Page 115 of Because of Dylan

She kicks her shoes off and sits, her legs crossed on the couch so she can face me. “Okay, friend. What happened?”

I heave in a breath. “Dylan and I are no more.”

She nods. “I figured as much. But what exactly happened? You guys were so happy. Last time we talked you were spending Dylan’s birthday with him, and everything was great.”

“And I did. We were together on his birthday. And it was amazing until it wasn’t.” Even now it’s hard to speak about it.

River listens, and I tell her everything. Leave nothing out. How happy I was. How I loved being with him. How I ran away that night and again the next morning.

She holds my hand through it all, and when I’m done, she grabs a tissue box from the coffee table and gives it to me.

“Do you love him?”

I didn’t expect the question and stutter without answering.

“It’s not a difficult question. Do you love him?”

“Yes. I do.” My heart squeezes under the weight of how much love I feel for Dylan.

“Do you think he loves you?”

“I don’t know.” I’m afraid to hope he does.

“Think, Becca. How did he act? How did he talk to you? How did he behave?”

Dozens of images of us together play in my mind like the scenes of a romantic comedy. Moments filled with laughter and … loving gestures. “I know he likes me. I don’t know if he loves me.”

River drops one leg to the floor. “Fair enough. The question is, what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know what I want. I want to go back in time and erase everything so I don’t feel like this.”

“Do you? Do you really want to erase all the times you spent with Dylan?” River challenges me.

I sigh. “No, I don’t. I loved every minute. Even in the beginning when he annoyed me, I still enjoyed being close to him.”

“Then what are you going to do about it?” Where is she going with this?

“What can I do? It’s over!”

“Is it? Is it really over? Because it seems to me that as long as you two have feelings for each other, it’s not over. Not by a long shot.”

I grab my hair with both hands and tug with a growl. “I don’t know what to do.”

“If you were telling all of this to the therapist, what do you think he would tell you to do?”

“What?” I blink at her. “What do you mean?”

“You talked to him dozens of time, correct?”

I’m getting hot. I push the blanket off of my shoulders. “Yes.”

“You know what he would tell you. What do you have to fix first? Which steps should you take next?”

“He would tell me to figure out why him finding out who I am upset me so much.”

“And?” Her one-word question comes with the arching of an eyebrow.

“I have to work on myself first. I have a shit-ton of crap to dig up.”

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