Page 109 of Because of Dylan

It’s a book. A leather-bound hardcover copy of my favorite book,Pride and Prejudice. It’s deep red with a beautiful gold inlay design on the cover and the spine.

“Wow, this is … amazing, thank you, Tommy.” I look at Dylan. “This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

Dylan pulls me into him and drops a chaste kiss to my lips. I hold back and push away the need to chase his mouth as he sits back. “I have something for you guys too. I put it under the tree.”

Tommy vaults over the loveseat and slides into the tree, stopping just short of crashing and knocking it over. Dylan’s chest shakes with laughter. “He does that every time. I’m waiting for the day he’ll go too fast and crash into that tree.”

“This?” Tommy calls back to us, holding two bags for me to see.

“Yes. The green bag is yours.”

Tommy vaults back over the loveseat and plops down on it, giving me the other bag with Dylan’s gift. Tommy’s diving into his bag and tossing tissue paper over his shoulders before I can prompt him to open it. He pulls out the T-shirts I got him and starts laughing. “No, you didn’t.”

“You said you’d wear them. Now you can.” I smile.

Tommy holds up the T-shirts, showing them to Dylan. Three shirts, each with the enactment of a different knock-knock joke. They’re so cheesy, one can’t help but laugh when they see them. He opens Dylan’s gift next. A new iPad to replace his old one with a cracked screen.

“Now, my gift to you. I hope you’ll like it.” I bite my bottom lip, clasp my hands together. My heart speeds up.

Dylan takes the bag from me and opens it. He removes the tissue paper and the wrapped gift with far gentler hands than Tommy. He places the gift on his lap, looks at me and then removes the tape and unwraps it much the same way I did. With care and perhaps a little delayed gratification, which makes me even more nervous.

He removes the wrapping and opens the box. Goes still and looks at what I got him for a few seconds, then runs his hand over it before looking at me.

“This is beautiful.” He opens it to the middle.

“What is it?” Tommy asks.

“It’s a journal.” Dylan holds it up for Tommy to see.

Dylan runs his hand over the leather-bound book, a rich whiskey color that reminded me of his eyes when I first saw it. I had his name engraved in gold on the cover and the spine.

He opens it to the first page, his gaze fleets to mine before going back to the journal. I debated long and hard if I should write something on it or not. Maybe add a card or a sticky note. Something less permanent. But defiance arose in me. I’ve lived my entire life as a passerby. Temporary. Transient.

No more.

I want to be a part of something. To be permanent. To have roots. The inscription in the journal, as short and as frail as it might be—the page can be ripped after all—is a first step at saying I want more.

Dylan,

Because once you told me, you had stories to tell.

Start now. Start here.

Bring to life the stories from the past.

Create new ones for the future.

Perhaps even some with me in them.

Love,

Becca

He stares at the page, reading and re-reading. Seconds stretch into centuries. With each moment the weight in my chest grows heavier, the pressure unbearable. Did I misread him? Is my veiled confession of wanting more too much? Even Tommy is quiet. The silence hurts my ears.

His gaze lifts to mine in slow motion, a hand reaches to me and cups the back of my head, his lips are on mine a moment later. The kiss is sweet, brief, and intense. He pulls me into a hug, his face into my hair. His mouth brushes my ear. “Let’s write those stories together.”

Shivers dance on my skin.

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