Turns out that Mary Alice and Robert, Norma’s good-for-nothing cheating husband, who could only keep his dick up because he took little blue pills, according to Norma’s rant, had been trying to plan a surprise birthday party for Norma. Only in a small town.
I had also heard a rumor that there was a particular Disney-Princess-movie night happening so Owen could, once again, fulfill a promise he’d made to my little girl a while back. Stella had conveniently forgotten that Owen had already watched the movie with her once and suckered him into to watching it with her again.
“Yeah, I’m like two minutes out. I think. I know I navigate through DC every day, but I’ve managed to get lost in this quaint town you’re staying in twice or I would have already been there.”
I drop the towel on the counter. “You’re two minutes out from my place?” I question. “In Broward? Georgia?”
“Yes, two minutes out from your place in Broward, Georgia. Unless you’ve moved and forgotten to tell me.”
“No, I haven’t moved.” I smile at Stella as I move through the house toward the front door. “I’ll stand on the porch to make it easier for you to see me.”
“That’s good.” Dylan snorts. “This place is very cookie cutter. How do you tell one place from the other?”
“It’s tough,” I say drily, leaning one shoulder against the porch railing while I wait. “I’ve only walked into the wrong house half a dozen times.”
“Well, since Sherriff Hottie lives next door to you that isn’t all bad, right?”
“It has its perks. Dylan—” I step forward, moving down the steps as I spot her car come around the corner. “What about your show?”
“Yeah, about that. Hey, there you are.” Her car slides to a stop along the curb in front of my townhouse, the engine quickly shutting off. “I’m no longer a member of the Washington Ballet Company.” She ends the call before I can say anything else.
I meet her halfway across the lawn. “What do you mean you are no longer a member of the Washington Ballet Company?” I demand.
She doesn’t look like she belongs in any ballet company, but then again she never has. Dressed in a pair of faded jeans with enough tears and rips in them, I can’t help but wonder how they’re actually staying together, and a black sweater that hangs off of one shoulder and leaves a wide strip of her toned stomach visible, Dylan doesn’t project an air of elegance and grace one might typically associate with ballet. There’s a piercing in her belly button that matches a small silver hoop through her nose, which I know for a fact that she takes out during all performances. She has the face of an angel, despite the jewelry in her nose, and the perpetual frown pulling down her full lips. When she flips up her sunglasses, eyes the palest shade of blue I’ve ever seen narrow as they land on my face, but I suppose it’s the hair that really gives her the edge. The softest, palest shade of pink tumbles in large fat curls over one shoulder. Skinny strips of white mix in with the pink, softening the pink even more.
“I mean I’m not in the Washington Ballet Company. There’s really no way you can misinterpret that particular statement.”
I reach out, taking one bag from her hand so she can readjust the strap of the other one on her shoulder. She looks tired, I think. The bags under her eyes are almost the same size as the one in my hand. “Dylan, what happened?”
She shakes her head, indicating she doesn’t want to talk about that particular subject. I bite back the heavy sigh that wants to escape, because Dylan never wants to talk about her personal stuff. I study her face, looking for some indication of what is going in her life. Like the small downward tilt to her lips is going to give away the secrets to what makes Dylan tick. Dylan is the best friend I’ve ever had, the first person I would call to share my happiness with, the first to hear when I’m sad, and the one person I would trust above all others to help me bury a body, in the event that it becomes necessary. Perhaps it should hurt more that she doesn’t want to share her feelings, or her secrets with me, but I know the truth. It isn’t me that Dylan doesn’t trust. It’s herself. Maybe I can get her drunk tonight when we go out with Monroe and Nora and at least get a little of the story out of her.
“Well, we should probably head inside the house before Stella destroys it.” I turn back to the house. “Owen should be home soon. He and Stella are going to have a movie night. You arrived just in time to join girl’s night.”
“Oh joy,” Dylan mutters behind me. “Are we going to paint each other’s nails and talk about who asked who to the prom?”
“No.” I step through the front door and drop her bag at the bottom of the stairs to take up later. “We’re going to get drunk.”
One eyebrow arches as she studies me quietly for a few moments. “Well, then,” she drawls quietly, “drunk I can get down with.”
“I figured you might.”
Before we can continue our conversation there is an unnatural squeal and then the distinct sound of little feet smacking against the hardwood floor as Stella tears down the hallway. Her hair flies behind her, somewhat reminiscent of a cape, as she launches herself off the ground and directly at Dylan.
“Is my Dylan!” Stella wraps her skinny arms around Dylan’s neck, squeezing tightly before pulling back and patting her hands on either side of my friend’s face. “Hi, my Dylan, hi! Hi!” Every time she says hi her little hands pat against Dylan’s cheeks.
“Hi, my Stella.” Running a hand down Stella’s hair, Dylan turns away from me, heading down the hallway the little girl just came running out of. “How are you?”
Stella launches into a long, complicated story about how she’s doing. I pick up the words Huck and Owen several times as I trail along behind them into the kitchen. No one was happier than Stella last week when she came downstairs and found Owen making pancakes in our kitchen.
Though Owen has held true to his word, and we have taken several steps back in the relationship between the two of us, I feel like the one between Owen and Stella has taken several steps forward. I don’t know if it’s because he knows that the only way I’ll trust him with me is if I can trust him with Stella, so he’s going out of his way to prove himself in that regard, or if it’s because he simply can’t resist my little girl.
His mother offered to watch Stella tonight; in fact, she wanted Stella to spend the night with her and Liam out at the farm, but Owen put his foot down and claimed the evening with Stella for himself.
Listening to Stella and Dylan chat with each other, I move around the kitchen to clean up after Stella’s dinner. She’s eaten all but the last quarter of her hotdog, but has devoured all of mac and cheese and cantaloupe I gave her so I will call that a win. I know there is going to be popcorn in her future, along with chocolate milk, and vanilla ice cream with sprinkles. Owen cleared the entire evening’s snack plan with me earlier in the day. His call about approved movie snacks came immediately after his mother’s call about the Thanksgiving Day menu.
I needed to call her and make sure it was okay that Dylan joined us tomorrow, otherwise I was going to have to break Stella’s heart and let her know that we would not be spending the day with the Gallahangers. I should also give Nora and Monroe the heads-up that she’s here, as well. Chewing on my thumbnail, I pull my cell phone out of my back pocket so I can text the girls. I run upstairs to change my clothes before everyone is supposed to arrive. I’d suggest Dylan put something on a little more…more…but I know it would be a waste of time.