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Chapter Fourteen
Tessa
I’ve tried to ignore what happened and for the most part I have. It was shitty of me to expect that Dylan would’ve responded any other way. He’s not accustomed to the whole relationship thing and to be hit with this expectation that marriage and kids is what comes next would be a little overwhelming. I’m trying to cut him some slack. I’m trying not to overreact and jump to conclusions about what that means for our future. Up until a few weeks ago we didn’t even have a future together.
Dylan starts the engine, and an awkward silence falls over the car as we drive away from Tommy and Penny’s house.
“Did you have a nice time?” Dylan asks, his question coming out to fill the empty space. Each word is measured and strangely robotic, almost like he knows he fucked up.
It’s not so much that I care about the fact that he might not ever want kids or to get married, it was his reaction to the question. It was said with such intensity and confidence, and while it’s something that we have yet to discuss, I think he made his stance on it clear.
“Yeah, I had a nice time. It’s always fun to hang out with Lauren, Penny and Ellen. I see a lot of them at work, but it’s different seeing them outside of work.”
“Working at Somerville’s isn’t really like working. They’re all really easy to get along with,” Dylan says and all I can think is that this is the stupidest conversation ever.
Right now, he’s talking to me like we just met. Small talk that fills the void and avoids the elephant in the room, or in this case, the car. It feels like it might explode from the awkwardness that is bouncing around in here just waiting to be mentioned.
It’s obvious Dylan is not going to say anything. At least not anything about his comment earlier. He’s going to keep making stupid conversation to avoid it.
“Do you like working there?” Dylan adds.
“I don’t really work there. I’m on a contract and once it’s up and the house is finished, I’ll be working with a new client.”
“Maybe you could work there permanently,” Dylan says, and it sort of feels like he’s trying to fix what happened tonight by dancing around it.
“Doing what, Dylan?” I ask, letting out a bothered sigh. I need to just address what happened and move on. He’s uncomfortable, I’m annoyed and nothing good can come of that.
“I don’t know. It would be nice to always have you around,” he now says and while it makes my heart swell a little, I also know he’s trying way too hard to avoid talking to me about what he said earlier.
“Dylan,” I start as he looks straight ahead, “did you really mean what you said tonight when Jack mentioned kids and marriage?”
I just come right out with it, and while I know it will make him uncomfortable, it’s a conversation we need to have. I don’t want to find myself two or three years down the road with him and have to end it because our futures don’t line up.
“I’m only twenty-four years old, Tessa,” he says as if that explains things.
“And I’mnottwenty-four years old,” I hit back just as he pulls up outside my apartment.
“I don’t know. I guess I never really thought about having kids or getting married. Like I said, I’m twenty-four and…” He doesn’t finish his thought. I’m not sure if he realizes he’s making excuses or if he can sense I’m upset.
It’s not like I want him to say he wants to marry me tomorrow. All I want is some honesty, and really, looking at his response, I guess he is being honest. He’s never really thought about it. I’m more hurt than anything because it feels like his comment back at Tommy and Penny’s house was a reflection on how he feels about me.
“Do you think you could give it some thought?” I ask, reaching for the handle to exit the car.
“Yeah, sure,” he replies, casually, almost like a brush-off or at least that’s the way it comes across to me.
“I had a nice time tonight,” I now say, opening the door.
“Hey, Tess, wait,” Dylan calls after me just as I’m about to close the door. He doesn’t get out; he just leans down so he can see me standing outside the car.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry?” he says, a question attached to the end of it. It’s hard to control the fact that I want to roll my eyes at him right now. It feels like we’re back to the old game of not really defining what is happening between us. He’s apologizing so I invite him inside.
“Dylan, don’t do this. You have no idea why you’re apologizing.”
“You’re right, I don’t, and I have no idea why you’re mad, but it feels like you’re overreacting,” he says, and my breath catches in my throat.
I’m overreacting?
