“Yeah, I’ve already talked to her, and she’s on board. She’s working on another job, but she’ll find a way to fit us in.”
“She’s very good, she can find out things most people think are dead and buried. She has a nose for it,” Mark says. “If there’s anything to find, you can be sure she’ll find it.”
I feel uneasy. I shouldn’t involve them. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like the pizza?” Dylan asks looking at the piece on my plate that I haven’t touched yet.
“It’s not that.” I turn my head, averting my gaze.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Excuse me, kids. Nature calls at the worst of times.” Mark stands and walks away from the table. But I know he’s just going to the bathroom so Dylan and I can talk.
“Why are you upset?” Dylan turns in his chair to face me. I mimic his move.
“I shouldn’t involve you. It’s really not your problem. I feel so bad.”
“I see,” he says. “Tell me this. Do you love Tina?”
“So much.”
“If you could see into the future and see she’s involved in a car accident, would you warn her?”
“Warn her? I’d confiscate her car keys to make sure she doesn’t go.”
“Humans are creatures of habit. A lot don’t learn from their pasts, and they keep making the same mistakes over and over again. All I’m doing, is seeing if Preston’s past errors are worth knowing about.”
I hate feeling so conflicted about this. “I have to listen to my heart, and not my head.”
“You have to listen to both. But you also have to make the right choice for you and your sister’s relationship.”
“I just couldn’t live with myself if he keeps hurting her, and I could’ve stopped it. I’d rather her not talk to me for the rest of our lives, than experience the absolute worst outcome. I need to know he’s not some kind of control freak who’ll end up seriously hurting her.”
Dylan cloaks me in one of his generous hugs. He gives the best embraces. Not too tight, not constricting, but also not weak and unsupportive. I love being in his arms.
“I think you better get your dad. He’s probably staying away so we can talk.”
“Yeah, he does that. He doesn’t like to get involved in things that aren’t his business.” Standing, he walks over to the bathroom and knocks on the door. “Need help in there, old man? Maybe you’ve fallen into the toilet and we need to call a plumber to get you out?”
From the other side, his dad calls out, “You’re never too old for an ass-whupping, boy.”
I chuckle, and start eating a slice of the pizza. Dylan comes back, grabs a piece, folds it and shoves half of it into his mouth. “Good, huh?” he asks.
Mark joins us at the table. “Dylan’s pizzas are the best.
“Hmm,” I grumble. “It’s alright, I’ve had better,” I tease.
“Better? I don’t think so,” Dylan scolds me, his voice breaking on a high pitch.
“Oh no she didn’t,” Mark murmurs as he looks down at his plate.
“Oh yes she did!” Dylan playfully snaps. “Next time I’ll get you a store-bought pizza while Dad and I enjoy my own home-cooked one.”
“I’m surprised there’ll be a next time,” Mark says under his breath. He’s remaining on the quieter side so he doesn’t get in trouble with either Dylan or me.
I’m laughing quietly. The pizza is really good. It’s nothing like a store-bought pizza. The crust is light with a slight crunch. The sauce on it is homemade, because there’s still chunks of tomatoes that haven’t cooked all the way down. “I suppose it’s okay,” I say adding fuel to the fire.
“Suppose?” Dylan shrieks.
“Alright, alright. I admit…” I cover my mouth with my hand and add, “It’sreallygoodbuti’mnotadmittingit.” But the only sound they can hear is a cross between a mumble and a slur of incoherent words.
“What was that? I couldn’t understand you,” Dylan asks.
I shove pizza into my mouth, chew and point to my mouth. “Can’t talk,” I say through a mouth full of food.
“Yeah, thought so,” Dylan says, cracking a smile.
“She keeps you on your toes, doesn’t she?” Mark chuckles. Dylan nods, and I can’t help but return the huge smile. “I definitely like you, Molly. I hope my son’s bad cooking doesn’t scare you away.”
“Hey!” Dylan objects.
I finish chewing, then say, “It’s not the worst I’ve ever had. But, you know, he could improve.”
Dylan stands dramatically. “That’s it. Neither of you are invited back.” He heads into the kitchen to get another bottle of soda.
“You sure about that?” Mark teases.
Dylan returns, opens the bottle and tops up my glass. “I’ll have to rethink you having a key to my place, Dad. Give it to Molly, so she can come over any time she wants.”
My brows fly up in surprise. What? He’s joking, right?
Mark leans to the side, dips his hand in his pocket, and takes out his keys. “There, take them.” He crams more pizza in his mouth.
I sit very still, not sure how to react here. I don’t want his keys, we’re not ready for this yet. “Maybe I’ll get you out of my hair,” Dylan says.
“You’ll be bald soon, so it doesn’t really matter,” his dad counters.
Their sparring is quite amusing. They’re so comfortable with each other, and I love this. “No feeding you anymore.”
Mark flicks his hand defiantly at Dylan then jams the keys back in his pocket. “I’m not giving you the keys back. Instead I’ve decided to make sure I’m here every night waiting for you to cook.”
“You’re a pain in my ass,” Dylan retaliates.
Mark chuckles, and gives Dylan a thumbs up. These two antagonize each other for fun. And in the interim, they amuse me.
Sitting back, I sip on my drink. I like being here, it’s easy.
“Tina’s been really distant,” Mom says as we sit having our morning coffee. “She’s barely home.”
“Dylan’s cousin is checking out Preston’s family.”
“In a way, I hope he finds nothing, but I also want him to find something too, so we can get her away from that Preston.” Mom sips on her coffee. She clasps her mug in her hands, and looks distantly out to the rolling greenery of our yard.
“Dylan’s cousin is a she, not a he. I’m torn at what I’m hoping she finds. I have a bad feeling about it. I don’t want her to find anything, but she may. Ugh. Mom, why does this feel so wrong?”
“Because Tina’s judgement is off at the moment. We have to be her ears, and her brain, because her judgement is being hijacked by her heart, and by someone who knows how to play her.”
“I need a hug,” I say to Mom. Standing, I walk over to her and embrace her. Mom’s hugs will always beat everyone else’s, including Dylan’s. She’s soft and squishy, and she has the best, subtle smell of fresh-baked cupcakes. I don’t know what it is, but it’s comforting.