Denying Dylan | ✔️

(7) "I hope this is okay?"

As I laid in bed on the morning of my flight, I came to the sudden realization that this vacation might be the perfect time to tell Dylan how I feel. There was no plan set in stone. But if the mood and the moment felt right, then perhaps I'd do it. Or perhaps I would continue to wait it out and hope the feelings faded off again. Somehow, that seemed less than likely.

Whenever he calls, my stomach turns over on itself. Whenever I hear his voice, I see a future. I've never seen a future with someone before. Ever. I've done so much dating. So much searching for someone that I could actually mesh with. Mold to well enough to go somewhere further than dinner dates and movies and mediocre sex.

I've never felt it though. That spark. That draw to another human being who can be an extension of who I am. Someone who I can share all of me with. All of the hardships. The tears over a father who looks at me as though I'm a stranger. The tears over a mother who actually does see me as a stranger. The struggle of having no career drive. The anxious meltdowns and panic attacks. The over eating. The sleepless nights and the imperfection. Because I need someone who's there for all of that and not just the good parts.

The only person who I've ever had, that's been close enough to see those parts, is Dylan. And he's sharing himself with Charlie. The most pretensions, sour bitch on the face of the earth. The text message that she sent me when Dylan told her that he was coming with me to New Year's Eve was hideous. Perhaps the worst message that she's sent me to date.

I didn't tell Dyl about it though. I'd won. He was coming with me and that was what mattered. I'd store that text for another day when I needed him and she was pulling weight. That might sound petty. But Charlie didn't like to fight fair and that just meant that I needed to keep up.

Rolling out of bed, I slid into my slippers, stretched and looked out of my window at the clouds hovering low. Low enough that the tops of buildings were disappearing. It had snowed over night. I could see white powder on the window sills across the street. My window seat looked spectacular this morning. Cushions, blankets and a half read magazine that I could get through if I went and got a coffee. Ugh. It was so tempting. But I had a flight to prepare for and unfortunately, sleep took precedence over packing last night.

Still, I would need a coffee before I could even think about being alert enough to pack what I needed. So I wandered out of my bedroom and was hit with the smell of citrus scented antibacterial cleaning wipes. It was coming from the bathroom across the hall. I hadn't seen Lucinda since I'd sent her home on Christmas morning but she must have been in and out. She was too committed to her work not to come in and do even the basics.

The sound that had me dragging my feet down the hall with hesitance, was the tap, tap, tap of a pen on the granite counter top. Dad's signature sound when he was mulling over a document or a file that had him in a particularly worked up mood. How nice for the file. All it had to deal with was a pen tap. If I put him in a bad mood, it was a full scale screaming match.

Of course, there he was, in a sharp charcoal suit and tie. I wasn't even sure when he'd come back from the Maldives. But it wouldn't have surprised me if it had been days ago and he'd been preoccupied with work ever since.

Maybe I should warn his girlfriend not to get too attached. She'd never be able to compete with his job. Not to mention, if she ever becomes an inconvenience of any sort, out she goes. Banishment. Dad prefers to stash his problems out of sight so that he can pretend that they don't exist.

I slump right over to the coffee machine, switch it on and head to the fridge.

"Good morning. It is seven oh three A M. It is negative three degrees outside. What will you be having for breakfast this morning?"