Awkwardly Ever After (6 page)

Dylan glanced from the door back to me. “Are you expecting anyone else? There's still time to give Spencer the
let's be friends
talk so that you'll be free to date whoever is on the other side of the door.”

“Very funny,” I snapped as the knocking grew louder.

“Dylan, are you going to get that?” Mackenzie called out, and I knew that if I didn't answer the door, the whole group of them would investigate the source of the racket.

The last thing I needed was to be on the receiving end of any more of Izzie's panic-stricken looks or Spencer's dissecting stares.

“I've got it!” I hollered, moving quickly for the door before Dylan could comment that I'd made myself right at home. I yanked it open just as the dark haired man at the door lowered his fist. He looked like he was in his mid-fifties and was dressed in what I suspected he considered “business casual” with a pair of tailored khaki slacks and a button-down shirt with a few buttons undone at the collar. He looked like he should be at a golf course or heading to the Katsu sushi restaurant downtown, not dropping by the Wellesley house in the late afternoon.

“Um, can I help you?” I asked uncomfortably. If this guy was some kind of honorary uncle or godfather or something, then I was probably making a royal mess out of the situation.

“Mackenzie? You've grown and . . . gotten some sun.”

I burst out laughing, because the idea that someone would confuse the two of us was downright, well . . . laughable. “She's inside. Do you want me to get her or—”

“Don't bother.” Dylan cut me off and I turned to look at him, expecting to see a full-fledged grin on his face. There wasn't even the slightest trace of a smile. “Long time no see . . . Dad.”

“M
aybe I should, uh, get Mackenzie?”

I probably should have kept my mouth shut, but I couldn't let Dylan go through whatever this was alone. Not when tension and hostility were radiating off him in waves.

“That sounds great! It's nice to meet you.”

The stranger—Dylan's
father,
I mentally corrected myself—nodded enthusiastically at the exact same moment his son said, “Leave her out of this.”

I wasn't entirely sure if Dylan was referring to me or to Mackenzie, but his dad clearly had no intention of turning around and going anywhere.

“I've missed you, Dill-pickle.” The nickname rang hollowly as I watched Dylan absorb the comment. The guy who made sarcastic comebacks in the face of rejection had morphed into a brick wall. Sure, there were nicks and cracks in his composure, but I knew he wasn't going to budge an inch. At least not until there were miles of space between him and his father.

“Yeah, you seemed really broken up in all those holiday cards you sent us over the years. How are Chase and Adam doing? You all looked like you were having a great time in the Christmas photo.”

“They're doing well.”

“Neither of them need a kidney transplant?”

His dad looked taken aback by the question. “No kidney transplants.”

Dylan nodded. “Okay, then. Great. Glad to hear it. Because honestly that's the only way I would give you even five more minutes of my time. Now that we've got that settled, leave.”

“I was hoping we could talk.” He glanced over at me and shifted uncomfortably. “In private.”

“And I was hoping that you'd be able to keep your pants zipped when you were married to Mom. Looks like we're both destined for disappointment.” Dylan surprised me with the total matter-of-factness with which he dropped that bomb. Then he turned to me and said calmly, “Melanie, would you please step back? I think this moment calls for a door slamming in his face. I know it's overdone and kind of childish, but what the hell. You only get to brush off your deadbeat dad once, right?”

“Um,” I said articulately. “Are you sure you want—”

“What's the holdup, Dylan?” Mackenzie rounded the corner, took one look at her brother's stony expression, and bolted forward. “Everything o . . .” Her voice trailed off as she saw the visitor at the door. “Holy crap.”

It was the first time I had ever heard Mackenzie swear, and even though the expletive was pretty mild, it still sounded wrong coming from her. Dylan didn't hesitate any longer. He pulled me back and slammed the door shut.

Right in his dad's face.

Then, ignoring my presence entirely, he focused on his older sister. “He says he wants to talk to you.”

“Is it about Chase or Adam?” Mackenzie asked.

Out of everything, that detail surprised me the most. They had two half brothers I had never heard either of them ever mention by name. Heck, I'd never heard them even bring up their dad. I always figured he had died in a car accident or something when they were young.

It was kind of funny, because if there was one person who should have known better than to make assumptions about an absent father figure, it was me.

“They're fine.”

Mackenzie nodded, but there was a dazed look in her eyes, one that had been plastered across tabloid covers when her embarrassing YouTube video went viral. “How are you?”

Dylan's mouth kicked up at the side, but there was a grimness there that I hadn't seen before. I couldn't help thinking that if his father had shown up even a few hours earlier, he would have seen Dylan coated with mud. Somehow that seemed more appropriate given that this emotional battle was definitely going to get dirty.

“Fine,” Dylan lied so confidently, I might have believed him if I hadn't witnessed his reaction to his father firsthand. “How do you want to play this, Mackenzie? I don't think he's going to budge from our doorstep anytime soon. He seemed pretty determined to talk to you.”

“I can't imagine why,” Mackenzie admitted. “Not when he hasn't bothered to swing by since . . . what? Elementary school?”

“Yeah, well, that was before you became America's Most Awkward Teenage Girl. My guess, he wants to sell the heartwarming story of your reunion to the tabloids.”

“Still . . .” Mackenzie didn't appear to have any idea what to say on
that
topic, so she shifted back to the more pressing matter. “What do you think we should do?”

He shrugged. “He's not here to see me, Mackenzie. If you want to rehash the past or whatever, that's up to you. If you don't want to say a word to him, I can make sure he keeps his distance while Logan drives you to his place. But either way, you need to make up your mind now.”

“Why are we going to my house?” Logan asked from behind me, and I jumped before swiveling around to see that at some point Spencer, Isobel, and Logan had gotten curious.

“Mackenzie?” Dylan said calmly. “Tell me what you want and I can handle this.”

Her eyes were wild, and I could tell that she really didn't want to be the one making such a huge decision. It wasn't hard for me to relate. I mean, if my dad stopped drinking and I found myself in a position where he was asking me for forgiveness for spending years wasting away in front of the television, I'm not sure how I would respond either.

Don't get me wrong; I'd be thrilled.

I just would have a really hard time believing he meant it.

At some point, well . . . even the most heartfelt apology can be too little too late.

Although from where I was standing, I didn't see much of an apology going on. There had been no protestations of love from Dylan and Mackenzie's father. He seemed to think that if he acted like nothing had ever happened, his children would fall in line.

Apparently he didn't know the first thing about either one of them.

“I want to talk to him,” Mackenzie decided at last; then she repeated her words as if she needed extra convincing.

Logan slipped his hand into hers in a silent show of support and I found myself absurdly jealous of that small action. Not because I wanted to be holding hands with Logan, but because I wanted the freedom to do the same for the person I knew was hurting.

Even if he was pretending that the entire scene was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Okay.” Dylan nodded slowly before he turned to Logan. “You're staying here with her.”

It wasn't a question; it was an order.

“Yeah, I'm staying.”

“Hey, isn't that
my
call?” Mackenzie pointed out, probably in an attempt to lighten the mood a little. Dylan was having none of it.

“No, it isn't. Not when you want to bring . . .
him
into the house. As for the rest of you—” Dylan briefly looked at each of us, although I doubt he noticed that Izzie's shoulders had hunched as if that would make her less intrusive during this incredibly personal moment, or how Spencer was already reaching into his pocket and pulling out his car keys. And if he had any thoughts about me . . . well, none of them showed. “You'll make sure they get home safely.”

That was aimed at Spencer. Once again Dylan wasn't really making a request.

“I can see myself home,” Izzie said quickly. “And give Mel a ride too. So why don't I just call my mom and—”

“You afraid to ride in a car with me, Isosceles?”

“That's a triangle.” Izzie shoved her glasses higher up her nose and glared back at him. “And no, I'm not.”

Spencer grinned. “Excellent. Then why don't you go grab your stuff from the living room while I—”

But before Spencer had a chance to finish that sentence, Dylan had tugged open the door. I half expected his dad would have left. Based on everything I had just overheard, the guy had a reputation for bailing when things got rough. No reason for him to start sticking around now.

He was standing right where we had left him, though. Actually, he had moved a few inches to the right so that he could lean against the porch railing, but I hardly thought that little detail was significant.

He didn't appear to be going anywhere.

I couldn't resist turning to Mackenzie to see how she was handling all of this. It sounded like this was the first time she'd seen her dad in
years.
And this probably wasn't the way she had imagined their reunion playing out. Given Mackenzie's love of history, she probably would have wanted more time to formulate her plan of attack. Time to create an intricate web of excuses should she need to fall back and re-strategize.

At least she had her boyfriend by her side.

Logan wasted no time stepping forward, as if placing his body between Mackenzie and her father could somehow protect her emotions.

“Hi . . . Dad.”

Dylan flinched as if hearing those words emerge from his sister's throat had somehow registered as a slap across the face. The kind that would leave a handprint afterward.

“There's my girl! How's my little Mack-Attack?”

Mackenzie ignored the question entirely. Probably because she didn't want to snarl that he'd lost the right to use all nicknames when she was back in elementary school.

“You should have called.”

Spencer cleared his throat lightly and edged his way to the door. “Thanks for suggesting the movie. It was . . . interesting. Come on, Poca—Melanie. Time for us to go.”

But I couldn't seem to move. My feet were transfixed as I stared at Mackenzie and watched a virtual rainbow of emotion transform her features. Discomfort. Anger. Hurt. Hope.

The air was thick with years of unexpressed pain.

“I did call. A few times. Your mother promised to give you the messages.”

Mackenzie jerked back and her eyes instantly flicked over to her younger brother. “And I told her that I wanted nothing to do with you. You should have taken the hint.”

“Speaking of hints . . .
Melanie. We're. Leaving. Now,
” Spencer hissed as he moved past Mackenzie's father and headed straight for his car. Izzie didn't need to be told to get out of there. She was uncomfortable enough with the scene taking place to willingly spend one-on-one time with Notable royalty.

Which meant that I now owed her about a billion more favors.

“Why don't we discuss this privately, Mackenzie? I know a great little Mexican restaurant—”

“I'm pretty sure that eating anywhere with you would spoil Mack's appetite. And last time I checked, she had a strict ‘no asshole' policy with her life.” Logan raised an eyebrow skeptically as her dad straightened in an effort to look as intimidating as possible. “Interesting. I always pictured you with more of a weasely face. I'm kind of disappointed, actually.”

Mackenzie jabbed him in the side. “Not. Helping. Logan.”

“Really?

“Really.”

He squeezed her hand. “Sorry.”

And that simple apology was enough. But I didn't exactly have a chance to
awww over the cuteness of Mackenzie's relationshipbecause Dylan nodded one last time
, not in response to anything in particular, but as if he had just confirmed something for himself.

Then he turned very deliberately and walked right past his father.

He didn't shoulder-check him.

There were no snarled insults or teeth-baring or any other kind of alpha-male display to assert that the son had taken up the role of man of the house. Dylan made sure that he didn't so much as brush against his father as he walked away at a steady, deliberate pace while everyone else gawked at his retreating figure.

For half a second I hoped he was going to climb into Spencer's car and order the Notable to start driving. That the four of us would go see some new action movie or something. Nothing like a postapocalyptic society to put your life into perspective, especially when combined with the brain-numbing power of subzero movie theater air-conditioning.

Dylan didn't slow down.

He passed the car without even sparing Spencer or Izzie a glance. That's when I knew that I would be owing Izzie even more favors. A lifetime of them, in fact.

Because I wouldn't be accepting that ride home with her.

I started running down the street after Dylan.