Wrong in All the Right Ways

by Tiffany Brownlee

  Here we go. I knew this conversation was going to happen eventually, but I was hoping for a confrontation at a later date.

  “Yeah,” I say so low that it comes out as a whisper. “Go ahead and ground me for life.”

  “I’m not going to do that.”

  “Or report us, or whatever it is foster parents are supposed to do.”

  “I’m not going to do that either.”

  “Then what’s my punishment? I mean, I did break one of the biggest foster sibling rules.”

  “We’re not going to punish you.” I see him tear the check from his book and dangle it before me. Does he want me to disclose the secret happenings between Dylan and me in exchange for the deposit check he just signed? “I don’t want to know the details, but we are going to have a long talk about this when Mom gets home. Right now, I have to know one thing.” I knew it. “You two, uh … You didn’t … you know—”

  “Dad, please don’t,” I say, holding my hands out in front of me to stop him midsentence. “I’m still a virgin.”

  I hear him breathe a sigh of relief and then let out a small laugh. “I knew I liked Dylan,” he says, handing me the check. I feel myself blushing uncontrollably, and so I let my head fall into my hands again. “You okay?” he asks in a soft voice.

  “I’m fine. Just mortified beyond belief.”

  “I meant with the whole Dylan thing. Do you feel better now that you’ve let everything out in the open?” I’ve disclosed enough about Dylan and me to my family that my skin no longer crawls with anxiety about keeping our secret. But even with that weight lifted, something still doesn’t feel right.

  “I’ll be a whole lot better when he’s no longer out cold in the hospital.”

  “Everything’s going to be all right, you know?” Positivity breeds positivity.

  “Yeah. I just hope he remembers me.”

  “Why wouldn’t he remember you?” I open my mouth to answer his question, but before I can get a word in, he adds, “You’re unforgettable.”

  “Corny!” I scream at him, rolling my eyes.

  “Hey, I’m a dad. It’s what I’m supposed to do.” We leave the two stools in the center of Dylan’s studio and walk back to the house, both of our smiles as wide as that of a blue whale.

  chapter 26

  Dear Catherine,

  I feel like it’s been forever since I’ve written to you—seven months and four days, to be exact. You’ve always been able to give me clarity in tough situations, and I’m sorry to have forgotten about you in my time of need. To be honest, though, you probably would have saved me from dyeing my hair brown and cursing my parents out in front of our therapist. I mean, what was I thinking??

  A lot has happened since my last letter. But to make a long story short: my dance team won the national championships in Florida, and I pretty much rocked the final days of the school year as valedictorian of my senior class. Speaking of school, I finally decided to follow in my dad’s footsteps and go to UCLA. I don’t think he’s ever been more proud of me.

  What else? Oh, I stayed away from boys, but not before Keegan tried his hand at getting back together. Don’t worry, I didn’t backslide, and we’ve remained friends. He’s been keeping busy at a summer conditioning camp, but he still calls to check up on me from time to time. Also, did I mention that Karmin finally got her priorities together and hopped on the UCLA train, too? We’re gonna be roommates, and she’s prepping to move in during orientation week in September. Kind of awesome, I know. I’m not sure what’ll be in store for our friendship in college, but I have a feeling I’m going to spend a lot of my time holding her hair back while she pukes up her party life in our dorm bathroom. That’s just one of the challenges of best-friendship that I’m going to have to get used to, though.

  As far as Dylan goes, I told my parents about us. I know that you’re thinking: Am I asking for Dylan to get taken away? But no, my parents—as disappointed as they were in me—took it better than I anticipated. Dylan’s adoption paperwork was already going through the court systems, so they couldn’t go back on it, not that they ever would’ve done that. They did, however, give me an excruciating lecture—with a promise to give him one too, once he wakes up—and then they grounded me for the rest of the school year. Since then, they haven’t brought it up again. I guess we’re just going to act as if it never happened and move on.

  Dylan is still in his coma, and I’ve been away in LA taking summer courses and interning at L&B Books—run by the legendary Ellen Bee herself—so it hasn’t been something that they’ve had to monitor. I don’t know what’ll happen to us when he does wake up, though. I feel as if I’ve established my life out in LA now, but not a day goes by that I don’t think of him and how much I miss talking to him and kissing him and just being around him. He was complicated, but I think that a part of me will always want to hold on to him.

  Oh, and just so you know, this is going to be my last entry. It’s not you … it’s me. Ha-ha—I’ve always wanted to say that to someone. But really … I’m in college now, and I’m technically an adult, though not yet legally, according to my birth certificate. I think the time has come for me to leave you behind. You got me through my senior year and helped me survive my first relationship(s), but now I have to branch out and do things on my own, make mistakes and learn from them. Besides, I don’t know how much time I’ll have to write for a little while. I just registered for fall semester classes, and I’m not sure I’ll even have time to sleep. I’ll miss you, but now that I’ll have Karmin 24/7, I’ll just rant to her about my problems. I’m sure you’ll appreciate the break.

  Thank you for everything.

  Emma

  “You come to visit us for the last time before you officially leave for the first week of classes, and already you’re tired of us?” Laughing, my mom hands me a glass of lemonade and sits down next to me on my bed. I don’t know why I expect her to look different, but when I see her, I try to scope out any distinctions between how she looks now and what she looked like when I moved out. No gray hairs in her head or wrinkles in her face, though. She hasn’t aged a bit. When her vanilla perfume finds its way to my nose, I grin. Nothing has changed. “I can’t believe you would rather journal than spend time with us. Then again, you’re an English major, so I guess I can.”

  “Sorry. I got in a few minutes ago and wanted to settle in before I came inside. Where’s Dad and Matthew?”

  “They’re at the batting cages. Apparently, Matthew learned something about how math is connected to baseball, and he and your dad have been at the cages all summer long. Matt’s actually really good at baseball, which your dad is elated about. Obviously.” I smile when her thin lips form a small crescent. It’s good to see my dad and Matthew bond. They never really did before. “So, it’ll just be the two of us until four o’clock.”

  I look around my room, and eye some of the things I left behind. Hanging on my dressing screen are my dance team uniform and my graduation cap and gown. Both of these outfits hold memories I wouldn’t dare erase. On top of my desk is the copy of Wuthering Heights that Dylan bought for me. Looking at that book reminds me of the painting I have hanging up in my dorm room. It’s the portrait of me reading Wuthering Heights that Dylan entered in his showcase last year. Being close to his art reminds me how grateful I am for our epic love story. Every kiss, every hug, every laugh, every smile. It all comes surging back to me in an instant.

  “I’ve only been away for a month and a half, but already it feels weird to be back. Still, I’m glad to see that you guys haven’t turned my room into a home gym yet.”

  “We’re waiting on you to leave for good to do that.”

  “Very funny.” I take a sip of my strawberry basil lemonade and wait. Any minute now, she’s going to launch into a rapid-fire round of questions, wanting to know every in and out about pre-college so far.

  “So how are you liking UCLA? Everything good?” She asks this as if we haven’t spoken since I left, which could
not be further from the truth. She calls at least three times a week to “check in” with me, but I know that she’s really just checking to make sure that I’m safe in my dorm, instead of out barhopping.

  “My internship has kept me pretty busy, but I’m having the best time there. My classes are amazing, the campus is spectacular, and the people—while they can be a bit eccentric at times—are pretty cool, too.” My mom takes a swig from her glass and looks down. I imagine it’s bittersweet for her to hear that I’m doing so well without her.

  “That’s great, honey. God, I’m so proud of you.”

  “Thanks.” I adjust my dark-rimmed glasses and that’s when I see a strand of my hair fall, featherlike, onto my jeans. “Oh, yeah. I went back to blond.”

  “I see,” she says, running her hand over the top of my head before planting a kiss on my forehead. “We’re like twins again.”

  “I tried to keep up with the chocolate brown, but having to constantly dye my roots drove me insane. Blond just feels right.” I twirl my revived ponytail around my finger and chuckle to myself. Dylan would probably be a lot happier now that I’m a blonde again … if he could see me, that is. “One of the other interns, Casey, helped me dye it back. Her dorm is two floors beneath mine.”

  “I’m glad to see you’re fitting in. Truth is, I was a little worried about you going to live out there on your own.”

  “Why?” I’m a little hurt by her words. Did she think I was going to go to college and be a recluse?

  “You didn’t have many friends until your last year in high school, and I was scared that you were going to go away and become a hermit. All work and no time for friends or play.” Now that I’ve heard her explanation, I don’t blame her. I was big-time socially awkward before I made the dance team; I didn’t care for friends and had no interest in making them. As okay as I was with being that girl then, I’m so glad that I’m not her anymore.

  “But you’ve come so far since then, and I’m sure Karmin won’t let you go back.”

  “No, she won’t. That girl is something else, but I love her.” I flash back to the night we won the National High School Dance Team competition and chuckle. Karmin and I stayed up all night giggling about our futures together in college. I couldn’t wait then, and I still can’t wait now. “So, anything new with you guys? The last time I spoke to Dad, he said that everything was falling into place with the publisher for your book. Still true?”

  My mom wrote a book about her experience fostering a teenager when she had two kids already, and while I was a little apprehensive about her talking about me and my life, I warmed up to the idea. And plus, she gave me her word that she wouldn’t include anything embarrassing, like my secret relationship with Dylan.

  “It’s going well. I’m in my final round of revisions—hopefully—and after that we’ll start the fun stuff, like picking out the cover and taking photos for the ‘About the Author’ section.” As she speaks, she pulls what looks to be a long brown tube from her bag and hands it to me. I pop the top and rub my thumb over the edges of its contents. The laced texture feels familiar underneath my fingers. This is a rolled-up canvas painting. “I was going to use it for the cover, but I figured you’d probably like it to hang up in your dorm room next to the other one you have already.” I unroll it to find a painted version of the family photo we took last year. We took the photo before Dylan arrived, but someone has painted him in to make it look as if he was a part of the original snapshot. “It just seemed fitting.”

  “Who did this?” I ask as I place my fingers over Dylan’s face, and smile. “They did an amazing job adding him in. They captured his dimples and everything. I even see a bit of his hair sticking up in the back, like it always did.” My mother doesn’t answer, and I know why. Dylan did this.

  I expect her to give me a hug or cry, like she used to whenever we brought him and his coma up in conversation, but she doesn’t. Instead she says, “Let’s take a drive, shall we?”

  * * *

  “Listen, honey,” she says, tucking the left and right sides of her hair behind her ears as she exits the freeway. This is serious. She only ever does that when she has something important to talk to me about. “I wanted to talk to you about your involvement with Dylan. Away from your dad.”

  I spoke—or journaled—too soon. We hadn’t talked about this since the grounding after my outburst in Dr. Turner’s office. I sit up straight and prepare myself for the lecture I know is coming. “What about it?”

  I can see her struggling with her words, trying to choose them carefully. “I’m no fool.” Her voice is low, but I detect a hint of laughter in it. “Did you really think I had no clue that you two were dating?”

  She knew about us the whole time?? There is no way that my mother, the saint that she is, decided not to break Dylan and me up. There’s just no way. “You knew? Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I loved having him as a part of our family, and I loved how happy he made you. I had never seen you act so … blissful.” A giggle escapes her as she continues. “And to tell you the truth, I didn’t think you two would last. I figured you would go off to college and fall in love with someone else and eventually forget about that part of your relationship.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “First relationships usually don’t last forever, honey.” I’m a little upset that she doomed us from the start, but she’s just being honest and I can’t fault her for that. “Yeah, I knew it the whole time. You may have been able to bamboozle your father, but not me.” Another side smile sneaks up on me as her words echo in my ears. “You really loved him, didn’t you?”

  “So much, Mom. And it’s not past tense. I still do.” You were right, I want to say. She told me that I was going to love him back when they were about to bring him home for the first time. At the time, neither of us knew it was going to be a romantic love, rather than a sisterly one, that I would share with Dylan, but there’s nothing I can do about the way I feel now.

  “So why didn’t you ever tell me?” she asks, taking my hand in hers as we wait at the light to turn into the hospital’s parking lot. “We tell each other everything, Em. I was waiting for you to come to me with it, but you never did.”

  “I thought that if we put it out in the open, somehow it would get back to the fostering agency and they would revoke your license and take him away. And he loved being a part of our family. I couldn’t do that to him.” I can barely form a sentence because all I can think about is the fact that she knew about us the whole time and never said a word. “He was my first love, Mom. My first kiss and the first guy to make me feel like I was special. I couldn’t give that up.”

  She goes silent, and I imagine her thinking about her first love. It obviously wasn’t Dad, since “first relationships don’t last forever.” “Truth is, I kind of liked you two together, and in another universe, I would have loved you two to be an actual couple. He was a good kid—for the most part, anyway.” A hint of delight floods her eyes, and I can tell she’s reliving her memories of him. But then I see her expression change to a more serious one. “Your father doesn’t know that I knew about you two. Don’t tell him,” she says with a wink.

  “You’re secret’s safe with me, Mom.” She parks the car and leans in to give me yet another hug, and we hold on to each other in silence for a couple of minutes. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed us.

  “You ready for this, kiddo?”

  I haven’t seen Dylan in a long time, and my stomach fills with butterflies the second I think of seeing his face again. Every day, for the past month and a half in LA, I’ve dreamt of staring into his caramel eyes and hearing his goofy laugh. Knowing that I won’t get to do either of those things kills a few of the butterflies, but I don’t let my mom know that. “It’s been so long, but yes.”

  It takes exactly four minutes and thirty-seven seconds to get from the hospital parking lot to Dylan’s room. I’ve been here enough times to know that, no matter which way I take—
the slower-than-molasses elevator or the five flights of stairs, which require me to go so out of the way that I don’t make up the time I would have saved not taking the lethargic elevator—I will still arrive at the entrance of his room in exactly four minutes and thirty-seven seconds. On most days, this wait is nothing. A flash of time so insignificant that the events between me getting out of my car and me opening the door to his room vanish from my memory altogether. But not today. In the four minutes and thirty-seven seconds that it takes to get up to his room, my mind is as sharp as ever, alert to everything around me. Aware of my hands getting warmer and clammier by the second. Aware of the growing heavy feeling in my stomach, so much so that it feels like it’s going to fall out of my butt. Aware that my throat feels as dry and itchy as my skin on the day I woke up with the chicken pox in the first grade.

  Please be awake, Dylan. Please be awake today, I chant in my head when we enter the doors of the Extended Care Unit at the hospital. This may be the last time I get to visit him before Thanksgiving break, and I need to see his brown eyes before I go back. It’s not a want anymore. It’s a need.

  Usually, Dylan’s door is kept closed, but when we hit the corner, I see that it’s wide open like the patio doors on a beachfront home. My mom doesn’t enter. She stands by the side, waiting for me to go in first.

  “Ta-da!” she screams as loud as she can when I cross the threshold.

  But there is nothing to “ta-da” about. There are two nurses in there talking and giggling like high school girls as they change the sheets on the bed. There’s a tray of half-eaten food in the corner, and a set of clothes that look to be about Dylan’s size hanging on the back of one of the chairs. But no Dylan. He’s missing.

  “Um … Mom? What’s going on? Where’s Dylan? Mom?” In an instant, the weight in my stomach gains fifty pounds, and I have to sit down to keep the room from spinning out of control. Where’s Dylan? Why isn’t he in his bed? He’s always in his bed. Did he … die? He can’t die! My wild eyes search my mother’s for answers, but she isn’t the least bit worried about him, which is more than a little odd.