Page 69 of My Infatuation with Isabella

I find my parents at one of the tables having coffee together. “Mom, Dad, I’m going out.”

“Where are you going, sweetie?”

I’m going to hunt this woman down. I don’t know if Mrs. Diaz still lives in the same house, but I’m going to go there and maybe she’ll give me her number or address or something to help me find her.

“Just out,” I reply, purposely being cryptic to avoid questions. “Where’s Dana?”

“Outside smoking with Melanie,” Dad responds.

I’m glad Melanie isn’t around because I feel a little weird around her after what Isabella said, but that’s not a concern right now. “And how’s she doin’...after yesterday?”

My mother lets out a heavy breath. “You’ve already asked that four times. She’s okay. She doesn’t remember anything. I’m more worried about you. How’s your arm? Your father said you had to get eleven stitches.”

“It’s fine,” I say with a small shrug. “It’s a superficial wound. It’s more of a deep gash. The muscle isn’t damaged or anything, but the doctor said I can’t do any heavy lifting for a few weeks. It’s sore, though. I can’t really move my arm.”

My mother reaches out to take my hand. “Maybe you should go home and get some rest. I know how you get every time Dana has an episode like that and?”

“Mom, I’m fine.” I’m not, and they both know it, and they stare at me until I finally talk. “It’s just...” I rub a hard hand over my jaw. “It’s so many years later...and she still reacts like that...Fuck, when I think about what he did to her...”

She squeezes my hand tighter. “Don’t let your mind go there, okay? He’s behind bars now and he can’t hurt her anymore.”

“And I know she still has these episodes when she’s triggered,” Dad adds, “but it doesn’t happen often, and that’s because she’s in a better space now. She’s doing well, Dylan. She’s flourishing. You need to stop blaming yourself for what happened, especially because you’re the reason that asshole is in jail right now.”

“Yeah, and I hope they do to him what he did to her.”

“He’s gonna rot in there, and you did that for her, Dylan,” my father says. “Knowing he wasn’t lurking around somewhere was the best form of therapy for her...and getting Fluffy.”

It was only after that pervert got caught that we realized Fluffy was a real dog and not a figment of her imagination. Her doctors told us that the memories she had of Fluffy were happy ones, so she dissociated them from the awful stuff and transposed those memories to other happy ones with us. In her head, our family had a dog named Fluffy, and she used to play with him every day. That’s why she became so aggressive every time we told her he didn’t exist.

Dana loved that dog so much that we adopted him after his real owner was thrown in jail, and my dad is right. It was the best form of therapy for her. Her progress came in leaps and bounds after that. Having Fluffy and knowing where he came from allowed her to understand what was real and what wasn’t. It helped her realign her memories, which in turn helped her deal with her trauma.

“Hey, big brother.” Dana takes a running start from the back entrance, throws herself onto my back, and slaps a kiss on my cheek. “Merry Christmas! I didn’t even get to see you yesterday. Where were you?”

I exchange looks with my mother to see if I should tell Dana what happened yesterday morning, but she subtly shakes her head. It’s too close to the event, so Dana might get triggered all over again. We need to give her a little more time.

“There were some issues at the party we catered for,” Mom offers. “Dylan had to have a meeting with the client. He...he didn’t want to pay.”

She slides off my back, then sits down next to my father and rests her head on his shoulder. “Didn’t mom tell you not to take that client? You were hellbent on getting that gig. You gave them a massive discount just to get the contract and then he still doesn’t want to pay? And mom said don’t do it. It’s Christmas eve. Let’s just have some family time, but no. Youinsisted. Thenallof us had to stay at that overpriced hotel, soyouwouldn’t have to be alone on Christmas and look at what happens?” She shakes her head at me with disappointment. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

“I have,” I reply, chuckling at how irate she is over the whole situation.

She didnotwant to spend Christmas at a hotel, which is why I went down to their room in the first place. My room was right next to theirs, so if Dana had to go there and not find me, she would’ve been pissed because all of them stayed there for me. It was just supposed to be a five-minute thing. A quick Merry Christmas with anI’ll see you guys later for lunch...with Isabella, but then I ended up in the ER getting stitches. And now I don’t know where to find Bella or how to contact her. What a royal cluster-fuck. If I don’t have any luck with Mrs. Diaz, I’m honestly considering asking her boss. It will be a very weird conversation, but I’m that desperate.

“Good.” Happy with my answer, Dana turns her attention to my mother. “So, mom, I’ve been talking to one of the girls in Scott’s class, and she was telling me about a few short summer programs, and I wanna do one in fashion design. If I like it, then maybe I’ll consider studying it full time, and?”

“Dana, I’m very happy for you to look into options and see what interests you, but if you decide to do something for the summer, then you need to stick with it for thewholesummer. You start these courses, then get bored and just abandon them midway through. Remember how you begged your father and I to pay for that beginner’s course in marketing, and then that lasted about as long as Dylan’s marriage.”

“Mom!”

“Goddammit, Lorraine.”

I’m appalled, and my dad just shakes his head. Dana is in hysterics, though. She’s literally doubled over laughing so hard.

“Mom, why are you this person?”

“I’m all about making my kids happy.” She desperately tries to keep a straight face as she points to my sister. “And look how happy she is.”

“Of course, she takes pleasure in my misfortune. She’s an asshole. Both of you are. Shit, can we...” I’m still trying to get over that comment. “Can we maybe institute some rules, establish some hard lines about what we can and can’t joke about in this family.”

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