Chapter 4. And goes some more…
Dylan stood at the low wooden kitchen counter, chopping the vegetables for dinner. She was so furious that she mangled them rather than chopped them. As she thought about why she was angry, she chopped faster and faster, narrowly missing her fingers.
"So. What's upset you?" a voice from the doorway asked.
Looking up, Dylan saw the tall, slim figure of her mother, still a natural blonde, though well into her fifties.
"What makes you think I'm upset?" she asked.
"Oh, come on. I've known you all your life, remember? You think I don't know when my little girl is upset?" Her mother came into the room, and pulling out a chair, settled her self at the kitchen table. "Come on, tell me all about it."
"Mother, don't." Dylan warned.
"Don't what? Don't worry about my only child? Don't care that she's upset? Don't want to try to help? Well, I'm sorry, Dill. I'm your mother, and those things come with the job. So tell me. What can I do to make it better?"
"Don't call me Dill for a start. I'm not 5 anymore, and it's nothing you can help me with. It's personal." Dylan continued chopping her vegetables, hoping her mother would take the hint and leave.
Her mother got up. "I think this needs tea, don't you?" She filled the kettle and put it on to boil, and continued talking as she rummaged in a cupboard for cups and a teapot.
"It's him, isn't it? That tank of yours. I told you, Dill, no good would come of it, but would you listen? No, of course not. "He's not like my father, he's different". Well, he's hurt you, hasn't he? Just like they all do. He's a tank. He doesn't feel things the way you and I do. He just pretends to. He doesn't care for you, Dill. He doesn't know how. Just like your father didn't, or Billy's father, or Jenna's father, or Iona's father. Need I carry on?"
Dylan stared at her mother, shocked.
"How dare you say that! You don't even know him… you haven't even met him! How can you stand there and say such things?"
Her mother sighed, leaning against the counter.
"Because I've been there. I know what it's like. You think you're in love. He makes you feel special… like you're the only woman in the world. And he's great in bed. But then, when it's too late for you and you're head over heels, he gets bored, and you see him for what he really is. A tank, whose only real concern in life is himself."
"It's not true! He loves me. I know he does!" Dylan yelled.
"How, Dill? How do you know? Because he says so? Well, talk is cheap, and pillow talk is cheaper."
"Mother! Why are you doing this… saying these hateful things? I thought you wanted to help?" Dylan was close to tears, hearing such horrible words from her mother.
"I am trying to help, Dill. I had hoped this silly romance would fizzle out after a while, but you kept it going somehow and now you're paying the price." She turned and began to make the tea with the now boiled kettle.
"But I want it to work. I want him. I need him. I'm glad he's here. I wanted you to meet him, to see he's not like my father. He's a good man, mother. He truly is. And I love him." Now the tears were flooding down her face.
"Oh, Dill." Her mother came to her and held her close. "If I'd known you'd asked him to come, I would have forbidden it. Whatever were you thinking, Dill, inviting two tanks here?"
"Mother! Forbidden it? I'm not a child anymore. I just wish you would realise that. Please don't try to interfere with my life; you've done that for far too long. And stop calling him a tank! I just can't believe I'm hearing this from you." Dylan shook her mother off. "And tea won't help, either."
Her mother smiled. "There's nothing in this world a good cup of Earl Grey can't fix."
Dylan just stared at her. "Are you hearing me at all mother? I don't want your rotten tea, and I don't want your advice. Whatever his faults, and I'm sure there are many, I love him. Just as he loves me, despite my shortcomings. I won't stand here and listen to anymore of this… this… this hateful, horrid attack on the man I love. Please leave, and don't come back until you have something nice to say about him!"
Her mother simply stood and stared at her.
"Well, my dear, you're making your own bed. I just hope you're prepared to lie in it. Don't say I didn't warn you! One more thing. Tyrus? Rather a presumptuous sort of name, don't you think? Ideas above his station, perhaps?"
"Like Dylan, do you suppose?"
Her mother shrugged. "It was your father's name." She turned to leave, and as she headed for the door, saw McQueen standing there.
"Oh Dill, here's your tank. He looks a bit damp - better throw him a towel before he drips on the floor." And she disappeared into the rain, leaving Dylan and McQueen staring at each other.
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Next : Chapter Five
Previous : Chapter Three
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