“That’s because I didn’t tell him until a week ago. She passed almost two months ago. While she was sick, he had tournaments and was traveling and I didn’t want to throw him off his game, ruin that big win for him.”
“Wow. Well, that’s considerate of you, but I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded since you two were so close. He was close with your mom, right? Wasn’t she his aunt?”
“She was his aunt, and no, they weren’t really all that close. She always made stuff up about him—always said he acted like he was better than us, that his momma acted like she was better than her. His momma and mine had an on-going feud that I never understood. Mine always complained about Aunt Cathy, Roland’s momma, and her real estate job—called her a lousy mother because she didn’t stay home with her kid all day like she did.” Dylan huffed a laugh. “But my momma lived off government assistance and child support up until I was eighteen.”
“Wow. They didn’t get along, huh?” I suddenly felt uncomfortable knowing this.
“Yep. Not sure when the feud started between them, but I do know that when Roland’s talents started to shine through, matters only got worse with them. There came a point where she stopped letting Roland spend the night at my house and everything when we were in high school.”
“Wow. That’s horrible.”
“Yeah. I’m surprised he hasn’t told you any of this.”
“Well, you know Roland. He likes to pretend everything is fine and dandy when really everything is shit.”
We both laughed at that sad truth.
“Other than caddying for Roland, what else do you want to do?”
“Well, I talked with my sis a lot about starting up a renovation company. We’re good at it. We could be like those people on HGTV who knock down walls and refurbish old houses—well, if we had enough money for it.” He chuckled. “Before she kicked me out last minute, I was helping her fix up the place.”
“So, you should get some of the money too, right? If she sells it?”
“Not exactly. My mom left the house in her name. She’s the oldest, so she’s calling all the shots.”
“Oh.”
Dylan’s eyes narrowed and he looked me up and down in my jeans and blouse. “Something tells me you didn’t just invite me in here to ask me about my family and what I want to do though.”
“No, actually, I didn’t.”
He sat forward, elbows on his knees, and said, “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
“It’s about my sister.”
“Miley? Yeah, she seems cool in an I don’t give a fuck kinda way.”
“I guess so. It’s just . . . she mentioned to me how she’s attracted to you.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Is she, now?”
“Yes. And I want to tell you that if she tries to make any advances on you or anything, I would love it if you kindly show her you’re not interested.”
“Why is that?” he asked, his head cocking again. He was smiling, amused. I didn’t like that smile. It was arrogant, like he demanded a challenge.
“Miley is an addict. If one bad thing happens in her life, or she feels like she’s not worthy enough, she loses herself.”
His smile rapidly faded. “Oh. Damn.”
“Yeah, so I would really appreciate it if you did this for me. Especially if you aren’t looking for anything serious right now, or don’t think she’s your type. She’s not really the kind of woman who goes for one-night stands or quick hookups. She dives in headfirst and always has a hard time resurfacing.”
“Right. I understand.”
“She keeps calling me, asking if you’re around. I have to tell her you’re not, that you’re busy.”
“Mmm.” He pressed his lips, then he said, “Melanie, I’m in your home, so I won’t disrespect your wishes. You clearly know what’s best for your sister, so I understand. If she advances or tries anything, I’ll let her down gently. I promise.”
“Okay.” I sighed, relieved, and he smiled. Then, as we dug back into our brunch and the tension had faded, he asked something like, “So how did my corny-ass cousin end up getting you to marry him anyway?”
All seemed well with Dylan. He was a charming houseguest. I kept Miley away from the house unless absolutely necessary and whenever she did show, I’d text Dylan and tell him to either stay in the attic if he was home, or to stay out a little longer if he was away from the house so that Miley couldn’t magically bump into him.
I felt bad about it, I did. Who was I to control what my sister wanted or to tell him what to do? I don’t know. Maybe I was doing it for selfish reasons.
Or maybe, deep down, I knew Dylan was attracted to me from the first moment he saw me—and not Miley—and I liked that someone other than my husband found me attractive. Maybe I was fucked up for even thinking such a thing. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter because it didn’t last long.