Page 13 of Julian

In addition to being a wannabe hippie, he fashions himself an artist of sorts. That meant no steady job and lean times all around. When Dylan came along, I’d just turned fourteen and stepped into the role of part-time mother as my mom traveled with Marley to art shows to sell his truly atrocious paintings.

Two years ago, they decided to move to a tiny town in the Appalachian Mountains of North Carolina that supported a thriving potters’ community, even though he wasn’t a potter. Mom followed and Dylan, who was just fifteen at the time, went along, against my better judgment and his wishes. Despite our fourteen-year age gap, I’ve always been the peas to his carrots, and it was a tough adjustment for him to leave New York. He got in trouble, hanging with the wrong crowd, and because my mom and Marley lived inside a happy little bubble, they refused to take him in hand.

I offered for Dylan to come back to New York to live with me his senior year and despite it being a tremendous financial burden, there’s zero regret. He’s where he needs to be.

With me.

“He’s able to be himself here,” I murmur, a sudden wave of love and fondness welling within me for the goofy kid.

“The best sister ever,” Abby says.

Beau nudges me with his head, tongue lolling, and I give him the scratches he not only demands but deserves. I think about that conversation with my mom when I insisted Dylan needed to come live with me.

It wasn’t a dramatic decision. No slammed doors. Just phone calls and practical conversations and the acknowledgment that he was floundering. So he moved into the apartment, transferred schools and started over.

“He’s where he’s supposed to be. That’s what matters.”

On the Lower East Side, you learn early how to make things work with what you’ve got.

Abby pushes off the counter and drops into one of the kitchen chairs like she’s settling in for a proper interrogation.

“So,” she says, stretching the word out. “Let’s change the subject to a less daunting topic. Dating.”

I groan immediately. “Less daunting? More like more daunting… We were having such a nice conversation.”

“Were we?”

“There’s no dating,” I say, spreading my hands. “There’s work, and Dylan, and Beau shedding on everything I own. That’s the romantic landscape.”

Abby snorts. “You haven’t even downloaded any of the apps?”

“I downloaded one,” I admit. “I deleted it in twelve hours.”

“Twelve?”

“One guy opened with ‘You look like you’d ruin my life in a fun way.’”

Abby bursts out laughing. “Okay, that’s terrible.” She shakes her head. “From what I’ve seen lately, you’re not missing much.”

“Is that right?”

“Three dates in the last two months,” she says, ticking them off on her fingers. “One talked exclusively about cryptocurrency being the next big thing, one brought up his mother six times, and one had the audacity to ask if I’d ever consider moving to Jersey for him.”

I gasp in mock horror. “Did you end the date on the spot?”

“Did I have any other choice?”

We both laugh, but it’s the kind that has a little truth in it.

“It’s not even about finding someone amazing,” I say after a second. “I’d settle for stable. Mature. Someone who knows how to show up when they say they will.”

“With hair,” Abby adds solemnly.

“With hair,” I agree. “Why is that so rare now?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “It’s like the pool is either emotionally unavailable, financially unstable, or balding.”

“Or all three,” I add.