Under the Orange Moon (31 page)

Meredith nodded and rolled her eyes with a sigh. “Yes, honey, you did tell her that.”

“I’m hardly vulnerable,” Dylan replied, eyeing the can of pepper spray Charlie left on her table. “And, hello? Do we knock ever?”

Charlie let out a quick burst of laughter. “Uh, no, we don’t. Robbers and rapists don’t knock, either. Just in case you were wondering.”

“Oh? I really wasn’t wondering, but thanks anyway.” Dylan’s eyes squinted as she forced a smile that wasn’t meant to be pleasant.

Charlie looked back at her through competitive eyes, beginning an immature staring contest. The two had been in countless of these before, which they found much easier than shouting. The only problem was they could both go on forever.

“Dylan, we brought you a present for your new place!” Meredith beamed, interrupting the stare down. “Look!”

Dylan smiled. “Oh, it’s a picture of you two. Just what I always wanted!”

“It’s our engagement photo,” Meredith pointed out.

Of course Dylan had seen that picture multiple times. The picture was by far one of Charlie’s cheesiest moments, but just as much a token of his love for his future wife. Only she could get him to dress up and sit in a garden. 

Charlie rolled his eyes behind her. He didn’t need to say that, like everyone that knew her, he was ready for this wedding to be done and over with.

Dylan’s patience was incredible. She placed the frame on a shelf hanging by her window and smiled up at it like it was the greatest thing she’d ever seen. She needed more pictures of her family displayed anyway; her walls looked a bit lonely.

Charlie relaxed into the small, red loveseat that Linda purchased for Dylan on a Girls’ Night. He shifted comfortably and sank deeper into the soft cushion. “You’re spoiled,” he said with his eyebrows narrowed. “Mom never bought me a thing for my apartment.”

Dylan smirked. “Well, I am her favorite,” she teased. “You should have been a girl. Or, it’s not too late to be gay.”

Meredith’s head jerked up at the word “gay.” “Excuse me, I need him to be straight, thank you. That would just be a disaster.” Her lips frowned as her face saddened with thought. “Wouldn’t that be the worst thing ever? I mean, ‘honey, I’m gay’ would quite possibly be the most horrible news to hear on my wedding day.”

Charlie and Dylan both stared at Meredith as they attempted to keep up with her strange little ways of thinking. When she turned and realized that they were both fixated on her with puzzled expressions, she asked, “Charlie, you wouldn’t really wait until the day of our wedding to tell me something like that, would you?”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, honey,” Charlie said monotonously, as if he were prepared with any answer imaginable for any ridiculous question. “I’m sure I would have realized it a long time ago.”

“It’s a bad
Lifetime
movie, Meredith,” Dylan said, still perplexed. “I was just kidding.”

Meredith laughed uncomfortably, her face a bit white. “Maybe we should just wait for after my wedding to say funny things, okay? My mind is running wild with the ‘what-ifs’ I’d rather not
—you know—know if.”

“Let’s order a pizza,” Charlie said, ignoring his fiancée’s wondrous ability to think of everything. “I’m hungry.”

Dylan groaned. “Charlie.”

“What?”

“Leave!”

“Why?”

“Because we’re hovering, honey,” Meredith intervened. “She wants her alone time. That was the whole point of her moving here,” she reminded him.

“We gave it to her last night,” he said, dumfounded. “Really, though, did you lock the door last night after I left, like I said?”

“Charlie—God!” Dylan stomped to her door and flung it open. “Seriously!”

Charlie laughed and stood to his feet. “Okay, okay. We’re leaving.”

“The place looks great, Dylan!” Meredith called as she pulled Charlie’s hand.

“Lock it!” Charlie yelled as Dylan slammed the door in his face.

True to her protective brother, she locked the knob and twisted the bolt. She stood waiting next to the door for what she knew would be coming in only a matter of seconds.

“Thank you!” she heard Charlie call from the other side.

She shook her head and laughed as she headed back to her easel and canvas. Not even Charlie’s bridezilla of a fiancée could keep him too busy to drive her crazy. Despite the aggravation his smothering caused, Dylan thanked the heavens above that Brandon lived in California, far away from her. It was only a matter of time before he showed up with a state of the art security system, she suspected.

Dylan stared at her green line once again. She sighed heavily and crossed her arms, staring at this one, irrelevant line that she had grown to love simply because of its meaning: freedom.

“Well, that’s all she wrote for today, I suppose,” Dylan announced to know one, and scooped up her brushes. She placed her things back into their places and washed the one sad, lonely brush under the tap water.

Her phone rang loudly and made her just about jump out of her skin. “Hell,” she growled out in frustration and stomped over to retrieve the ringing disturbance.

“Hello?” she answered the foreign number. “Hello?” she asked again impatiently when the caller didn’t respond quickly enough. Her hands were still wet, causing her to hold the phone awkwardly.

“Hello. Ms. Mathews?” the male voice asked.

“Who’s this?” she hissed.

“I apologize for any interruptions, but my name is Lorenz Fuller.”

“Yes?” Dylan snapped, ready to end the call. “How can I help you?”

“Yes, I run a department here at the Boston Institute of Art Education. Ms. Mathews, did I catch you at a bad time?”

Dylan blindly sat in the loveseat behind her, hoping she had the placement of her furniture locked into her memory by now, but not really caring nonetheless. A bruised rear end was the last of her concerns. This was the art school of all art schools. A phone call like this didn’t come very often.

“No. I’m sorry. You’ve got my attention now.” She giggled nervously.

“I should hope so,” he said with a small chuckle. “I’ve been in touch with an old instructor of yours, a Mrs. Scarlet Hudson? She thinks very highly of you and your work. I came across your number through her.”

Her nervous heart sputtered in her chest with the many possibilities that could be behind his call. “Yes, I know Scarlet,” Dylan answered carefully.

Scarlet was Dylan’s favorite teacher in high school and was able to get her the job at the school she taught at now. She was always very free-spirited, smoking on school grounds and pushing for self exploration. As long as an artist believed and felt what they were creating, that was enough for Scarlet. She never had to say it out loud; Dylan was her most prized student. It wasn’t a shock to Dylan now that Scarlet thought of her for whatever this man was seeking.

“We’ve been looking for a new instructor here at the school. There’s only one position to fill and, while I’ve had many applicants, I’m just not sure that they have what I’m looking for.”

“Which is?” Dylan asked, making sure he was saying what she thought.

“Ah
—well—
you
, Ms. Mathews,” he said simply. “I believe we’re looking for you.”

“Oh?” she asked through very limited air in her lungs.

“I’ve seen a few pieces of yours, only what Scarlet was able to send me. I’d love to see your work in person.” He paused for a minute, possibly out of courtesy. Dylan was just about speechless on the other end. He had to have known it. “I was wondering, might I see a small showcase before I make an offer?”

“Really?” Dylan asked, stunned.

“That is if you’re even interested in the position. I probably should have asked if you would even consider moving across the country. Though I assure you, the pay will be exceptionally higher than what you receive now.”

“Yes!” Dylan shouted a bit too enthusiastically. She decided to bring it down a notch or two. “I mean, yes,” she said in a quieter, more reserved voice. She was still sure it was far too late to recover, though.

“Perfect! When can we meet? I’ll come to you.”

“Oh. Well, I have a gallery showing in
New York on June twelfth. Would that be too late for you?”

“Not at all. I was hoping you’d say that actually. Scarlet mentioned it, but I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

“I’m really looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Fuller.”

“Likewise,” he replied. “We’ll be in touch, I’m sure.”

The call ended and Dylan sank back into her chair. She inhaled and sighed deeply when she realized exactly what this decision involved, another move that her mother would never get over and a very short distance between herself and Ben. On the other hand, this was a huge offer that wouldn’t come twice.

“So what are you going to do with that information, Ben?” Dr. Fields asked in her small, but comforting voice. She sounded like a Kindergarten teacher reading to a group of sleepy children. “Have you given any thought on how you would approach this with your father?”

Ben sighed deeply, still miffed at this talented woman who could pull things out of his tightly locked emotions. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“But it is weighing heavily on you. That’s obvious, or you wouldn’t have brought it up.” She jotted down something on her pad, a famous movement of hers that was always so random and discreet. She looked back up and noticed his tightened jaw. “What is it?”

“I brought it up because you already knew. I know Arthur or Grey told you.” He laughed. “I’m not stupid.”

“Do you feel that people think you’re stupid?” she asked, purposefully avoiding the bit about Ben’s professors sharing information with her.

“Do I strike you as someone who is insecure about my intelligence?” Ben asked through a burst of laughter. “Jesus, I’m afraid of showing my
feelings, not about what people think of me. It was an expression, you know?”

“Finally, you admit that you’re frightened when your feelings are revealed.” She didn’t smile on the outside, but something told Ben her insides were full of triumphant gloat. “Let’s touch on that.”

Fuck
, Ben thought. This woman was a genius. He couldn’t help but to grin at her. She had won. “Damn. Where do I start?”

“What hurts the most? We’ve been walking around this other family of yours, the mother, Linda, and the best friend, Jonah. Who else is there?” She wasn’t tiptoeing around anything now. She was full-fledged stomping through his brain to get the answers. She no longer resembled that Kindergarten teacher he thought of before. “Come on, Ben. This stays here, you know that. I only report your cooperation and progress.”

Ben groaned and pressed the back of his head against the leather couch. “There’s Linda, Brandon, Charlie, Hugh, Jonah, and,” he prepared himself to even say her name, “Dylan. She’s a girl.”

“And the father?” Dr. Fields asked without noticing his discomfort in Dylan’s name. He was still able to mislead her a little. “What about the father of this family?”

“He died of cancer years ago,” Ben answered. “He—I never talk about him. There isn’t much to say. He was good to me and he died. The end.”

“You found refuge in this family. They were good to you when your real family wasn’t.” She nailed it on the head. “You push them away because they make you feel too loved?”

Ben shook his head. “That’s not why.”

“Then why?” She waited for what seemed like minutes. “Come on, Ben. We’re so close to this one.”

“Because I don’t deserve them,” he blurted without thinking.

“Just like your real parents never deserved you,” she returned simply.

“No they didn’t. My father, the small amount of time he was there, only molded me to be him and that wasn’t his way of bonding. My sick, neglected mother always pushed me to the side and, when I went to the Mathews’ home, I was accepted without question. There was always a plate set for me, always presents under the tree. I was included whether I was there or not.”

“Out of pity perhaps?” she asked as she leaned forward, pushing harder with her continuous questions.

Ben shook his head. “No, no. It was because they wanted me there. They wanted me to be a part of them, this I know for sure. They were always so natural about it.” He sighed shamefully and closed his eyes. “I hurt one of them.”

“The girl?” she asked with a nonchalant expression on her face. She acted as if it were a completely normal thing to be so incredibly accurate. “Dylan?”

“Jesus,” he whispered as he stared at her with a freakishly puzzled expression. “You’re good, you know that?”

Dr. Fields lifted her chin to the wall behind him. It was filled with certificates and awards of every kind Psychology had to offer. “It’s confirmed in frames.”

“And you’re sarcastic,” he added with a pointed finger.

“You respond to sarcasm, I’ve noticed,” she admitted brilliantly.