Page 54 of Dreaming of Dawson

“Sure.”

She hands him over, and I sit back a little, taking him in my arms. He’s dressed in navy blue pants and a gray sweater, and feels all snuggly and warm, having just come from his crib. He has a mop of dark hair, which is messed up at the back, and I smooth it down, marveling at how soft it is, my heart melting slightly, as a thought filters through my head. Except I can’t let it make a home there. I can’t think about things like that… things that can never happen.

Dawson may have called me beautiful, and may have been aroused outside the bathroom this morning, but I still don’t know whether that had anything to do with me. Even if it did, I have no way of knowing if he wants to make anything out ofit… and besides, that voice in my head still won’t stop yelling… telling me this is a bad idea.

Besides, who says he even likes kids?

“Are you okay?” Peony sits beside me, putting the bottle on the table while she takes Rory and settles him in her arms.

“I’m fine.” I’m not, but if Aunt Bernie wasn’t the right person to talk to, then neither is Peony… although for completely different reasons. Her connection with Dawson being the most obvious one.

“So, you don’t wanna tell me what’s wrong?” she says, feeding her son, but looking at me.

“Who says anything’s wrong?”

“I do. You looked so sad just then, and you’re never normally sad.”

“No, I’m not.” That’s absolutely true. It’s most unlike me not to have a smile on my face, and yet I know the situation with Dawson is troubling me. That’s mostly because I can’t work out what to do, or how to behave, or even what I want… other than him, although I know I can’t have him. Regardless of all that, though, I don’t feel like I can tell Peony my troubles. They’re too personal. And too muddled. I guess I might be able to tell her something, though. Who knows, maybe saying it aloud will help me work things out in my own way. It can’t hurt… as long as she doesn’t mind.

“You know you can tell me anything,” she says. “This place might be a hotbed of gossip, but I’m good at keeping things to myself.”

“I know, but the thing is, it’s about Dawson.”

“And?”

“Well… the two of you have history. I don’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable.”

“You won’t. Dawson and I might not be talking to each other, but that doesn’t mean I can’t listen if you wanna talkabouthim.”

I turn in my seat, so I’m facing her, pushing the laptop back slightly so I can rest my elbow on the table, although I focus on Rory, not his mom, because I think I’ll find that easier. Even if I’ve decided not to reveal my feelings for Dawson, this is still personal, because it’s about him… like she said.

“I stayed there last night,” I say, glancing up in time to see her widening eyes, which makes me realize I should have phrased that differently. “Not in the way you think,” I add quickly. “The snow was too deep for me to walk, and I couldn’t get a cab, so I stayed in his guest bedroom.”

“I see. Was that a problem?”

“Not really… except I had to help him up the stairs and put him to bed.”

“You did?” I can tell she’s surprised, just by the look on her face, and I let out a sigh, continuing with my story.

“I was woken in the early hours by a thudding sound.” There’s no way I’m going to tell her about the dream that thudding sound interrupted. That’s definitely too personal.

“What was it?” she asks.

“Dawson, falling up the stairs.”

“Did he hurt himself?”

“I don’t think so.” To be honest, I forgot to ask… and I probably should have done. I had plenty of opportunities, not just last night, but this morning. “The problem was, he was too drunk to stand.”

“Oh dear,” she says with a smile.

I shake my head and her smile fades. “It wasn’t a one-off,” I say. “He’s been drinking heavily for a while now, sneaking bourbon into his coffee and vodka into his glass when he thinks no-one’s looking.”

“Seriously? I had no idea, although I suppose I wouldn’t, would I? I haven’t seen him for ages.”

“No, but he’s hidden it well. I don’t think anyone knows about it except me. It started when his ex-wife left him.” She blushes and I sit back slightly. “You see? I said it would be awkward for you to talk about this. Your boyfriend left town with his wife. It’s a complicated triangle… or square, or some other shape that doesn’t belong.”

She smiles, putting Rory’s empty bottle on the table now he’s finished, and she sits him up, wiping his chin with the cloth she has over her shoulder.

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