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Chapter Thirty-Three

Scarlett

A month passes in what feels like the blink of an eye. The weeks pass not in days, but in mundane car conversations, unexpected blowups, Dylan stalking off… coming back, glimmers of vulnerabilities, evenings spent in the window seat watching for his silhouette on the sunken steps. Relief when it’s not there. Tears when it is. Whispered late night talks, yelling matches, sometimes laughter. Joint family dinners, pop quizzes, presentations, weekend afternoons with Seb and Caro and the rest of the crew sprawled out on the cushy L-shaped couch by Xavier’s indoor pool or hanging in his games room. Sometimes with Dylan. Sometimes not. Hours lounging in beanbags at Jays, comic book plot discussions, disagreements. Check-in calls from Phil—less frequent than they were a month ago, but still way more than is normal for a parent of a seventeen-year-old. Dylan’s first snowfall, first Imax movie, first time answering a question in class, first detention. His first fist fight at SH Prep, first two-day suspension, first time trying hot chocolate. Maple syrup. Toblerone. My first time wearing sweatpants to school, first time reading a comic in public—in the dining hall at lunch. My first hug from Dylan, first double-date with people I actually like. First sleepover with Jackie in over two years. Dylan’s second detention, third time answering a question in class—and getting it right. Fourth time not pulling away when Diane greets him with a hug. Crazy parties, reading comics in Dylan’s bedroom— on his bed . Hand holding, heads resting against arms, chins resting on shoulders. Comfortable silences. Butterflies in our stomachs and chests and unspoken words flickering between our drawn out gazes. Because more and more, I can tell what Dylan is thinking just from his eyes. And he can do the same with me.

So many firsts and seconds and thirds that four weeks feels like a lifetime, but also like no time at all.