Awkwardly Ever After by Marni Bates

happen. Saying it out loud, using the word “alcoholic” in conjunction with “my dad” made it real somehow in a way that it hadn’t been before. It was like I had been living under a spell of silence, and all those years of tiptoeing around the issue had made me hope that as long as nobody applied that term to my dad, it wouldn’t be real.
    But it was painfully, excruciatingly real, and now I looked like a pathetic mess who started bawling at the drop of a hat.
    I jerked my head up, and I knew I had to get the hell out of there before I somehow made this embarrassing breakdown even worse. I wasn’t sure exactly how I’d even go about accomplishing that—maybe by blurting out that I liked him while he was trying to shuttle me out the door—but I didn’t trust myself not to find some way to screw it up even worse.
    â€œSorry,” I choked. “I didn’t mean . . . I . . . sorry.”
    His face was right there. At some point while I was sobbing he must have moved closer because now he was only inches away. I could feel his arm stroking my back in a comforting motion that had nothing whatsoever to do with flirting and everything to do with silent support.
    I barely managed a weak chuckle when he brushed away one of my tears. “Great timing, right? You see your dad for the first time in years yesterday and the very next day I show up here and have a meltdown over mine.”
    The pad of Dylan’s finger lingered against my cheek and I almost wanted to keep crying just so he would have a reason to leave it there.
    â€œIt’s okay, Melanie. I’m glad you’re here.” His mouth twitched upward into a smile that was every bit as soft as his words. “I’m always glad to see you.”
    â€œYou weren’t yesterday,” I mumbled.
    â€œOf course I was.” Dylan’s finger moved away from my cheek and a wave of disappointment crashed through me until he reached up and carefully tucked a long strand of my hair behind my ear. “That doesn’t mean you can’t annoy the hell out of me too.”
    That startled a laugh out of me. “So . . . you’re not mad at me?”
    Dylan dropped his hand and leaned back in his chair thoughtfully as I cursed myself for asking the question. Things had been going so freaking well, all things considered, before I had opened up my big mouth.
    â€œI was more frustrated than angry with you, Mel,” he said slowly, measuring each word. “I don’t know what you want and I don’t enjoy guessing, so . . .”
    It was as good an opening as I was ever going to get.
    â€œYou,” I said hoarsely. “I want you.”
    Dylan didn’t move, and for one horrible moment I wanted to look over my shoulder just to make sure his dad hadn’t entered the room again, because he was just as tense now as he had been when he’d found that unexpected visitor the day before.
    â€œDo you mean it?” There was no sign of the cocky soccer player now, the one who had no trouble crashing a high school party, or flirting with a girl who was close to his older sister. And I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way, because the anxiety in his voice, the fear and the hope all jumbled together, I felt it too.
    But it felt right that we were scared together.
    â€œYeah, I mean it. I want you, Dylan.”
    A shutter fell over his eyes and he glanced away. “But not in public, right? You still want to pretend there’s nothing going on between us.”
    This time it was my turn to advance.
    So I leaned forward and kissed him.
    It began awkwardly, partly because I didn’t have the best angle to work from and partly because I knew he could taste my tears on my lips. I wanted our first kiss to be sweet, not salty. I pulled back just enough to look into Dylan’s eyes and breathe the one word that had resonated in my mind, “You. ”
    That’s when Dylan pulled