Dylan(40)
“Have you had lunch?”
He shrugs. “Not yet.”
Shit. “You tricked me, didn’t you?”
“You’re an adult. You should know better.” He winks, and again he’s so much like Dylan my chest aches.
“Fool me once…” I mutter as I start the engine.
“Does that mean you’ll be picking me up from school again?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant.
I freeze. Does it? “I don’t know. Maybe until your brother gets better, and Dylan has time.”
“Dylan doesn’t have a car. I ride home on the bus.”
“And why not today?”
He says nothing for a while, eating his ice cream, and I think he won’t answer. But then he says, “There are these kids from a few streets up who like to beat me up sometimes.”
“Why?”
“They called me an orphan once, and I beat them up. So they brought their friends, and now they wait for me.”
Jesus.
“Dylan wants to be there, but he has to work, so…” He shrugs again, and my chest now aches for a whole new different reason.
“I’m sorry, Miles.”
“It’s not so bad,” he says, and I clench my teeth.
“Dylan wouldn’t be worried if it wasn’t bad.”
He says nothing.
We reach the house and stop at the gate. God, the place looks terrible, run-down, the yard taken over my tall weeds. I haven’t been here in years.
Miles glances at me, then starts working on his cone. It doesn’t look like he wants to get out. “It’s not so bad,” he says after a moment.
“No?”
“Dylan does all he can.” His face is serious when he says this. “Sometimes I’m mad with him. I think he forgets about me. But I think he’s just tired.”
Tired. Taking care of two kids with problems and working would do that to anyone. No wonder he dropped out of college. “And your dad?”
“He’s never here anymore.”
I want to hug the boy but don’t dare, not when his gaze is still full of suspicion. He barely knows me. “Dylan loves you very much.”
“I know,” he says solemnly. “He told me.”
Something he told me back when we were together at fourteen and I believed him. What a fool I’ve been.
Numb, I watch as the neighbor comes out and waves at us. Miles thanks me and says something about the ice cream, and I wave back distractedly. I watch him go, watch the guy from next door grab Miles around the shoulders and walk him into his house.
Then I do a U-turn and start back toward my apartment—toward the decisions I have to make about my life.
***
Mom calls me as I drive, and I debate not answering, but in the end I decide I should.
“Honey,” she says, her voice barely audible over the phone. “Your father said you passed by the office today.”
Was it only this morning? It feels like years have passed. “What do you want, Mom? If you’re calling to change my mind about anything, forget it.”
There’s a long pause, and I swallow my irritation. Mom has always been my father’s puppet, his mouthpiece, and I’m not in the mood, not after what I heard today.
“I’m sorry, honey,” she says, and for some reason that makes me snap.
“For what? For manipulating me into accepting to go to the gala so that Dad could pass me on to Sean?”
“Did Sean treat you badly?”
God, how often have I told them this? “Yes, he did.”
“I’m so sorry, Tessa.”
The hell she is. “Is it true you know about Dad having an affair?” She doesn’t answer, and I don’t know how I feel about this. “How long has this been going on?”
“A while,” she says quietly.
“And you’re okay with it? I thought you loved Dad.”
“No, honey. I’m not sure I ever did.” And then she says, her voice shaking, “I have to go now.”
She disconnects, leaving me shocked, wiser, angry and sad. How can you live with someone you don’t love for twenty years?
Well… Maybe like I lived for nineteen years trying to please people who can’t be pleased. Maybe my mom and I aren’t so different after all, and the realization is damn scary.
As I pass in front of my building, I check, and the car that looked like Sean’s is gone. Reassured, I drive into the underground parking lot. I’m preparing to park, when my cell rings again, and I connect the call.
“What now, Mom?” I say as I turn off the engine. “You don’t love Dad, we established that. Or are you going to tell me again how sorry you are?”
A silence follows, and I frown.
Then a very male and familiar voice says, “Tessa?”