was, Meredith. You didn’t run Ben off. No one can do that.”
“Will you tell Charlie that?” she asked with a quivering chin.
“I’ll handle Charlie,” Dylan answered with a nod. “He’s just being stupid. It’s not over.”
“How can you be sure?” Meredith asked, still looking completely baffled at Dylan’s response. “I mean, he is so mad at me.”
“I’ll think of something.”
“I’m really sorry, Dylan. I’m sorry for everything.” She sat back down. “I was so mean at the fitting. I shouldn’t have been so selfish.”
“It’s okay.” Dylan sat next to her and patted her leg. “I’m sorry for yelling at you and ruining your moment.”
“I know how you feel now. If Charlie doesn’t forgive me, I’m probably going to starve myself, too.” She looked Dylan up and down and, in a less theatrical voice, she said, “By the way, you look kinda healthy since the last time I saw you.”
Dylan beamed. “I ate,” she said, nudging Meredith with her arm. “And Charlie is going to forgive you.”
Meredith left soon after. She left somewhat calmer, but still entirely saddened over Charlie’s behavior. Dylan knew there was no getting through to him if she were to try, so she did the only thing she could think of; she called her brothers.
After each phone call, she actually spoke to Brandon, and left messages for Hugh and Jonah, she sighed deeply in content. She sat back against the couch and felt as though she had done her part in the Charlie-Meredith saga. She knew her brothers would step in. They had their thoughts about the wedding. Who didn’t? Still, even Brandon admitted, Charlie would be making a huge mistake if he backed out over something so petty. A mistake he would surely regret when the dust Ben left behind settled.
Dylan stared down at
the sketch she had been working on of her dad before Meredith blew through the room and turned her quiet evening upside down. “I’m sad,” she whispered to the black and white face as if it were truly her father. A tear dropped from her eye and landed on the paper, creating a small, wet blot over his penciled cheek.
“No. No crying.” She shook her head, and reminded herself aloud. “When am I going to be okay?” she asked the drawing, whishing that it would answer her. “When is it going to be easier?”
Once again, the door to the garage opened and closed. This time, by the clumsy stampeding, it was clear Charlie was the newest body to grace Dylan with his presence. She wanted to feel sorry for herself. She couldn’t do that with everyone hounding her. She wanted to morbidly speak to a piece of paper, pretending it was her father. She certainly did not want to solve another couple’s issues.
“Charlie?” she called.
“Yeah,” he answered, poking his face around the corner.
“Get your ass over to Meredith’s.”
“Did you tell Brandon?”
“Yep.”
“Thanks. I needed that phone call,” he said with a load of sarcasm.
Dylan shot him a fierce look. “What a stupid fight, Charlie. Don’t call off your wedding over Ben.”
“It’s not about Ben,” Charlie snapped. “It’s about her hoity-toity attitude. She thinks she’s better than everyone.”
Dylan jumped to her feet. “Yep, that’s right. The charity organizing, homeless feeding, selfless saint really thinks she’s better than everyone! Or, maybe—just maybe—she really was trying to help me.”
Charlie looked baffled. “You know what she did?”
“I do. But I do not, however, feel that it is a just cause for you to use in your moment of cold feet!” she lashed.
By his silence, Dylan guessed that Charlie knew she was right. He was only being stubborn. For whatever reason, the Mathews men were stubborn mules when it came to women. Dylan blamed it on Linda’s coddling.
Charlie’s face disappeared back into the laundry room.
The garage door opened and closed again. Dylan suspected at first that Charlie had left in a fit over her reprimanding; however, it was clear as she rounded the wall, this wasn’t the case. It was Meredith, and now, in a wishy-washy turn of events, Charlie and Meredith were in a tight hug with one another, making up. They didn’t even have to speak. They just seemed to fall into a hug at the sight of one another.
Dylan rolled her eyes and headed upstairs for bed. That was enough drama for one day, she supposed.
Chapter Fifteen
Get out, get out, get out, get out, shot through Ben’s head while she spoke to him about nothing he cared to hear.
Ben watched impatiently as Nicole got dressed in front of his bed. Like him, she was an intern at Weis and Carter. At the welcome party the night before, after six Jack-and-Cokes too many, it seemed like a good idea to bring her home. Now, the following morning, he was ready for her to begin the walk of shame out of his apartment.
When he first opened his bloodshot eyes, he had forgotten she was there. However, as soon as he flipped over and smelled the ashtray stench in her hair, it hit him like bricks. If that wasn’t bad enough, there was the death grip she held him in with her legs practically locking his body into place. These girls and their grips of death that they called cuddling!
He tried to be as loud as possible, moving around and yawning with a loud grandpa yell attached to it. She finally woke up, but she seemed to only want to clamp onto him tighter, which Ben found completely bothersome.
He didn’t want to be rude, only because he was about to work with this person on a day–to-day basis and didn’t feel like dealing with any bitchy animosity from her. Finally, after ten or so hints that he needed to get up, she got up and began to get dressed. It was the first time he ever politely shooed a girl out of his bed—polite in a Ben sort-of-way, that is.
Nicole crawled down on the mattress and kissed Ben’s cheek. She had meant for his mouth, but he turned his head at the last minute. It was another tip-off he threw her way.
“Last night was great,” she whispered, not taking that most recent hint. “What are you doing later?”
Ben moved awkwardly as he tried to escape from the pinned position she held him in. “I have a lot of work to do,” he lied.
Point taken, Nicole rolled her eyes and sat up to finish dressing. She was fully aware he was giving her the blow off now, thank God. He was somewhat gracious about it, she had to have noticed.
“Well, you’ve definitely lived up to all I’ve heard,” she shot in a not-so-nice tone. “Your morning after was a bit more polite than I remember anyone saying, though. My mistake for thinking—” she trailed off as if she stopped her mouth at the very last minute.
Ben sat puzzled and then it hit him. For a moment, she must have mistaken his careful behavior for the possibility that he actually liked her. Thankfully, she realized now her assumptions were a bit premature, and completely wrong.
“Why do you have a finger painting taped to the back wall of your closet?” she asked sneeringly, letting out a snobby giggle. She was obviously embarrassed by his brush off and now being spiteful at the artist’s expense. “Do you, like, have a little sister or something?”
Ben looked just behind Nicole and felt nothing but a stinging pain in his chest at the sight of Dylan’s painting. On his thirteenth birthday, he watched from his window as she placed it on his porch, and then ran away. He never said a word about it. He carried it with him from then until now, always hanging it up in hiding places so that no one but him would see it. He knew even then that the two kids holding hands on a mountain, placed just under a bright red heart in the sky, were he and Dylan. And, even then, it touched him the way it touched him now.
Nicole must have noticed the look in his eyes because she retreated quickly. “I mean, it’s cute and all. Who’s it supposed to be?”
Ben stood to his feet and glared at her as he closed the doors to the closet. Normally he kept them shut, but he was obviously not in his right mind the night before and forgot all about it. The closet was a personal space, he thought. It was just an invasion of privacy to have someone staring into it.
“Ben, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.” She sat down to put her boots on. “It’s good of you to have it hanging. You obviously don’t want to hurt the poor thing’s feelings. That means you have feelings yourself, which is surprising really.”
“Would you shut the hell up?” he snapped. “Just stop talking and get out of here.”
She stood up and shot him a dazed expression, an almost fearful look. “Is it really that bad, what I said?”
“It was pretty shitty,” Ben replied. “I don’t care. Just leave.”
“I didn’t know you’d be so upset about a finger painting a ten-year-old did. God.”
“Actually, it’s not a finger painting. It’s a painting that a very talented artist did when she was twelve. Her work is shown in New York galleries now, as a matter of fact.” Ben growled in frustration. He was saying too much in defense of Dylan. “Just leave. Please.”
“Ah, I understand now,” she said with a smile. “I’m sorry, Ben. I won’t say another word about it.” She was being respectful now, but Ben was still annoyed.
“You understand nothing.” Ben held his bedroom door open. “Bye now.”
Nicole grabbed her jacket. “Well, it was fun last night. I’d love to say the same for this morning, but I can’t.”
Ben laughed. “I can’t even say that I remember last night. You obviously didn’t do much for me.”
“Nice. That’s real nice,” she hissed, and threw his front door open. As she was about to step out into the hallway, she was stopped by an unfamiliar man with an amused smile. His arm was raised as he prepared to knock on the door she opened angrily.
“Excuse me,” Nicole said, pushing past him with huge tears in her eyes.
Ben sighed at th
e unexpected visitor. “What a morning,” he groaned. “Hello, Dad.”
Warren turned and looked down the hallway. He smiled, as he said, “You have a lovely way with women, Benjamin.”
“She’s just the end result of a drunken night.”
“You should never allow the ones you don’t plan on calling to follow you home, remember?”
“My mistake,” Ben chuckled. His father was always full of amusing advice. “What are you doing here?”
Warren looked around Ben’s apartment as if he’d never seen it before. “You live better than I did when I was attending, that’s for sure. What a time in my life, though.”
“Yes. You’ve told me.”
Warren sat down on the couch. He looked around and then continued to recall his glory days. “I was poor and working my tail off, scooping ice cream during the day and cleaning campus classrooms at night. I didn’t mind the work, though. It was that much more rewarding, knowing I accomplished it on my own. I vowed that my own child wouldn’t have to work like I did.” He pointed his finger as if to remind Ben what child he was speaking of. “You’re very lucky, son.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Ben rolled his eyes as he turned his back on his father. He never told a story without sticking a jab at Ben in between.
“I didn’t know I was supplying such a habit,” Warren said, pointing to the liquor bottles in the kitchen. “You have yourself a full bar back there. Top shelf even. It’s a wonder how you even meet the young ladies that run from your apartment in tears. You don’t need to leave.”
Ben sighed deeply. “The bottles aren’t empty. I like a little variety is all. You should see my fridge stocked with beer.”
“Benjamin, don’t be so defensive. I have a right to comment on the items my son purchases with my credit card.”
“Dad, I don’t have time for this back and forth thing. To what do I owe this great pleasure?” He drummed his fingers on the counter. “Would you like a drink?”
“Scotch. Neat,” Warren answered.
Ben smirked as he grabbed the Johnnie Walker. The man would ridicule everyone, although when it came to him, the guy that asked for scotch at nine in the morning, there was no room for judgment. Ben had meant water, or possibly juice if he had any. He poured the liquor into the glass and walked it over to his father.
Under the Orange Moon Page 19
