Page 106 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

Aunt Joss hums thoughtfully. “Different doesn’t mean broken, sweetheart.”

I sit on the edge of the bed, her words settling in. Dylan’s family isn’t loud and easy the way mine is, but they’re still trying. Still showing up.

“You’re right,” I admit. “I think I just wasn’t prepared.”

“Go enjoy dinner,” Aunt Joss adds. “Families are messy, Lu-Lu Bear. The good ones keep showing up anyway.”

After I hang up, the room feels quieter, but lighter, too.

But the silence also leaves room for thoughts I’ve been trying not to have.

Dallas already feels bigger than my life back home. It’s easy to understand how growing up somewhere this large might make possibility feel ordinary.

Dylan belongs in places like this.

Places that move fast. Places that expect something from you. Places where ambition doesn’t seem too large for the landscape around it.

I’ve spent most of my life in smaller spaces—classrooms, libraries, simple streets where everyone knows each other’s names.

That life feels safe. Predictable.

Maybe that’s why teaching has always felt like a natural progression after graduation. But is it really what I want?

Dylan’s life feels like momentum.

And I can’t stop wondering what happens when his momentum carries him somewhere I can’t follow.

Because if I decide that I want to pursue something close to home, it puts distance between us.

Other couples manage distance. That doesn’t mean it would be easy for me.

I’ve never ventured very far. My entire world is back home. Mom, Dad, and Aunt Joss. Even Ms. Thorn and Gretchen. I like the familiar a little too much.

The library. The café.

I have built a life around what feels familiar. Lately, I’ve started wondering whether familiarity is the same thing as fulfillment.

Maybe it’s not safety I’m protecting. Maybe it’s fear.

When I open the door, Dylan is leaning against the opposite wall, scrolling through his phone.

He looks up. “Hey.”

I cross the hallway and wrap my arms around him.

“Hey,” I whisper back, leaning into him.

“I’m sorry I took so long.”

“Don’t be,” he says immediately, pulling back just enough to look at me. He studies my face. “I just wanted you to be okay.”

I rise onto my toes and kiss him, quick but sincere. “I am.”

His eyes search mine. “You’re sure you’re okay? After breakfast?”

“Yes,” I say, steady. “Your family… they’re a little different from mine. But I can see how much they care about you. And that’s what matters. Even if things were a little tense.”

Something eases in his expression. “You handled this better than I did.”