in stone, before we discover we’ve become too inflexible to bend to one another as we usually do.
“I asked because you don’t seem as fully invested in fostering as I am. In fostering Dylan, in particular.” Nick is silent and I continue steadily, “I know it was my idea in the beginning, but you were on board, Nick. You were fully on board. You wanted to do this, sometimes more than I did.”
“I know,” he says quietly. He doesn’t look at me, studying the depths of his nearly-empty wineglass instead.
“So what happened? Because Dylan has only been with us for a few days, but I feel like he’s become my sole responsibility. And part of me doesn’t mind that, but it’s hard. And I don’t want there to be this… divide… between us. Because of Dylan.” That isn’t all I want to say, but at least it’s a start.
I realize my heart is pounding, my fingers slick on the stem of my wineglass. I don’t particularly like confrontation, and I know Nick doesn’t either. His face is shuttered, his lips pursed. I’m not even sure he’s going to answer me.
“I’m sorry,” he says finally. He still isn’t looking at me. “I know I’m not… giving this my all. It’s just… I didn’t expect Dylan to… to be so…”
“To be so what?” I ask when he trails off.
Nick sighs. “To be so weird.”
He said it before, but it feels worse now, when we’ve had a chance to get to know him. I know that to most people, Dylan is weird. Really weird. But I still don’t like Nick saying it.
“If you’d had a childhood like his, you might be weird too,” I reply, whispering even though Dylan is asleep upstairs. It doesn’t feel right, to talk about him like this.
“But we don’t even know what childhood he’s had. Monica hasn’t told us a single thing, and that feels wrong.”
“She will, if his mother loses the court hearing.” At least, I’m assuming she will, that she’s waiting to find out if this will be a longer-term placement or not. That’s the only reason I can think of why she hasn’t given me more information. I still don’t even know his last name, and that has to be wrong.
“Whatever.” Nick shrugs. “Look, I know I haven’t been as involved as I should be. As I want to be. But I thought… I thought we’d be getting a kid I could do things with. Throw a ball in the backyard, or even build something out of Lego—”
“Dylan loves puzzles.”
“Dylan doesn’t speak. I’m sorry, Ally, but it’s just all a bit too weird for me.” He shakes his head, as if that’s the end of the matter.
“So what, we send him back?” My voice isn’t quite shaking, but almost. “‘Too weird for us, sorry’?”
“I don’t want to send him back,” Nick protests, but he doesn’t sound convinced. I think if we could get away with it, he would.
And wouldn’t you too?
I can’t ignore that damning voice, because part of me would. Dylan is hard work, no question, but he needs help. He needs love.
“You know,” I say after a moment, when I trust my voice to sound level, “I was pretty weird as a kid, too.”
“Oh come on, Ally.” Nick rolls his eyes in exasperation. “I know you say you were a bit of a geek, but you were nothing like Dylan.”
I don’t reply, because what Nick says is true, but not entirely true. I really was a misfit as a kid—a brainy geek in a school of quarterbacks and cheerleaders. I had one good friend, Chenguang, a Chinese girl with limited English and a good heart. I still send her a Christmas card every year.
But from sixth grade onwards school was, for the most part, pretty miserable—the kind of Breakfast Club stereotypical misery that you might not think actually happens in real life. Being tripped in the hall, gross things shoved through the vents of my locker, peals of hard-edged laughter from the back of the classroom when I came up with the right answer—again.
I haven’t told Nick all those unpleasant details, because who wants to admit what a nerd they were, especially after a much-needed college reinvention? We’ve been back to my hometown of Moorestown more times than either of us can count or remember, and we’ve even run into some of my former classmates, but time is the great leveler, especially when you’ve got a handsome, charming, well-connected guy on your arm.