Awkwardly Ever After Page 5

  Then I heard the unmistakable sound of water running.

  It made sense. Dylan probably didn’t enjoy hanging around with a coating of mud and sweat on his skin. Of course he would shower after coming back from his soccer practice.

  Of course he would.

  Unfortunately, even knowing that there were three rooms and two doors between us, I still felt jumpier than hell. Worst of all, I felt guilty about it. Because what kind of a person agrees to watch a movie at a friend’s house and then spends the next twenty minutes trying not to imagine what her little brother looks like under the spray.

  It was just . . . wrong.

  Izzie seemed equally tense and one of her legs next to me began vibrating with impatience. She also kept snacking away on the popcorn, as if that would be enough to keep the discomfort at bay. If the prickles on the back of my neck were correct, none of our behavior was going unnoticed by Spencer.

  Mackenzie was the only one of us who looked thoroughly engrossed by the movie, and that was probably because she was kept busy pointing out historical inaccuracies. Which wasn’t exactly hard to do given that the movie totally glossed over the treatment that the Native Americans received at the hands of the English. Still, every few minutes she would pipe up with some random factoid.

  “Yeah, they have the wrong flag on the ship,” Mackenzie murmured while I debated how quickly I could flee from the room . . . and just how much trouble I’d be in with Izzie later. “Great Britain wasn’t united under that flag until 1707.”

  Logan shook his head in disbelief. “Okay, seriously, Mack. How do you know that stuff?”

  She reddened a little as she turned to face her boyfriend. “I may have Googled it.”

  “God, you’re cute.”

  Okay, yeah, it was definitely time for me to leave. I wasn’t even going to make it to the whole “Colors of the Wind” part. Sue me, I wasn’t in the mood for adorable animated raccoons or historically inaccurate representations of America. If I was going to be stuck in a lecture, I preferred it to happen in a classroom.

  At least at school I was legally obligated not to bolt.

  “Well, this was fun, but I think—”

  Dylan sauntered into the room, part of his hair still waterlogged, with spikes going in all directions because he had obviously toweled off as quickly as possible. He grabbed a chair and settled in to enjoy the movie.

  Right.

  Because Dylan enjoyed nothing so much as watching a Disney movie with his older sister, his older sister’s boyfriend, the girl he wanted to be dating, the best friend of the girl he wanted to be dating and . . . Spencer.

  “What were you saying, Melanie?” Mackenzie asked distractedly.

  I lunged for Izzie’s popcorn, shoved a handful of it in my mouth, and sat back down on the floor. “Mmmphing.”

  Spencer didn’t even try to contain his laugh of disbelief at that one. My cheeks heated and I decided right then and there that Izzie had the right plan all along: Just keep eating popcorn and wait for the awkwardness to pass.

  The movie could last for only so long. And then I could flee without having to answer any of Mackenzie’s questions.

  I just had to sit it out until then.

  No big deal . . . until I literally hit rock bottom. Bowl bottom.

  Whatever.

  “Um . . . will you look at that! We’re out,” I said, yanking the bowl out of Izzie’s grasp, probably earning myself another black mark in the column with the title, Number of times Melanie Morris has thrown me to the wolves.

  I owed her some serious groveling.

  But unlike Izzie, I usually don’t have a problem taking the easy way out. Not when the hard way involved obsessing over whether my best friend’s little brother was intentionally trying to make me admit we were “soul mates” or something equally insane. So much for simply enjoying the movie in peace. To be fair, it wasn’t like anyone else was really paying much attention to it either. Izzie’s sole focus had been on the popcorn, Logan and Mackenzie had been playfully stealing kisses when they thought nobody else was looking, and Spencer was doing his whole I’m the coolest person in the room and I could be partying it up right now routine by glancing repeatedly at his watch.

  “I’ll, uh, get us a popcorn refill,” I said lamely, hoping that nobody would remark about the way two freshman girls had been able to kill a snack faster than two of the star players on the Smith High School hockey team.

  “I’ll help you with that.” Dylan stood easily and I instantly wished that I’d been smart enough to mention the idea of a refill when there was still enough popcorn at the bottom to make it semi-plausible that I had just changed my mind.

  “It’s popcorn. I think I can handle it.”

  Dylan just shot me an amused look. “Do you have any idea where we even keep it?”

  “I’m guessing in the kitchen.”

  Okay, I admit it, maybe that was a bit snarkier than necessary, but the prospect of once again being alone with him already had me so jumpy, I felt like I had downed three energy drinks in a row. I couldn’t handle it.

  Not when his hair was still damp from the shower. Not when his sister would be only one room away.

  “What kind of a host would I be if I let the guests fend for themselves?”

  “The kind of host who isn’t so much a host as an accidental party crasher?” I pointed out. I sort of thought that would put an end to it—all of it—the flirting, the glances, the incredibly unsubtle attempts to spend time with me alone.

  I thought that all it would take was a little confirmation that, yes, I could be that bitchy and rude. Usually, I tried to keep that side of me from showing, but when provoked . . . well, let’s just say I have a tendency to be a little on the defensive side. Maybe some of that comes from years spent bracing myself for a comment about my dad. There were only a few times a year that the amount of liquor he bought at the supermarket didn’t raise eyebrows: Saint Patrick’s Day, Super Bowl Sunday, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.

  Every other day it was painfully obvious that he wasn’t celebrating anything with a large circle of family and friends. He was just trying to numb himself a little bit more.

  Dylan didn’t react, though, not outwardly, with anything more than a speculative gleam in his eyes. Which only served to annoy me more. Was there some special guy class that I had missed where all the jocks were taught how to look skeptically at each other as some kind of demented means of intimidation ?

  I was willing to believe it.

  Instead of waiting for me to make a move, he snagged the empty bowl from my hands, turned on his heel, and headed right to the kitchen. I could have sat down and pretended nothing had happened, but with the mixture of confusion (Mackenzie), disapproval (Izzie), and disbelief (Logan and Spencer) coming at me from every side of the room, I hastened to make my exit.

  I trailed silently after Dylan and prepared myself to apologize for my rudeness. To end whatever it was between us that kept making me act like such a head case. To break whatever knotted thread appeared to be binding the two of us together.

  Case closed.

  “Listen, Dylan . . .” I began, determined to say the words before I could chicken out again. “I’m sorry, I was way out of line. But I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. We’re friends, right? I think we’re friends. And I think we should, y’know . . . stay that way. So . . . no hard feelings?”

  “I’m just curious; how many classic breakup lines did you consider before settling for the I just want us to be friends approach?”

  I crossed my arms defensively. “This isn’t a breakup. You have to be together in order to be broken up.”

  There was a flash of pain in Dylan’s dark brown eyes and I instantly felt like crap. Correction: I felt like a dung beetle stuck on a pile of crap, even though I was the one trying to make the best out of a really shitty situation.

  Better that I hurt him a little now than to let him think that there could be something between u
s.

  “If it’s not a breakup, then why the grand speech? The last time I checked, I hadn’t mailed a declaration of intentions or a love letter to your house. Not that I even know where you live since the one time I walked you home, I seriously doubt you let me come within two blocks of it.”

  Three blocks, actually.

  But that had nothing to do with Dylan. Not really. I just didn’t want to become evasive when we reached my doorstep. And I definitely didn’t want him coming inside.

  I’d learned early on that compartmentalizing my life was the key to surviving it.

  Dylan was part of the outside world. And I needed him to stay there.

  So I had walked the last three blocks by myself and hoped that he wouldn’t read too much into it. Apparently, he had.

  “Look, I just . . . I’m here with Spencer,” I blurted out. “So I thought we should clear the air.”

  The microwave beeped, but Dylan’s attention didn’t waver from me as I consigned myself to a lower level of hell for lying to him. Again.

  The scary part was that if Mackenzie got her way, I would be telling the truth.

  “Interesting,” Dylan said slowly. “I don’t see him with you now.”

  I curled my lip in disgust. “What does that mean? I’m not a fire hydrant that you can pee on to stake your claim over all the other dogs on the block.”

  He laughed and for a second I could almost believe that we were actually friends again, the way we had been right before that party. Right before we’d complicated things by flirting with each other for hours....

  “Nice analogy there. And here I was going to unzip and—”

  There was a hesitant knock on the door that thankfully cut him off. There are some things that are better left unsaid, and I had a feeling that was one of them.

  Dylan glanced from the door back to me. “Are you expecting anyone else? There’s still time to give Spencer the let’s be friends talk so that you’ll be free to date whoever is on the other side of the door.”

  “Very funny,” I snapped as the knocking grew louder.

  “Dylan, are you going to get that?” Mackenzie called out, and I knew that if I didn’t answer the door, the whole group of them would investigate the source of the racket.

  The last thing I needed was to be on the receiving end of any more of Izzie’s panic-stricken looks or Spencer’s dissecting stares.

  “I’ve got it!” I hollered, moving quickly for the door before Dylan could comment that I’d made myself right at home. I yanked it open just as the dark haired man at the door lowered his fist. He looked like he was in his mid-fifties and was dressed in what I suspected he considered “business casual” with a pair of tailored khaki slacks and a button-down shirt with a few buttons undone at the collar. He looked like he should be at a golf course or heading to the Katsu sushi restaurant downtown, not dropping by the Wellesley house in the late afternoon.

  “Um, can I help you?” I asked uncomfortably. If this guy was some kind of honorary uncle or godfather or something, then I was probably making a royal mess out of the situation.

  “Mackenzie? You’ve grown and . . . gotten some sun.”

  I burst out laughing, because the idea that someone would confuse the two of us was downright, well . . . laughable. “She’s inside. Do you want me to get her or—”

  “Don’t bother.” Dylan cut me off and I turned to look at him, expecting to see a full-fledged grin on his face. There wasn’t even the slightest trace of a smile. “Long time no see . . . Dad.”

  Chapter 6

  Am I the only person already sick of hearing about prom? It seems like everywhere I turn there are signs declaring that Smith High School should get ready to get wild with the Mardi Gras theme. Seriously. Seriously? Because nothing says “Prom in Oregon” quite like sparkly dresses, bauble necklaces, and jazz, right? Oh wait. Nope. Not even a little bit.

  —Anonymous letter to the editor

  Published by The Smithsonian

  “Maybe I should, uh, get Mackenzie?”

  I probably should have kept my mouth shut, but I couldn’t let Dylan go through whatever this was alone. Not when tension and hostility were radiating off him in waves.

  “That sounds great! It’s nice to meet you.”

  The stranger—Dylan’s father, I mentally corrected myself—nodded enthusiastically at the exact same moment his son said, “Leave her out of this.”

  I wasn’t entirely sure if Dylan was referring to me or to Mackenzie, but his dad clearly had no intention of turning around and going anywhere.

  “I’ve missed you, Dill-pickle.” The nickname rang hollowly as I watched Dylan absorb the comment. The guy who made sarcastic comebacks in the face of rejection had morphed into a brick wall. Sure, there were nicks and cracks in his composure, but I knew he wasn’t going to budge an inch. At least not until there were miles of space between him and his father.

  “Yeah, you seemed really broken up in all those holiday cards you sent us over the years. How are Chase and Adam doing? You all looked like you were having a great time in the Christmas photo.”

  “They’re doing well.”

  “Neither of them need a kidney transplant?”

  His dad looked taken aback by the question. “No kidney transplants.”

  Dylan nodded. “Okay, then. Great. Glad to hear it. Because honestly that’s the only way I would give you even five more minutes of my time. Now that we’ve got that settled, leave.”

  “I was hoping we could talk.” He glanced over at me and shifted uncomfortably. “In private.”

  “And I was hoping that you’d be able to keep your pants zipped when you were married to Mom. Looks like we’re both destined for disappointment.” Dylan surprised me with the total matter-of-factness with which he dropped that bomb. Then he turned to me and said calmly, “Melanie, would you please step back? I think this moment calls for a door slamming in his face. I know it’s overdone and kind of childish, but what the hell. You only get to brush off your deadbeat dad once, right?”

  “Um,” I said articulately. “Are you sure you want—”

  “What’s the holdup, Dylan?” Mackenzie rounded the corner, took one look at her brother’s stony expression, and bolted forward. “Everything o . . .” Her voice trailed off as she saw the visitor at the door. “Holy crap.”

  It was the first time I had ever heard Mackenzie swear, and even though the expletive was pretty mild, it still sounded wrong coming from her. Dylan didn’t hesitate any longer. He pulled me back and slammed the door shut.

  Right in his dad’s face.

  Then, ignoring my presence entirely, he focused on his older sister. “He says he wants to talk to you.”

  “Is it about Chase or Adam?” Mackenzie asked.

  Out of everything, that detail surprised me the most. They had two half brothers I had never heard either of them ever mention by name. Heck, I’d never heard them even bring up their dad. I always figured he had died in a car accident or something when they were young.

  It was kind of funny, because if there was one person who should have known better than to make assumptions about an absent father figure, it was me.

  “They’re fine.”

  Mackenzie nodded, but there was a dazed look in her eyes, one that had been plastered across tabloid covers when her embarrassing YouTube video went viral. “How are you?”

  Dylan’s mouth kicked up at the side, but there was a grimness there that I hadn’t seen before. I couldn’t help thinking that if his father had shown up even a few hours earlier, he would have seen Dylan coated with mud. Somehow that seemed more appropriate given that this emotional battle was definitely going to get dirty.

  “Fine,” Dylan lied so confidently, I might have believed him if I hadn’t witnessed his reaction to his father firsthand. “How do you want to play this, Mackenzie? I don’t think he’s going to budge from our doorstep anytime soon. He seemed pretty determined to talk to you.”

  “I can’
t imagine why,” Mackenzie admitted. “Not when he hasn’t bothered to swing by since . . . what? Elementary school?”

  “Yeah, well, that was before you became America’s Most Awkward Teenage Girl. My guess, he wants to sell the heartwarming story of your reunion to the tabloids.”

  “Still . . .” Mackenzie didn’t appear to have any idea what to say on that topic, so she shifted back to the more pressing matter. “What do you think we should do?”

  He shrugged. “He’s not here to see me, Mackenzie. If you want to rehash the past or whatever, that’s up to you. If you don’t want to say a word to him, I can make sure he keeps his distance while Logan drives you to his place. But either way, you need to make up your mind now.”

  “Why are we going to my house?” Logan asked from behind me, and I jumped before swiveling around to see that at some point Spencer, Isobel, and Logan had gotten curious.

  “Mackenzie?” Dylan said calmly. “Tell me what you want and I can handle this.”

  Her eyes were wild, and I could tell that she really didn’t want to be the one making such a huge decision. It wasn’t hard for me to relate. I mean, if my dad stopped drinking and I found myself in a position where he was asking me for forgiveness for spending years wasting away in front of the television, I’m not sure how I would respond either.

  Don’t get me wrong; I’d be thrilled.

  I just would have a really hard time believing he meant it.

  At some point, well . . . even the most heartfelt apology can be too little too late.

  Although from where I was standing, I didn’t see much of an apology going on. There had been no protestations of love from Dylan and Mackenzie’s father. He seemed to think that if he acted like nothing had ever happened, his children would fall in line.

  Apparently he didn’t know the first thing about either one of them.

  “I want to talk to him,” Mackenzie decided at last; then she repeated her words as if she needed extra convincing.

  Logan slipped his hand into hers in a silent show of support and I found myself absurdly jealous of that small action. Not because I wanted to be holding hands with Logan, but because I wanted the freedom to do the same for the person I knew was hurting.