California Dreamin'

“Nope. Not at all,” she says in a grave voice because she knows how hard it is for people like us to be happy. “Just don’t forget to take the pill, kiddo.”

I chuckle. “He reminded me already, you know. Not that I would’ve forgotten but still.”

Dean knows my schedule by heart. Even though we don’t talk to each other every day, he still manages to remind me via text or email. Initially, I thought those texts meant a segue to chatting, but no. They were simple reminders about my medication. Sometimes he won’t even look at my reply for hours. I know; I’ve checked.

I can hear my mom’s smile. “He did, did he?”

I nod, smiling as well, as warmth pools in my chest. “Yup. He thinks I’m still a kid. Like you guys.”

“Well, you’re always gonna be my kid. And to be fair, compared to him you actually are a kid.”

“I’m not,” I snap, pursing my lips. “Stop saying that.”

Mom laughs. “Ooh! A little bit touchy there. Should I know something?”

I bite my lip and dart my eyes around the room like I’m not alone. Like Dean can hear me. “No.”

“Really?”

Her tone suggests she already knows, and I get both nervous and relieved. We’ve never talked about my feelings for Dean. I mean, I only realized it two years ago myself.

Am I slow or what?

I’ve known the guy all my life, but I only realized I loved him when out of nowhere, he declared he was taking a job in Los Angeles.

I’ll never forget his kiss at the airport. I was crying—sobbing really—and he hugged me so tightly I was surprised when the hug was broken, and we came apart as two different bodies, instead of one.

“Mom,” I say, sitting up on the bed, fisting the sheet.

“What?”

“Don’t try to play innocent.”

“Oh, unlike you, you mean?”

“Mom,” I whine like a kid. She reduces me to that sometimes, and I hate it.

She laughs harder. “All right, I know. I’ve always known.”

“I’m not sure if we’re talking about the same thing,” I return cautiously, even as my eyes are scrunching shut and I’m crossing my fingers.

If I wanted someone to know before Dean, it would be my mom. She’s the coolest.

“Okay. So, we’re not talking about Dean and how you picked a college in L.A., so you can be close to him. And how you’re driving to New York just so you can spend some time together. Because apparently, he’s always working,” Mom says with a smile in her voice. “So, that’s not what we’re talking about, right?”

See, mind reader.

I fold my legs, crisscrossing them, and chew on my nail. “How long have you known?”

“I’ll tell you if you stop chewing on your nails.”

I whip my finger out of my mouth. “God, you’re spooky. Anyway, tell me. How long?”

She sighs. “Always.”

“How? Even I didn’t know.”

“I’ve always known, Fallon. I guess I have a sense for these things. And if it were someone else, then I probably would have a problem with it because, well, you’re young and he’s older—much older. But it’s Dean, you know? He’s like my other son and I know him. I’ve watched him grow up.”

It’s true. When Dean was twelve, he met my dad accidentally and since then, my dad has always tried to be there for Dean and his sister. Because Dean’s own father has hardly been a part of their lives. From what I hear, his dad completely checked out when Dean’s mom died, and he threw himself into his work.

My heart hurts for Dean and Mia. When I think of how lonely they must have felt, how the responsibility of bringing Mia up must have fallen on Dean’s shoulders. Thank God for my mom and dad, stepping up and helping.

“Do you…” I bring my knees up and sit back against the headboard. “Do you think he loves me too?”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know. I mean, sometimes I feel that he does but… I don’t know, Mom. What if he doesn’t?”

“You’re never going to know if you don’t ask, honey. Besides, that’s why you came up with this insane idea anyway, right?”

“Okay, why does everyone keep calling it an insane idea? People take road trips all the time, okay? It’s not that insane.”

“Yeah, tell that to your dad. He’s losing his mind over here.”

I gasp. “Mom, please don’t tell Dad. Please don’t tell him I love Dean. Please? He’ll lose his shit.”

“Language,” she chastises. “And no. I’m not saying anything to your dad. Believe it or not, I’m kind of scared of him too.”

“Oh please. Dad worships you. He can never be mad at you, like, ever.”

“Well, yeah. Your dad does worship me.”

She giggles at that. Apparently, Dad’s the only person who can make her giggle.

They met in the unlikeliest of places: a psychiatric ward. When my mom was eighteen, she went through a major depressive episode that led to her attempting suicide. So she was sent to Heartstone Psychiatric Hospital, where my dad worked as a lead psychiatrist.