Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
"HAPPY EIGHTEENTH, DYLILAH HOLLAND!" STEVE GRINNED WIDELY AT HER. "How does it feel to finally be a woman?"
"Don't call me that," she snapped at him. "It doesn't feel any different. Except now I can buy my own cigarettes. Bonus, I guess."
He stood in her doorway, a parcel in hand. She was still in her pyjamas, planning to skip the last day of school since it was, after all, her eighteenth birthday — also, last night's events were still fresh in her mind. She didn't really want to see anybody today.
"Can I come in?"
"No, I really just want to be alone—" She frowned when he pushed her out of the way and came inside anyway. She slammed the door behind him.
Her parents came down the stairs and smiled at Steve.
"Steve!" Her mother greeted excitedly as usual. "I should have known it was you. You've come over the morning of Dylan's birthday since you guys were children."
Marsha Holland conveniently forgot about the dark year — when Dylan turned seventeen and not a soul, not Steve; not even her parents, celebrated. Instead, Steve had left her in the dust and her parents were so deep in mourning they had forgotten the day had passed at all.
Her mom started to tear up and her dad rubbed her shoulders reassuringly. "And now you're both eighteen! God, it's all gone by too fast."
"Mom!" Dylan whined. "It's totally not a big deal. Just another birthday."
"Honey," her father said softly. "Be nice to your mom. These types of things are sensitive to her."
Dylan hid her eye roll behind Steve's broad shoulder.
"No, she's right," her mother shrugged out of her dad's grip. "I'm being silly! I should happy one of our babies made it to eighteen. Lets just head to the living room and open presents."
Marsha Holland led the way into the living room, trying desperately to contain her emotions. Dylan snickered under breath at her mom's behaviour but secretly loved her over-the-top antics.
Dylan sat on the carpet while the other three gathered on the couch. Her mother moved a pile of gifts into her lap and Dylan slowly ripped them open. Her parents gave her Risky Business on VHS and a Blondie cassette. Next, Dylan moved on to Steve's gift, which was pristinely wrapped in gold paper, topped with an extravagant emerald bow. Quite obviously Mrs. Harrington's doing. Dylan pulled of the paper tediously slow and watched Steve's expression grow more anxious satisfactorily — it was a very small box that should have taken seconds to open. Underneath the paper was a tiny red velevet box. Dylan looked at Steve questioningly but he just smiled at her. She pulled it open and inside was a gold locket, a regal pattern engraved into the thin metal. But it wasn't just a locket — inside was a picture that Dylan hadn't seen in such a long time that the colours were actually beginning to fade. It was probably taken at her eleventh birthday. Barb and Dylan stood shoulder to shoulder, cheesily grinning for the camera. Behind the two redheads was Steve, towering over them, a peace sign stragitically placed over Dylan's head. Carol and Tommy had been cropped from the photo respectively.
