Page 79 of Because of Dylan

“Glad to hear from you. Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?”

Thanksgiving makes me think of Dylan and that damn cranberry sauce. The butterflies multiply.

“Yeah, it was very nice. I spent it with friends. You?” Well, one friend and one whatever the heck Dylan is. Frenemy? Hot-AF professor I can’t stop thinking about? My next mistake?

“Same. Family and a friend.”

Ugh. Are we making small talk now? I’m not good at this.

“The last time we talked you had some homework.”

“Yes.”

“Did you do the homework? Did you find a friend to talk to?”

I picture him leaning in, waiting for my response. “I did.”

“That’s great!”

I can hear the smile in his voice. “Want to tell me about it?”

“Okay.” I fill my lungs, hold, exhale. “I talked to my best friend. I told her about my childhood, and how I lied about going away for holidays every time she invited me to visit her family. I told her about everything that happened to me. More than I thought I would.”

There’s a moment of silence. He waits for me to say more, but my mouth has gone dry.

“How did that make you feel?”

I grab a water bottle and take a sip. “Lighter. I feel lighter.”

“I’m so happy for you. You’ve carried that burden alone for far too long.”

“Yeah, I did. And I would probably have continued to if it wasn’t for you.”

“Nah, you did all the work. All I did was nudge you in the right direction.”

“You did way more than that. And you know it.”

“Okay, enough about me.” He sounds … embarrassed? “And your friend? Was she supportive?”

“Yes, very much so. I knew she would be. But …”

“But?” He pushes when I stop.

“I was so afraid.”

“Why? What exactly were you afraid of?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think you do. Remember, there’s no judgment here. You didn’t come this far just to retreat now. What were you afraid of?”

I close my eyes again, breathe in, out. “I didn’t want her to pity me or look at me differently. I didn’t want her to know how horrible a person I am.”

“Okay, let’s break that down. Did she pity you?”

“No. I mean, she felt sorry for me, but she didn’t pity me. She got mad on my behalf.”

“Did she look at you differently?” The sound of tapping accompanies his question.

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