Page 100 of Because of Dylan

“Maybe Dylan already is the perfect man for you, and you need to give him a chance to prove that.” She runs her hands over her arms like she’s cold. “I got shivers all over. You know what my mother would say to that, right?”

“Get the salt and the holy water and run?” I joke, knowing all too well that her mom would say that’s a sign. We both get a good laugh.

“Give him a chance. But even more importantly, give yourself a chance. You never give yourself enough credit. And you’re so much more than the crappy childhood you had.”

Tears sting my eyes. It’s been such an emotional day already after Baby Jay.

She leans in for a hug. Our arms go around each other. “Why is it so hard to believe that?” I sniff and fail to stop the tears.

“Because you never give yourself a chance. You give so much to others without even thinking. All those babies you helped for years. The volunteering at soup kitchens. The little things you do when you think no one is paying attention. Driving my ass all over the place and being my sidekick.” She pulls back. Holds my hands. “You’re kind, you’re generous, and so smart. Now be kind and generous to you too. And put those smarts to work into changing the story you’re telling yourself. Tell a better story. A happy one.”

River and the therapist are saying the same thing. “I heard this before. About rewriting the stories we tell ourselves.”

“We all do it. We all have stories. And it’s up to us to make it a good one.”

“So … rewrite my story, huh?”

“Yes. You can’t change the past, but you can write your present, so better make it a good one. You know, with Dylan in it.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me. “Then tell me all the juicy details.”

“Sure I will,” I say. But I won’t. Not all of them. I’ll keep the best to myself.

Chapter Forty-Four

We’re backat Pat’s Café, the place where it all started. The place where I first met my father, even if I can’t yet call the man sitting across from me Dad.

My body no longer gripped with the stiffness of anger and rejection. There’s an easiness in our conversation now. We’re still sharing stories and getting to know each other better. We chip away the distance one chunk at a time. Years apart being made smaller by these encounters and his willingness to meet me at my pace.

“So, that’s my Baby Jay story.” Telling my father about what happened makes my heart lighter somehow.

He sets his coffee down, elbows on the table and fingers laced. “Tell me more about this baby cuddling program. It sounds fascinating.”

“I love every minute of it. When I first joined, I thought I’d be the one helping the babies thrive. But they’re the ones helping me. I get so much joy and love from them. I can’t explain.” I surprise myself with how open and honest I’m being with him.

“I can. Babies are miracles you get to hold.” He smiles, but there’s a hint of sadness in the way his lips turn, as if the corners of his mouth have to fight to stay up.

A flash of an old memory hits me. “There was this baby about a year ago. He had been born with a hole in his heart. The parents brought his four-year-old brother in to meet him after surgery. I can still see his face vividly in my mind with his long blond hair and the bluest eyes. His name is Kyle.” I blink away the tears trying to spill from my eyes. “This little boy sat in a chair swallowed by a sterile gown holding his baby brother. The parents and a nurse were talking about the hole in the baby's heart. Then the boy looked at them, and said, ‘I know why there’s a hole in his heart.’ We all looked at him. His mom kneeled closer to him and asked why, and what he said stayed with me.”

My father leans in ever closer. “What did he say?”

“A closed heart can't give love.”

We both sit still for several seconds. My father sits back, mouthing the words again and again.A closed heart can't give love.

I put my hand on the table, palm up. “It took me a long time to realize that a closed heart also can’t receive love. And I have been guilty of both.”

His hand reaches to mine.

It’s funny how I spent my life with a giant black hole in my chest that was empty and yet filled with a bitterness and anger I used like a shield to protect myself. But the more I let go of the past, the smaller the hole gets, and the more I drop my shields, the happier I am.

He squeezes my hand. “No more closed hearts.”

“No more closed hearts.” It’s a promise I make to myself.

“Hello, hello.”

I look over my shoulder. Tommy stands behind me. I let go of my father’s hand and stand up to give him a quick hug. “Hey, good to see you.”

Tommy hugs me back, but it lacks warmth. “This is Julia. My girlfriend.”

---