Home > Attachment Theory (The Brodie Brothers, #2)(5)

Attachment Theory (The Brodie Brothers, #2)(5)
Author: Kayley Loring

Noah and I moved to Santa Monica to be closer to my parents, so even though my office is in the general neighborhood of Erewhon, I rarely go there anymore. I assume Dylan lives around there. Who knows. He’s probably on location a lot. I Google him every half a year just to make sure he’s still dating his co-stars, and guess what—he always is! A different one every time!

God dammit. Now I can’t stop thinking about Dylan Brodie. I rub my lips together, this time savoring the silky texture and strawberry flavor. Delicious. Like Dylan Brodie.

“Did I lose you again, Scarlett?” Dr. Keller sounds a little amused this time. She’s smiling at me.

I realize I’m touching my lips and smiling.

“Our time is up, isn’t it?” I say.

It is.

I don’t have time to talk about Dylan Brodie and what he represents to me and how I feel when I do allow myself to fantasize about him and what it would have been like if I hadn’t run away from him that day.

But what I’m thinking is: Maybe I haven’t lost myself completely.

 

 

2

 

 

MILES: I’m watching your cologne commercial, Pretty Boy.

DYLAN: I think you mean my cologne-related cinematic art.

MILES: Actually, I meant Joli Garçon.

DYLAN: It’s just called Garçon.

OWEN: Yeah, I saw that on the interweb the other day. HAWT.

DYLAN: Leave me alone.

MILES: I’m now wondering why I’ve always worn shirts under my long leather trench coats when I’m at the beach.

OWEN: Yeah it really made me wonder why I’ve never walked into the ocean in a leather trench coat and jeans. I had no idea what the commercial was for, but you totally sold me on that.

MILES: Garçon! Could you bring me another glass of sea water?

DYLAN: I’m really sorry you guys are too old and paunchy to do shirtless cologne ads anymore, but I got paid a fuck ton for that gig. I have zero regrets about it.

OWEN: Well someone’s in a mood today.

MILES: Aww. Does somebody still have sand in his crack?

MILES: Are you still suffering from Post Dramatic Stress Disorder, buddy? Still trying to win back your most recent co-star?

DYLAN: She is so much more than my most recent co-star and you know that.

MILES: Sorry. Your most recent showmance.

OWEN: You back in town, Dylan? Should we take you out? Margaritas and dancing? Spa day, maybe? How can we help?

OWEN: JK I’m not going out because I have a son and a hot new girlfriend who lives with me. But I’m always here for you. On my phone. Or if you want to come to my house for a little while. But only if you promise not to moan about your exes the whole time.

DYLAN: <expressionless face emoji>

MILES: I will totally take you out, little bro. Let’s do our hair toss and check our nails. Baby how ya feelin’?

MILES: Feelin’ good as hell! All right! We could do drinks from eight to eight thirty. I have an opening three and a half months from now. By then you’ll probably have just broken up with the next girl, so…

DYLAN: <raised middle finger emoji>

OWEN: <fish emoji>

MILES: <merman emoji>

MILES: So that’s a no re. drinks then?

DYLAN: Emailing new therapist for an appointment. Don’t need you.

OWEN: Good for you! Maybe this one will actually help.

MILES: Are you emailing one of the names I sent you?

MILES: Dylan?

MILES: Dylan.

MILES: Not the one Frankie told you about?

MILES: Dylan…

 

 

OWEN: Hey. I won’t tell Miles, but you’re emailing the therapist that Frankie told you about, aren’t you? The one that Mia said is really beautiful?

DYLAN: Hey. There aren’t any pictures of this so-called beautiful therapist online that I can find, so I’m just trying to get an appointment with her because you said Mia is really well-adjusted. Maybe Mia has really bad taste in women—how would I know unless I see this woman for myself?

OWEN: Fair enough. You okay though? You know Miles doesn’t mean to be a dick, right?

DYLAN: I am okay, and I’ve spent the first 27 years of my life searching for evidence that Miles doesn’t mean to be a dick. My conclusion thus far is that he is a dick.

OWEN: Also fair enough.

DYLAN: I am completely heartbroken and alone, FYI in case you were wondering.

OWEN: Like I said, I’m here for you. Except Frankie just made dinner and we’re gonna watch TV and then have sex all night. So get well soon xoxo

 

 

MILES: Here. I made you a Spotify playlist.

Miles Brodie's Guide to Getting Over It

DYLAN: These are all chick songs.

MILES: Nuh-uh. “Bye Bye Bye” by NSYNC.

DYLAN: There are TWO Cher songs on here.

MILES: You know what? If you don’t want to listen to it don’t listen to it.

DYLAN: I’ll listen to it.

MILES: No don’t bother. You don’t deserve Cher. Or Tina Turner. And you definitely don’t deserve Beyonce.

DYLAN: I’m listening to it. I like this Lizzo song. THANK YOU.

MILES: You’re welcome.

DYLAN: ALL THE FEELS!!!

MILES: Okay just shut up and listen to the playlist. I’ve got work to do.

DYLAN: Yeah me too. EMOTIONAL WORK.

DYLAN: Gotta take a deep breath, gotta focus on ME.

DYLAN: <nail polish emoji>

DYLAN: <tropical drink emoji>

DYLAN: <dancing man emoji>

DYLAN: You Do Not Disturbed this convo didn’t you?

DYLAN: Whatever. I feel better already, actually.

DYLAN: Seriously, thanks, man.

MILES: Don’t get all sappy on me.

MILES: But you’re welcome.

DYLAN: <smiling face with heart-eyes emoji>

 

 

3

 

 

Scarlett

 

 

TO: [email protected]

FROM: [email protected]

SUBJECT: accepting new clients?

 

 

Hello. I was referred to you by one of your clients. Mia?

I see that you specialize in Marriage and Family Therapy, but it seems you do individual therapy sessions.

If you have any slots available, my former therapist has recently retired, and I need a new therapist ASAP.

 

 

Thank you for your attention to this matter,

Dylan Brodie

 

 

P.S. To be clear, I didn’t mean “ASAP” as in it’s an emergency. I am not any sort of danger to myself. I just really need to talk to a trained professional about my feelings right now. In a very masculine and not at all self-involved way. Thanks.

 

 

Holy shit.

“Mooooommm!” Noah yells from his bedroom.

“Go to sleep, little man!”

“Yeah, but I have a question!”

Would the question be: Is my subconscious messing with me by creating a fake Dylan Brodie email address while I’m sleeping and then scheduling it to send messages while I’m awake?

If so, we have a lot to discuss.

I put down the glass of wine I just poured for myself and return to Noah’s room for the fifth time tonight. It is now eighty thirty-five on a school night, and he has to get up at six thirty. I give my Basset Hound, Arthur, a pat on the head on my way out of the kitchen. He likes to think of himself as the man of the house, so he raises his head in acknowledgment, then plunks it back down again. Our Lab, Smurf, gets up to follow me.

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