Just Remember to Breathe (Thompson Sisters)

she stood up, and walked to Dylan.
    She put her hands on his shoulders and said, “Of course you have our blessing. And… I hope I can be the first to say, welcome to our family.”
    Oh, God. I was going to start crying again. Jesus, bring on the waterworks. My sisters started crying out, crowding around us, hugging me and Dylan. My sisters of course had to see the ring, and I felt my hand yanked up into the light, and I couldn’t stop smiling. My cheeks were starting to ache, but this time it was a real smile, and I didn’t mind.
    Then my father broke down, and hugged Dylan, too.
    Carrie whispered in my ear, “You’ve given me hope. They’ve accepted a punk rocker and a former soldier. Who knows who might be next?”
    I grinned, and I knew then that things were going to be okay.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

    You’re not finished yet (Alex)

    Six days later, we were home.
    I say home because, as much as I love San Francisco, and the house where I grew up with my parents, New York City is my home now. With Dylan.
    For those six days, my parents made Dylan welcome, letting him stay in the guest room on the fourth floor. The two of us spent our early mornings together, running, or him teaching me hand-to-hand combat techniques. Sarah actually joined us for that, and I could tell she thoroughly enjoyed it. I quietly mentioned to my Dad that she might enjoy enrolling in self-defense classes. Both of the twins would benefit from it.
    The day after thanksgiving, Crank and Julia left for New Zealand, to return to the band, which was on tour. Carrie flew out two hours later for Houston, where Ray Sherman was going to meet her for a week-long visit.
    The twins, of course, had another year of high school, but hopefully that year would be tolerable for my parents. Jessica and Sarah were inseparable again.
    I got to take Dylan out to dinner with Kelly and Joel, and show off my ring. We’d set the date for July, and the wedding would take place here in New York. Our families would have to come to us.
    That night, I went with Dylan back to his apartment. When we got back, we sat on the bed in his room and I said, “I want to play a game.”
    He looked at me, a wry grin on his face, and said, “What?”
    “Okay. You get to go first. Ask any question, but we don’t ask about the past. Ask questions about the future.”
    Dylan looked at me, then said, “Okay. The future.” He took a deep breath, then said, “Where do you see yourself five years from now?”
    I thought for a moment, then said, “Here in New York. I’ve finished law school, and I’m working for a nonprofit organization, I think. Maybe working with rape victims? And you’re here. We’ve got a gorgeous apartment, with high ceilings, and huge windows, but not much space, because working for a nonprofit, I wouldn’t be making much money probably.”
    He chuckled, then said, “I like it. Your turn.”
    “Same question,” I said.
    “Well… to be honest, I’ve been thinking about changing my major. I love writing, but I’m not sure it makes sense to study literature. It makes more sense to study life. I see myself working as a counselor, for the VA. Social worker. Trying to help vets who get screwed up in the head like me.”
    “You’re not screwed up.”
    He nodded. “Oh, I still am, Alex. I’m working on it, but it’s not going to go away overnight. Or even this year, or next. I still have nightmares about when we got bombed. I still… see it sometimes. I just don’t like to talk about it.”
    I pulled my arm underneath me, resting my head on it, and said, “You’d better get used to talking, Dylan. You’re not putting me through that again. I expect both of us to be ready to talk about what’s going on inside.”
    He closed his eyes, and whispered, “Alex, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
    “Yes, you do,” I replied.
    “Okay… well yeah, I guess I do. I thought I was protecting you.”
    “There’s such a thing as over protecting. There’s such a thing as ruining your present because of worries about the future. You understand what I’m saying?”
    He nodded.
    “What is it you’re really afraid of?”
    “Turning into my father.”
    I sighed. “Tell me more about him. You almost never talk about your father.”
    He grunted. “Like I said, there’s things I don’t like talking about.”
    “Oh, I figured that out a long time ago, Dylan.” I put my arm down, and rested my head on his shoulder. He was