Sound Bites: A Rock & Roll Love Story (17 page)

Dylan was terrified.

I watched him, waiting for him to say something, anything, but he just stared blankly into space as if he was trying to find his way back from the millions of thoughts ru
nning
through his head. After what felt like hours, he finally spoke.

“I didn’t like seeing you with him.”

“Okay,” I replied, trying to pry out a detailed response. “Well, what was it about him that you didn’t like?”

He shook his head in frustration, like I was missing the point. “It wasn’t just him. To be honest, I… I don’t think I’d like seeing you with anyone else.”

If there was one question that I needed answered, it was whether Dylan really felt the same way that I did. I had to make sure it wasn’t just one of those scenarios where he wanted what he couldn’t have only because he thought it was gone.

“Okay,” I said. “Well I need to know one thing. Is it because
you
want to be with me?”

Dylan nodded slowly and then finally made eye contact with me, bracing himself for my response. “Yeah,” he said in a soft voice. “It is.”

Now I was the one leaning in towards him.
“Why?”

He stared back at me, confused.

“I want to know why,” I said. “Why are you all of a sudden telling me this? I need to know this isn’t just because you’re one of those guys who wants what he can’t have, because in that case…”

“No,” he interrupted. “That’s not it at all. To be honest, I didn’t know whether to tell you how I felt because I didn’t know how you felt. But when I saw you with that guy tonight…” His voice trailed off and he looked up at me, his blue eyes glowing from the reflection of the lamp, and he didn’t need to say any more. I knew. He felt it, too.

“When I saw you with that guy tonight,” he continued. “I was sick to my stomach. I actually watched you guys for a minute before I came up to you, which was why I was so pissed. I saw you guys talking close together and laughing and I thought…” He started to stumble on his words. “I thought I had lost you. Well technically, I never had you, but you know what I mean. I tried to put it out of my head for the rest of the night and forget about it, but I couldn’t. Every time I thought about you with him, it made me sick. I left the show and came back here so I could be alone and think.” He sighed and looked up at me, awaiting a response. “Jesus Christ, Renee, please say something.”

I didn’t know what to say. There was so much I wanted to say, but when I tried to tactfully sum up the combustion of feelings that had been bottled up inside me for months, my words froze in my throat. I wanted to tell him that he was the person I’d been waiting fo
r my whole life. The person who
made me feel like I’d found something I
’d never even known
I’d lost. The person I could spend all day, every day with for the rest of my life and it would never be enough.

But I couldn’t. Instead, I put my hand on the back of his neck and pulled him towards me, my lips pressed hard against his, his hand slowly working its way up my thigh.
As he pulled me closer to him, our eyes met for a brief second, and I felt something between us that was hard to put into words. It was a feeling that we both shared, a feeling where you just want to freeze time and live in that moment forever.

A feeling that maybe life and love really do work out the way they’re meant to.

Chapter
17

Love is a funny thing. It’s as if you spend your whole life waiting for it, and then, when it finally happens, everything just sort of falls into place. You don’t have to question it or second guess it. It just feels… right.

For the first time in my life, I could feel it. It wasn’t that senseless sappy honeymoon zing of infatuation; it was different. I finally had a valid reason for downloading cheesy romance songs, crying at weddings, smiling like a complete idiot at absolutely nothing when I was by myself in public. I was in love. Not pathetic one-sided stalker love, or humiliating boyfriend-sleeping-with-my-best-friend love. Real, true, living, breathing, mutual, inseparable love. And it felt surreal. 

After practically living in Dylan’s bed for two weeks straight, I slowly started to make my way back into the real world and drag our relationship out of the closet. My mother practically dropped the phone with glee when I told her I was dating someone new. I was positive it was only because she was glad I wasn’t holed up in my apartment pining over David anymore.

“I’m so happy for you, honey,” my mother gushed. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

I could. I was already dreading the inevitable introductions, even though there was no reason for it because I knew my mother would like him. She liked everyone. She thought we were all “God’s children.”

I heard my mother mumble something on the other end, and then my father’s voice came booming through the speakers.

“So, you gonna marry this one, or what?” he demanded.

“Dad, I think it’s a little early to make that assessment.”

“Nonsense.” I could picture him shooing me with his hand. “You tell this boy I want grandkids, you hear? Grandkids! I ain’t getting any younger, you know.”

“Okay,” I quickly agreed as Dylan entered the room. “I’ll get right on that.”

I hung up the phone and set it down on the table. “My parents,” I explained. “I just broke the news.”

“Speaking of that,” he said. “I forgot to tell you that my mom wants us to come by this weekend.”

A slow river of panic rose through me. I was so busy worrying about whether my parents were going to like Dylan, and vice versa, that it hadn’t dawned on me to take his family into consideration.

“Relax,” he instructed, sensing my panic. “She’ll like you. You’ve seen the other girls I’ve dated right?”

He had a valid point. I hadn’t thought of that.

“Sure, this weekend’s fine,” I said. “But what about your dad? Are they still together?” It suddenly occurred to me that he had never once mentioned his father. I knew he was an only child, but that was about all I knew. Dylan didn’t talk much about his family.

He shrugged. “He died when I was pretty young. I don’t remember much about him.”

I couldn’t believe that I’d spent the last few months with him and he’d failed to mention this.
“
Why didn’t you tell me?”
I asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not something I really think about often.” Dylan spoke about his father’s death like he was talking about grocery shopping.

“Or maybe it’s something you try not to think about often.” My suggestive undertone clearly hinted at the Freudian concept I was leaning towards.

Dylan told me his father had a stroke when he was seven, and he was raised by his mother in Plymouth, a town located on the south shore, just north of Cape Cod. I hadn’t been to Plymouth since I was fifteen, when my mother used to drop Justine and me off at the waterfront so we could roam the streets in search of ice cream and cute teenage boys.

“Justine and I used to stalk the kid that worked at Richie’s Candy store,” I told Dylan, a bittersweet smile forming at the memory. “She swore he looked just like Kurt Cobain.”

“Poor kid,” Dylan joked. He disappeared into the kitchen, then poked his head around the corner. “And speaking of foreign subjects, that’s the first time I’ve heard you talk about Justine without mentioning your ex in the same sentence.” He tossed me a knowing look. “Sounds like I’m not the only one who’s avoiding something.”

***

Suffice it to say, boyfr
iend
s
’
mothers are always a nightmare. It all started when my high school boyfriend’s mother walked in on us mid-romp, before I’d had the pleasure of meeting her acquaintance, and family parties were always just a bit awkward afterwards. My most recent maternal horror show took place when I met David’s mother, and immediately noticed she had pictures of his ex hanging in her living room. Call me old fashioned, but isn’t it a bit impolite not to remove the ex
’s
photos when you know the new girlfriend is coming over?

Thankfully, Terry Cavallari wasn’t anything like I had imagined. I’d already invented the preconceived notion that she was some overbearing wench, plotting a slow death for the
evil vixen
bedding her precious little boy. In reality, she was actually very sweet. She had brown hair with speckles of gray, thin wire-framed glasses and soft, friendly eyes that matched her smile. She asked me a lot of questions about myself, and once I answered she would reply by saying “and why is that?” I suspected this was because she wanted to make sure I could form my own opinion, unlike Dylan’s exes who could probably barely form a sentence, let alone an opinion.

She insisted that I call her Terry, and struck me as the type of down-to-earth mom that you could
confide in
without any judgment, as opposed to my own mother who, every time I refused to do things her way, would run around the house like a spastic Chihuahua screaming and wondering why she’d failed as a parent.

Dylan disappeared into the basement to get some things he’d left behind, and I took a seat at the kitchen table while Terry began boiling water in a silver tea kettle. She reached out and poured us each a cup of tea, then sat down across the table from me. Above her head, hanging on the kitchen wall, was a picture of Dylan and a man I assumed could only be his father. Dylan looked about six in the picture and showed a strong resemblance to the man, including the same glaring, blue eyes.

“Why doesn’t Dylan ever mention his dad?” I asked, pointing to the picture. “I just found out last week that he had passed away. He’d never brought it up before.”

“One thing you have to know about Dylan is that when something bothers him, he shuts it out,” Terry explained, her eyes wandering to the basement door to make sure he was still out of earshot. “I think he probably spent most of his life suppressing the memories of his father until they were non-existent. That way, if he doesn’t remember it, then it didn’t happen, therefore it doesn’t hurt.”

Terry’s eloquent way with words made me realize where Dylan had acquired his communication skills. They both spoke in the same straight-forward manner. 

Dylan reappeared with a small guitar amplifier in one hand and a duffel bag in the other. He set them down on the floor in the living room, then joined us at the table, where Terry had made each of us homemade chicken salad sandwiches. Throughout the entire lunch, Terry dug for all the details about Electric Wreck, smiling at her son proudly. It was obvious she a
dored the hell
out of him.

By the time we were ready to leave, the sun had already started to set. We said goodbye to Terry and hopped into Dylan’s van to head home. But instead of heading in the direction of the highway, Dylan took a left turn and pulled into a parking lot across from the waterfront. I shot him a confused look when he turned the engine off, but he just opened the door and motioned for me to follow him. I had no idea why we were here, but I trailed behind him after he stepped out and started walking towards the water.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“You’ll see.”

I spotted a jetty in the distance that was made of giant rocks and looked like it stretched forever. When we finally reached it, Dylan hopped on
top of the rocks and held out his
hand to help me up.