“My parents never fought,” I say quietly, “but that was because they never talked. And my dad cheated on my mom all the time, and I have no idea how much revenge cheating she did to get back at him, because it was either all before I was born, or she’s just super, super discreet. And even now, with Mom bailing on us here and Dad still mowing the grass every day at the high school and barely talking to any of us, there’s, like, no hint of divorce or separation or dealing with their issues.”
Dylan makes a noise. I don’t know if it’s athat’s relatablenoise or anohnoise, but at least I know he’s breathing and listening, so I keep talking. “And they’re not the greatest parents either. Phoebe always said they didn’t care about us, but she’s ... well, she’s more complicated than Carter and me. Like, she was the guinea pig kid, and she’ll never be my dad’s favorite for ... reasons that aren’t mine to tell, and then it took me and Carter coming along before they figured out that you’re supposed to do things like go to your kids’ plays and send along a nanny for the occasional field trip instead of just giving her the day off.”
I cut a glance at him.
He’s still half staring ahead, lids heavy but eyes open. I’ve already said too much, so why not keep going?
“My mom played us against each other, always telling Phoebe how pretty I was for winning beauty contests while also telling me that Phoebe was the lucky one with theskinnygenes and the business brains. I feel like she probably did it to motivate us, and she probably did have the best of intentions, but all it really did was make us hate each other.”
He snorts softly.
“If I ever have kids, all I want to do is raise them. I don’t want to work, I don’t want to volunteer with the garden club, I don’t want to have charity balls and luncheons to go to. There won’t be beauty pageants, and I’ll love them all for who they each are, and I’ll make sure they know they’re each special and perfect just how they are and that their differences should be celebrated instead of used against each other. I just want to stay home and be with my family. And I want tobea family. But I’m not supposed to say that out loud, because women are supposed to want the career and the clean house and the perfect kids and the friend groups and the time for fitness—we’re supposed to want it all. What if myallis just being the person that the family I choose to have can depend on for love and affection and loyalty, and for putting them above everything else in the world, and for believing in them so that they can do amazing things instead of spending decades in therapy to try to find their self-esteem again?”
And now I’ve done it, and I need to stop talking.
I need to stop talkingright now, but he’s quietly listening, those warm brown eyes shifting to train on me while I drive his truck over the bridge back into Tickled Pink.
There’s something so innocent and welcoming and nonjudgmental about those eyes that makes me want to tell him all my secrets.
All my fears.
All my desires.
It’s those eyes that make him the hottest thing in Tickled Pink.
Not the butt. Not the body. Not the face.
I live in the upper echelons of society with the world’s most attractive people. By all rights, Dylan shouldn’t be any more swoon-worthy.
But those eyes—those eyes sayI can see right into your soul, Tavi Lightly, and you’re perfect just the way you are.
At least, that’s what I imagine they’re saying.
Acceptance isn’t something I’ll ever get from my normal crowd, and honestly, it’s probably not something I’ll get from Dylan either.
But he makes me feel like it’s possible, even when every other experience in my life except for my relationship with Naomi tells me blind acceptance is a fantasy. And learning that he has his own past that’s apparently messy and imperfect and that he wasn’t born this way—it’s like the universe is saying,You, too, can redefine who you are, Tavi Lightly.
But Dylan had—and still has—something I don’t.
He has a community of people who love him and believe in him.
I have Naomi and Pebbles.
I’m a lot for the two of them to handle.
“Not that I’m talking aboutme,” I say, hastily swiping at my hot, wet eyes while Pebbles whimpers softly at Dylan’s feet. “I just saw a lot when I was growing up. That’s all.”
He softly squeezes my knee, and a warm glow spreads up my thigh.
He doesn’t say anything. Just squeezes my knee.
But it feels like he’s echoing that little message from the universe.You can do it too, Tavi. You can define who you want to be.
It’s more than anyone else in my life would do, except Naomi, who isn’t here.
Phoebe might.
She’s changed since we got here, and I almost like her, but it’s still new enough that I don’t know how much I can trust this version of Phoebe to stay the way she is today.
