AJOVEBOOK
PublishedbyBerkley
AnimprintofPenguinRandomHouseLLC
penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright?2022byAshleyHerringBlake
ExcerptfromAstridParkerDoesn’tFailcopyright?2022byAshleyHerringBlake
PenguinRandomHousesupportscopyright.Copyrightfuelscreativity,encouragesdiversevoices,promotesfreespeech,andcreatesavibrantculture.Thankyouforbuyinganauthorizededitionofthisbookandforcomplyingwithcopyrightlawsbynotreproducing,scanning,ordistributinganypartofitinanyformwithoutpermission.YouaresupportingwritersandallowingPenguinRandomHousetocontinuetopublishbooksforeveryreader.
AJOVEBOOK,BERKLEY,andtheBERKLEY&BcolophonareregisteredtrademarksofPenguinRandomHouseLLC.
LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationData
Names:Blake,AshleyHerring,author.
Title:DelilahGreendoesn’tcare/AshleyHerringBlake.
Description:Firstedition.|NewYork:Jove,2022.
Identifiers:LCCN2021031412(print)|LCCN2021031413(ebook)|ISBN9780593336403(tradepaperback)|ISBN9780593336410(ebook)
Subjects:GSAFD:Lovestories.|LCGFT:Lesbianfiction.
Classification:LCCPS3602.L3413D452022(print)|LCCPS3602.L3413(ebook)|DDC813/.6—dc23
LCrecordavailableathttps://lccn.loc.gov/2021031412
LCebookrecordavailableathttps://lccn.loc.gov/2021031413
FirstEdition:February2022
CoverartbyLeniKauffman
CoverdesignbyKatieAnderson
BookdesignbyAlisonCnockaert,adaptedforebookbyCoraWigen
Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,businessestablishments,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.
pid_prh_6.0_139201561_c0_r0Contents
Cover
TitlePage
Copyright
Dedication
ChapterOne
ChapterTwo
ChapterThree
ChapterFour
ChapterFive
ChapterSix
ChapterSeven
ChapterEight
ChapterNine
ChapterTen
ChapterEleven
ChapterTwelve
ChapterThirteen
ChapterFourteen
ChapterFifteen
ChapterSixteen
ChapterSeventeen
ChapterEighteen
ChapterNineteen
ChapterTwenty
ChapterTwenty-One
ChapterTwenty-Two
ChapterTwenty-Three
ChapterTwenty-Four
ChapterTwenty-Five
ChapterTwenty-Six
ChapterTwenty-Seven
ChapterTwenty-Eight
ChapterTwenty-Nine
ChapterThirty
ChapterThirty-One
ChapterThirty-Two
ChapterThirty-Three
Acknowledgments
ExcerptfromAstridParkerDoesn’tFail
AbouttheAuthorForRebeccaPodos,whogoeswithmeintoeverygreatunknownChapterOne
DELILAH’SEYESFLIPPEDopenatthebuzzonthenightstand.Sheblinkedtheunfamiliarroomintofocus,once…twice.Ithadtobeatleasttwointhemorning,maybelater.Shefumbledforherphone,silkywhitesheetstanglingaroundhernakedthighsasshetwistedtosilencethevibrating,whichseemedloudenoughtowakeup—
Ohshit.
She’ddoneitagain.Thenameofthewomanlyingnexttoherslippedandslidinhermemoriesfromthepreviousnight,thelettersnearlyimpossibletograspthroughtheartshowatthetinyFitzgalleryintheVillage—afewofherphotographsonthewalls,ahandfulofpatronsnoddingandpraisingbutneveractuallyintriguedenoughtobuyanything,thechampagnethatneverseemedtostopflowing—followedbythatfloridbaruponMacDougalStreetandawholehellofalotofbourbon.
Delilahglancedoverhershoulderatthesleepingwhitewomannexttoher.Darkblondpixiecut,creamyskin.Nicemouth,fullthighs,phenomenalhands.
Lorna?
Lauren.
No.Lola.HernamewasdefinitelyLola.
Maybe.
Delilahbitherlipandgrabbedthestillgyratingphone,squintingatthenameflashingonthebrightdisplayinthedark.
Ass-trid
Shebarelyhadtimetosmirkatthewayshe’dspelledherstepsister’snameinhercontactsbeforeshehitIgnore.Aninstinct.InDelilah’sexperience,aphonecallattwointhemorningwasrarelyagoodthing,particularlywhenAstridParkerwasontheotherendoftheline.Andwhothehellevencalledanymore?Whycouldn’tAstridtextlikeanormalhuman?
Okay,fine,theremighthavebeenseveralunansweredtextsinDelilah’smessages,butinherdefense,shewasauselesssackofskinlately,withanothermonth’srentloomingandpreparingfortheFitzshow,atwhichherworkonlyappearedbecausesheknewtheowner,RheaFitz,aformerfellowwaitresswhosedeadgrandmotherleftherenoughmoneytoopenherowngallery.Thepastfewweekshadbeenascrambleofwaitingtablespart-timeattheRiverCaféinBrooklynandworkingfreelanceportraitjobsandweddings,allofwhichbarelypaidenoughtocoverherapartmentandfood.ShewasonecatastropheawayfromhavingtomovetoNewJersey,andifsheeverwantedtobreakintotheruthlessNewYorkCityartworld,NewJerseywasn’tgoingtocutit.She’dsoldapieceortwo,sure,butherphotographywasniche,asoneagenthadtoldherwhiledecliningtorepresenther,andnichewasn’taneasysell.
So,yeah,she’dbeentoobusybustinghernicheasstotalktoherstepsister.Plus,itwasn’tlikeAstridevenlikedherallthatmuchanyway.Theyhadn’tseeneachotherinfiveyears.
Haditalreadybeenthatlong?
Hell,itwaslate.DelilahdroppedthephonetoherchestwhileJaxdriftedintoherthoughtsforthefirsttimeinawhile.Months.Shesqueezedhereyesclosedtight,thenopenedthemandstaredupattheceiling,whichwascoveredwiththoseglow-in-the-darkstarstickers.Shesatup,acoldpanicshootingthroughherveins.Wassheinacollegedorm?God,pleaseno.Delilahwasnearlythirtyyearsold,andcollegegirls…well,she’dbeentherealready,livedthatpartofherlife.Shepreferredwomenherownage,alwayshad,andwashappytoleavebehindallthefumblingandflutteringlashessherememberedfromherearlytwenties.
Sherelaxedastheroomcameintofocus,feltthesoftnessofexpensivesheetsunderherfingers.Thebedroomwasfilledwithmodernfurniture,allstraightlinesandcream-coloredwood.Sophisticatedartdappledthewalls,expertlyhung.Anopendoorledintoalivingarea,whichDelilahnowdistinctlyrememberedasthescenewhere—Lana?Lily?—hadpushedherontoaveryposhwhitecouchandslidDelilah’sunderwearoff,tossingitoverherownbareshoulder.
Definitelynotcollege-levelkindoffurnishings.NotevenDelilahGreen–levelkindoffurnishings,andshewasafullgrown-up.Also,whatLilithhadproceededtodowithhermouthwasdefinitelynotacollege-levelkindofskill.
Delilahfloppedbackdownontothebed,bonelessatthememory.Hereyeshadjuststartedtofeelheavyenoughtoclosewhenherphonebuzzedagain.Shejoltedfullyawake,peeringatthatsameunlikelynameandpressingIgnoreforthesecondtime.
Laytonstirrednexttoher,turningoverandsquintingatDelilah,mascarasmearedunderhereyes.“Oh.Hey.Everythingokay?”
“Yeah,sure—”
Herphonewentoffagain.
Ass-trid
“Shouldyougetthat?”Lindaasked,tousledhairfallingadorablyoveroneblueeye.Nowaythissexgoddess’snamewasLinda.
“Maybe.”
“Thendoit.Whenyou’redone,I’vegotsomethingIwanttoshowyou.”
Lydia—sure,whynot—grinned,pullingdownthelinenstoherhipsforasplitsecondbeforetuckingthesheetbackuptoherchin.Delilahlaughedasshetossedthecoversback,slippingoutofthebedcompletelynaked.Sheverynearlyansweredthephonelikethat,butthengrabbedasilkrobe—definitelynotacollege-levelkindofrobe—thathungoveragrayupholsteredchairinthecorner.Shecouldnotandwouldnottalktoherstepsisterinthebuff.
Slidingontherobe,shewentintothesmalllivingroom-slash-openkitchenandclimbedontoastool,restingherelbowsonthecoolmarblecounter.Shebreathedin…out.Sheshookoutherhands,rolledherneck.ShehadtopreparetotalktoAstrid,likeaboxerheadingintoamatch.Gloveson,mouthguardin.Onthecounter,thephonestilled,Astrid’snamedisappearing,onlytopopbackuplikeagreetingcardfromhell.Bestgetthisoverwith,then.Sheslidherfingeracrossthephone.
“What?”
“Delilah?”
Astrid’svelvetyvoicefilteredthroughthephone.LikeanAmericanCateBlanchett,exceptmorestick-up-your-assandlessqueen-of-bisexuals.ExactlythekindofvoiceDelilahalwaysknewadult-Astridwouldhave.
“Yeah,”Delilahsaid,thenclearedherthroat.Herownvoicewassomewherebetweensix-cocktails-parchedandyears-of-sleep-deprivation-raspy.
“Tookyoulongenoughtoanswer.”
Delilahsighed.“It’slate.”
“It’sonlyeleveninOregon.Plus,Ifiguredthiswasthebesttimetocatchyou.Don’tyouturnintoabataftermidnight?”
Delilahsnorted.“Ido.Nowifyou’llexcusemeI’dliketogetbacktomycave.”
Astriddidn’tsayanythingforafewseconds.LongsecondsthatmadeDelilahwonderifshewasstillthere,butshewasn’tgoingtobetheonetocrack.They’donlyspokenonthephoneadozenorsotimessinceDelilahleftBrightFallsthedayafterhighschoolgraduation,hoppingabustoSeattlewithherBrightFallsHighduffelbagonhershoulder,whileAstridtookoffforapostgradtriptoFrancewithallofherhorribleBFFs.Isabel,Astrid’smomandDelilah’swickedstepmother,hadarmedbothgirlswithenoughcashtokeepthemoutofherhairfortwoweeks.Theonlydifferencebeing,Astridcameback,preparedforcollegeatBerkeleylikethedutifuldaughter,whileDelilahflewtoNewYorkandrentedaone-bedroomdumpontheLowerEastSide.Shewasalegaladult,andtherewasnowayinhellshewasgoingtostayinthathouseonesecondlongerthansheneededto.
Itwasn’tlikeIsabelmournedherleaving.
NeitherdidAstrid,asfarasDelilahcouldtell,thougheverynowandthen,thiswouldhappen.TextsthatwentignoredandturnedintoawkwardphonecallswhereAstridtriedtopretendshehadn’tmadeDelilah’salreadylonelychildhoodalivinghell.DelilahhadbeenbacktoBrightFallsfiveorsixtimesinthepasttwelveyears—afewChristmasesandThanksgivings,afuneralwhenherfavoriteartteacherhaddied.Thelasttimewasfiveyearsago,whenDelilahfledNewYorkwithafreshlyobliteratedheart,mistakenlythinkingthefamiliarityofBrightFallsmightserveasabalm.Ithadn’t,butithadgivenDelilahanideaforaphotoseriesthathadchangedherambitionfromstrugglingfreelancephotographerwhobarelymaderenttosuccessfulqueerartistwithanamazingapartmentinWilliamsburg
Whichshestillhadn’tachieved,butshewastrying.
“So…areyoucoming?”
Astrid’svoicecutthroughhermusings,andsheblinkedLucinda’skitchenbackintoview.“Coming…”Adirtyjokerestedonthetipofhertongue,butshebititback.
“Ohmygod,”Astridsaid.“Areyouserious?Tellmeyouarenotserious.”
“I—”
“Delilah,tellme!”
“I’mtryingifyou’dshutupfortwoseconds!”
Astridblewoutabreathsoloud,itbuzzedinDelilah’sear.“Okay.Okay,I’msorry,I’mjuststressed.There’salotgoingon.”
“Right,”Delilahsaid,rackingherbrainforwhatthehellwasgoingon.“Um,so—”
“Nope,no,no.Youarenotcancelingonme,DelilahGreen.Tellmethatisnotwhatyou’redoing.”
“Jesus,Ass,takeaXanax,willyou?”
“Pleasedon’tcallmethatanddonotcancelonme.”
Delilahletabeatofsilencepass.Maybeseeingherownartonactualgallerywalls,tinyastheymaybe,followedbygreatsexhadjustaddledherbrainalittle,andwhateverthehellAstridwastalkingaboutwouldcomeroaringbacktoclarity.Shepulledthephonefromherearandhitthespeakerphonebutton,thencheckedthedateonhercalendarapp—Saturday,June2.Weehours.FridaythefirstwasdefinitelyadatethathadbeencementedinhermindformonthsasshepreppedfortheFitzshow.Buttherewassomethingelsethere,somethingJune-ishandAstrid-shapedand—
Ohfuck.
“Yourwedding,”Delilahsaid.
“Yes,mywedding,”Astridsaid.“TheoneI’vebeenplanningformonthsandforwhichMotherinsistedIhireyouasaphotographer.”
“Don’tsoundsoexcited.”
“Ihaveanotherwordforit.”
“You’renotreallyhelpingyourcasehere,Ass.”
Astridhuffedintothephone.
“I’mstillcrushedI’mnotabridesmaid,”Delilahdeadpanned,butwiththerevelationofherstepsister’simpendingnuptialstosomepoorsucker,herheartpickedupitspaceasbothterrorandrelieffloodedhersystem.
Ontheonehand,aParkersocietyweddinginBrightFallswastheabsolutelastthingshewantedtodorightnow.Orever.She’drubbedelbowswithafewagentsattheFitzshowandsoldonewholepiece—grantedthepatronwascurrentlysleepinginthenextroom,butLorettaonehundredpercentforkedoverhermoneybeforeevenbattingasinglelashDelilah’sway.Atleast,Delilahwasprettysurethat’showithappened,asshewastoobusyfreakingthefuckoutthatsomeonetradedactualmoneyforsomethingshe’dcreated.
Regardless,nowwasnotthetimeforAstrid-slash-Isabelbullshit.Delilahfeltasthoughshewasontheedgeofsomething,beingsomeone,andBrightFallswasasoul-suckingpitofdespairwhereshewasabsolutelynoone.
Ontheotherhand—thehandthattriedtokeepDelilahfedandclothed—IsabelParker-GreenhadofferedheraridiculoussumofmoneytophotographAstrid’sweddingandtwoweeks’worthofpre-weddingevents.AsthedetailsfromwhenAstridfirstcalledDelilahaboutthishappyeventfloatedbacktohernow,thereweredefinitelyfivefiguresinvolved.Lowfivefigures,butstill.PocketchangetoIsabelParker-GreenandtomostBrooklynites,buttoDelilah,whocouldstretchadollarfordays,itwasanIVtoherdehydratedbankaccount.
Alongwiththemoney,whichAstridalmostcertainlyknewDelilahcouldn’trefuse,Astridhadalsodeliveredanoh-so-subtlymanipulative,“Momsaysyourfatherwould’vewantedyouatmywedding.”Delilahstillresentedherforit,mostlybecausesheknewIsabelwasright.Whilehe’dbeenalive,AndrewGreenhadbeenadevotedfamilymantothepointofridiculousness,insistingonnightlydinnersandspringbreakvacations,ChristmasEvetraditionsandcheckinghomeworkandlearninghowtoplaithairjustsoDelilahwouldn’tbetheonlygirlattheRenaissanceFairefieldtripwithoutabraidcrown.
Aweddingwouldbenonnegotiable.Youshowedupforfamily,evenifyougotpaidforitandgrittedyourteeththeentiretime.
“Pre-weddingeventsstartonSunday,”Astridsaidnow.“Youagreedtobethereforallofit,remember?ThedetailsIemailedyouindicateyou’rebookedJunethirdthroughthesixteenth.Isignedyourcontract,agreeingtoallofyourterms,and—”
“Iknow,Iknow,yes,”Delilahsaid,runningahandoverherhair.Shit,shedidnotwanttogobacktoBrightFallsfortwowholeweeks.AnditwasPridemonth.ShelovedPrideinNewYorkCity.Whothehellstartedallthisweddingnonsensethatfarbeforetheactualdayanyway?Well,Delilahknewexactlywho.
“Astrid—”
“Don’tyoufuckingdare.”
“Thatmouth,Ass.WhatwouldIsabelsay.”
“She’dsaythatandalotworseifyou’reabouttocancelonheronlydaughter’sweddingonsuchshortnotice.”
Delilahsuckedinabreath,eventhoughshetriednotto.
Heronlydaughter.
Shewantedtofightthesting,toletthewordssliderightoverher,butshefailed.Itwasareflex,thisfeeling,leftoverfromachildhoodwithtwodeadparentsandastepmotherwhoneverreallywantedherinthefirstplace.
“Shit,”Astridsaid,hertoneregretfulandirritatedatthesametime,asthoughDelilahhadmadeherforgetthatIsabelhadbeenDelilah’ssoleguardianafterherfather,Isabel’ssecondhusband,haddiedofananeurysmwhenDelilahwastenyearsold.
“There’sthatmouthagain,”Delilahsaid,laughingthroughathickthroat.“IthinkImightlikethisnewstressed-outAstrid.”
Herstepsisterdidn’tsayanythingforafewseconds,butthesilencewaslongenoughforDelilahtoknowshe’dbeonamorningflightoutofJFK.
“Justbehere,okay?”Astridsaid.“It’stoolatetofindsomeonedecenttoreplaceyou.”
Delilahwipedherhanddownherface.“Yeah.”
“Whatwasthat?”
“Yes,”Delilahpracticallyyelled.“I’llbethere.”
“Good.IalreadybookedyourroomattheKaleidoscope—”
“What,I’mnotstayingwithMommyDearest?”
“—andI’llemailyoutheitinerary.Again.”
DelilahgruntedandhungupbeforeAstridcouldhanguponher,thendroppedthephoneonthecounterlikeitwasonfire.Shetwistedthelidoffahalf-fullbottleofginthatsatnexttothesinkandtookashot,noglassrequired.Theliquorburnedallthewaydown,searinghernostrilsandwateringhereyes.
Twoweeks.Itwasjusttwoweeks.
Twoweeksandenoughmoneytogetherthroughthreemonthsofrent.
Shesnatchedupherphone,thedamntraitor,andwentbackintothebedroom.Lanier’srobehitthefloor,andshefoundherownstraplessblackjumpsuitthatshowedoffthetattoosinkedalloverbothherarmsinarumpledpilenexttothedresser.Afterslippingiton,shespentabouttensecondslookingforherunderwear,herfavoritepurplelacycheekies,buttheywerenowheretobefound.
“Fuckit,”shesaid,slingingherbagoverhershoulderandpullinghermassofdarkcurlsintoamessybun.Shelocatedherredfour-inchheelsbythehugeblack-and-whiteframedphotographleaningagainstthewall.Theimageshowedawhitewomaninathinwhitedress,mascararunningdownherwetfaceasshestaredattheviewer.Shewasinabathtub,gowncompletelysoakedandsheer,nipplesbarelyvisibleabovethemilkywaterlinewhileherfingerscurledaroundtherustywhitetub.ItwasDelilah’s,oneofthefourpiecesintheFitzshow.MemoriesofLeila-Lucy-LunaforkingoveractualmoneyandthenpromptlyshovinghertongueintoDelilah’smouthdriftedintoclarity.Thedamnnamestillplayedhide-and-seek.
“Hey,”thewomansaid,liftingherheadfromthepileofpillowsandsquintingatDelilahinthecity-light,hairatousledmess.“Wait,areyouleaving?”
“Um,yeah,”Delilahsaid,poppingonhershoesanddouble-checkingthatherwalletwasinherbag,herkeys,herMetrocard.“Thanks,thiswasfun.”
Leahgrinned.“Itwas.Sureyoudon’twanttocomebacktobed?”Sheliftedaneyebrowasthecoversfelljustlowenoughonherchesttorevealalovelyswellofskin.
“WishIcould,”Delilahsaidassheedgedtowardthedoor.Theofferwastempting,butherbrainwasalreadygone,backatherapartment,runningthroughwhatthehellkindofclothessheneededtopackforthisweddingandallthebrunchesandshowersand,deargod,bachelorettepartiesAstridhadplanned.
Astridandherposseofmeangirls.
London’sfacefell.“Oh.Okay,well…textme?”
Delilahturnedherbacktothewomanandheadedintothehallway.Sheliftedahandassheopenedthefrontdoor.“Absolutely.Willdo.”
Sheknewshewouldn’tthough.
Sheneverdid.
OnthesubwayridebacktoherapartmentinBed-Stuy,itsettledonher,therealityofwhatshewasabouttodo.GoingbacktoBrightFallswasonething,butspendingtwoweeksatAstridandIsabel’sbeckandcall?Thatwasquiteanother.
AndDelilahhadabsolutelynointentionofmakingiteasyforthem.ChapterTwo
CLAIREDRAINEDHERwineglassforthesecondtimethatnight,thensetitdownontheroughwoodentablealittletoohard.
“Relax,”Irissaid,sittingacrossfromher,stirringtheorangeinhervodkasoda.
“WhatdoyouthinkI’mtryingtodo?”Claireasked,tippingsomemoreSyrahintoherglass.Sheknewshe’dregretit—redwinealwaysgaveheraheadache—butRubywasspendingthenightoveratJosh’sapartmentforthefirsttimeintwoyears,andshe’dtoldIrisshewantedtogoout,clearherhead,getawayfromJoshandhisrelentlessI’magreatguy!smileandsparklinghazeleyes.Sohereshewas,halfdrunkatStella’sTavern,BrightFalls’sonlybar,whiletheneonjukeboxinthecornerpipedouthorriblecountrymusicandshetriednottohyperventilate.
“Idon’tthinkthealcohol’sdoingthetrick,”Irissaid.Sheturnedherheadandsurveyedthecrowd,whichconsistedmostlyofguysplayingpoolandabunchofcollegestudentshomeforthesummer.
“No,Idon’tthinkitis.”
“Youwanttogosomewhereelse?”Irissqueezedherhand.“Wecouldjustgobacktoyourplaceandwatchamovie.”
Claireshookherhead.Shefeltjittery,likethattimesheandJoshhadtriedpotduringtheirsenioryearinhighschoolandherheartracedatathousandbeatsperminuteforthenexttwohours.Shehadtogetsomeenergyout,andsittingonacouchdrinkingandeatingleftoverpizzawasn’tgoingtocutit.
“Ijustneedadistraction,”shesaid
Iris’seyebrowspoppedup.“Whatkindofdistraction?”Hervoicewasteasing,andClaireknewexactlywhatdirectionherfriendwasheaded.Iriswasalwaysreadingoneromancenoveloranother,andwasfamousforconstantlytryingtocultivatehappilyeveraftersforherfriends,evenifjustforonenight.“Like…”Irisrolledherhandoverandover,proddingClairetogoon
Clairerolledhereyesbutsmiled.“Okay,yes,fine.Thatkindofdistraction.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Irisclappedherhandsonce,thenrubbedherpalmslikesomewickedvillain.“Yes!It’sbeenforeversincewegotyoulaid.”
Claireshushedherandleanedforward.“Keepitdown,willyou?”
“Keepingitdownisn’tgoingtolandyouinthesackwithsomeone.”
“Ohmygod,willyou—”
“Hey,BrightFalls!”Iriscalled,cuppingherhandsaroundhermouthasshestoodup.Headsswiveledtowardher,mouthsalreadysmilingliketheydidanytimeIrisKellyspokeup.“Whowantsachancewiththisfine-lookingladynexttome!She’sindesperateneedofagoodfu—”
“Iris,ohmygod.”Clairetuggedonherbestfriend’sgauzytanktop,halfhopingsherippedthehemintheprocess.IrisplunkeddownintoherchairwhileClaire’sfaceburnedlikethecenterofthesun.Everyonestared,andmorethanafewliftedabrowinherdirection.MatthewTilden,whousedtomakeextremelyinappropriatecommentsaboutClaire’sassbackinmiddleschool,turnedaroundonhisbarstoolandtippedhisbeertowardher,whileHannahLi,akindergartenteacher,
“Whatthehell,Ris?”Claireasked.
“Ithoughtyouwantedtomeetsomeone?”Irissaid,hersmiledroppingawayassheleanedacrossthetable,herfieryredhairfallingintoherface.Irisdideverythingatonethousandpercent,whileClairesimmeredataroundten.
“Idid.Ido.It’sjust…”Clairesighed.Shewasn’tgreatatthis.Dating.Romance.Sex.She’dneverhadaone-nightstand,neverhadafuckbuddy.She’dhadakidatnineteen;shedidn’thavetimeforfuckbuddies.Butlately,she’dbeenthinkingabouttryingtodateagain.Thinking.Shehadn’tactedonanything.Shehadn’thadthetime.Betweenrunningthebookstoreandparentingapreteen,shecollapsedintobedeverynightaroundten,assoonasRubywasasleep.
“Howlonghasitbeen?”Irisasked.
Claire’smouthopened,thensnappedshutquickly.Ithadbeenawhile.No,longerthanawhile.
“Uh-huh,”Irissaid.“Along-asstime.Whowasit?”
“What?”
“Thelastpersonyousleptwith.Hell,thelastpersonyouwentonadatewith.”
Clairetookanotherswigofwine,knowingtheanswerwouldscandalizeIris’sromanticheart.“Nathan.”
Irisnearlychokedonherliquor.“Nathan?MyassistantNathan?TheNathanIsetyouupwithbecauseyou’rebothridiculouslydetailorientedandthoughtmaybeyoucouldbondoveryourfilingsystemorsomethinglikethat,whomyoutooktodinneratalobsterrollfoodtruckinAstoriaandnevercalledagain,makingitincrediblyawkwardformeattheshopthenextweek?ThatNathan?”
Clairesatbackinherchair,slippingoffherdarkpurple–framedglassesandpolishingthemonhershirtwhileshesaidnothing.
“Thatwassixmonthsago,Claire.Six.Ihadnoideaitwasthisbad.”
ThetiminghadbeenoffwithNathan,thatwasall.Hewasaperfectlyniceman—gorgeous,that’sforsure,andClairehaddefinitelybeenattractedtohim—butRubyhadjusthadherfirstmajorblowupwithherbestfriendthatweek,catapultingClaireintouselesslytryingtofigureouthowtohelpherdaughternavigatetheparticularkindofhellthatwasfifth-gradefriendships.Andshe’dbeenfinishingupasmallremodelinthebookstore,whichhadbeenherbiggestprojectsincetakingoverthebusinessfromhermom.Itwasimportant,alotatstake.
“AndIknowyoudidn’tsleepwithhim,”Irissaid.
Claireliftedabrow.“Isheakiss-and-tellkindofguy?”
“No.He’sclassyasshit.However,Idistinctlyrememberyoubeingwoundjustastightasyoualwaysarethenextday.”
Clairepresentedhermiddlefingertoherfriend.
Iristookasipofhercocktailandthenleanedforward.“Justplease—please—tellmethatthelasttimeyouhadsexwasnotwiththefatherofyouradorable,precious,star-of-my-heartdaughter.Tellmethatwasn’tthelasttime.”
Clairefroze,aconfessiononthetipofhertongue.Butthensherealizeditwasn’teventrue.Shewavedacasualhand.“Oh,comeon,Iris,youknowitwasn’t.”
“Iknownosuchthing.”
“Itellyoueverything.”Oralmosteverything.SheandJoshsplitupnineyearsago.Herheartpinched,justthinkingofit.Alltheyelling,thecrying.Rubyandhertinytwo-year-oldeyessowideandscaredwhilehertoo-youngmomanddadrippedeachotherapart.
“Well,Imustbehavingamemoryblock,”Irissaid,glancingaroundthecrowdedbar.“WherethehellisAstrid?Sheusuallywritesthesethingsdown.”
“What,mysexlife?”
“Allofoursexlives,includingherown.”Irisliftedherhand,pretendingtowriteintheairandputtingonaposhaccentthatsoundednothinglikeAstrid.“Monday,May3,9:23p.m.IletSpencerpenetratemetonight,whichwasquitethrilling.Nexttime,Imightgoalittlewildandventureintoreversecowgirl.Hekeepsaskingforanal,butI—”
“Ohmygod,stop,”Clairesaid,laughing.“Shedoesnotwritethatinherplanner.”
“Shewritessomethingpostcoital.Iguaranteeit.”
“Shelikesorder.You’retheonewhopersonalizedherplanner.”
“Yes,andIputalittleboxatthebottomofeverydaythatsaysIntercourse:yes,no,ormaybe,justforher.”
Clairecrackedup.“Youdidnot.”
Iriswinkedandtookasipofherdrink.They’dallbeenbestfriendssincefifthgrade,whenbothClaireandIrismovedtoBrightFallsthesamesummer.Theonlytimethey’dbeenapartwerethefouryearsAstridandIriswentofftocollegewhileClairedealtwithalittlesurpriseintheformofherdaughter.HerfriendscamebacktoBrightFallsaftergraduation,cementingtheirtriobacktogether,andClairehadneverbeensorelieved.AstridandIristriedtheirbesttobethereforherduringRuby’sfirstcoupleofyears,butsherefusedtoletthemputtheirlivesonhold.Plus,she’dhadJosh.
Untilshedidn’t.
Still,she’dmadeit,havingababyatnineteenandfallingcompletelyinlovewithherdaughter,survivingherbreakupwithJosh.Butshe’dneverbeenhappiertoseeherfriendssettlebackintoBrightFalls.Astrid,armedwithashinybusinessadministrationdegreefromBerkeley,tookoverLindyWestbrook’sverylucrativeinteriordesignfirmwhentheolderwomanretired,whileIrisworkedasanaccountantuntilshehadenoughsavedtoopenupPaperWishes,herpapershopnexttoClaire’sfamily’sbookstoreonLindenStreetindowntown.Iriswashugelytalented—shesoldherownlineofpersonalizedplannersandhadoverfiftythousandInstagramfollowers—whileAstridhadalmostsingle-handedlyrevitalizedhalfthehousesinBrightFalls.
ClaireprettymuchranRiverWildBooksnow,thestorehergrandmotherhadstartedbackinthe1960s,andwastryingherbesttobringitintothiscentury.Hermomletherdowhatshewanted,butwhatshewanted—puttinginacafé,hanginglocalartonthewalls,gettingsomee-commercegoing—tookmoney,andlotsofit.Sofar,she’dmanagedtobrightenuptheshelvesandwalls,settingupalittlereadingareawithsoftleathercouchesinthemiddleofthestore,butthatwasit.Still,itwasastart.
Clairesluggedbackanotherswallowofwine,whichdrainedtheglass.“NicoleBerry.”
Shesaidthenamequietly,itssoundstillcausingaslighttwistsomewhereinthemiddleofherchest.She’dnotonlyhadsexwithNicole,she’ddatedhertoo.ForfivewholeweeksbeforeClairereachedthepointwhereshewantedtointroducehertoRuby,andthenNicolehadpromptlyfreakedout.She’dlikedNicole.Alot.Could’veevenlovedherifNicolehadgiventhemhalfashot
Irispulledafaceather.“Nicole.”
“Yes,Nicole,”Clairesaid,hervoicelighterthanshefelt.“Shewashot,right?”Andgodshewas.Silkyhair,longlegssheusedtoslidearoundClaire’shipsinawaythatmadeClaire—
Sheclenchedherthighstogetheratthememory.God,ithadbeentoolong.
“Um,sure,yes,gorgeous,”Irissaidgently.SheknewhowmuchNicoleleavingherhadstung.“Andthatwastwoyearsago.Two,Claire.Youhaven’t”—sheshookherboobsalittle,andtherewasplentytheretoshake—“intwowholeyears?”
“Ohplease,noonehastimeforsex,Ris”washerbrilliantretort.
Irisgaveheranohyoupoorthingkindoflook.“Thatisabsolutelynottrue,andyouknowit.Ihavesexallthetime.”
“Youhaveaboyfriend.”
“Andyouhaveavibrator.”
Sheliftedheremptyglassinsalute.“ThatIdamnwelldo.”
“Andit’svery,verytired.”
Clairelaughedbutcouldn’tdenyit.She’dhadtochargehervibrator’sbatteryatleasttwiceinthepastmonth.
Irisclinkedtheirglassestogether,andClaireemptiedherlungsforthefirsttimeallevening.EversinceJoshhadshownupbackintowntwomonthsago—swearingthathewasstayingthistime,thathewasstartingaconstructionbusinessinsteadofjustpickingupoddjobswithhisfriendHolden’sbuildingcompanyhecouldeasilywalkawayfrom,
AndwithAstridspinninglikeatopoutofcontrollately,herweddingtoSpencerloominglikeadarkcloudonthehorizon…well,let’sjustsayClairewasdueafewdrinks.
“How’sitgoing?”Irisasked,readinghermindlikealways.“WithJosh?”
Claireshrugged.“Rubyadoreshim.”
“Andwe’llleaveitatthat?”
Claireblewoutalongbreath.Joshwasthefatherofherchild,andshe’dalwayslovehim.Butgoddammit,ifhegotRuby’shopesuponemoretimejusttovanishonheragain,she’dkillhim.Like,literallykillhim.Slowandpainful.She’dhadenoughunreliablepeopleinherlife,andshedidn’twantRubygrowingupwiththesameghosts.
Shecheckedherphone.Otherthanthetimeandapictureofherdaughter’ssmilingface,thescreenwasblank.NotextsfromJosh.Hervisionswamjustenoughthatsheknewonemoredrinkwouldturnhersloppy,andshecouldn’tdothatinfrontofJosh.He’dneveruseitagainsther—atleastshedidn’tthink—butshewastryingtosetagoodparentingexamplehere.
“Ishouldgo,”shesaid.
“Whataboutyourdistraction?”
Shewavedahand.“Itcanwait.”
“Astridisn’tevenhereyet.”
Clairerubbedhertemples,everythinginherlifecoalescingintoaheadachebehindhereyes.“IwanttocheckonRubyoveratJosh’sbeforeshegoestobed.”
“CheckonJosh,youmean.”
“Canyoublameme?”
Irisshookherhead.“AndIneverwill.Youknowthat,right?”
Clairepulledsomecashfromherwallet.“Ido.”
“Iloveyoursex-deprivedass.”
Clairelaughed.“Youbetter.”
“Foreverandever.”ShereachedoutandstilledClaire’shandonherwallet.“Solet’stakethisslow.”
“Takewhatslow?”
“Dating.Findingsomeoneyoulike.”
“Okay,”Clairesaidcarefully.“Whatdoyou—”
“Onenumber.That’sit.Justgetsomeone’sphonenumbertonightandgofromthere.”
Claire’sshouldersimmediatelycurledaroundherneck.Everyoneshe’deverbeenwith,she’dmetorganically.Joshwasherhighschoolboyfriend.Nicolewasalocalauthorwhowrotevegancookbooksandhadcomeintothebookstoretosignherlatestonplant-baseddesserts.Clairehandledthesigning,theystartedtalking,andthatwasthat.IrishadsetupClairewithNathan.She’dneverpickedupsomeoneinabar,buthavingwatchedIrisdoitatleastadozentimessincehighschool,she’dalwayswonderedwhatitwaslike,thethrillandexcitement.
Claireforcedherselftorelax.Thiswaswhyshe’dcomeouttonight,afterall.Shewanted…something.Neededsomeone—evenitwasjustthepossibilityofsomeone—tomakesureshedidn’tfallbackintobadhabitswithJosh.Shewasn’tinlovewithhim;sheknewthat.Butherbodygotstupidaroundhim.Alwayshad.
Thatdidn’tchangethefactthattheideaofwalkinguptosomestrangerandessentiallysayingHowyoudoing?madeherfeellikesheneededtopuke.
“Startingtomorrow,”Irissaid,sensingherimpendingfreak-out,“we’relockedintoasolidtwoweeksofweddingtomfoolery.”
“Tomfoolery?”
Irisignoredher.“I’mtalkingbrunches,lacedoilies,manicures,andasexlessbacheloretteparty.”
Clairelaughed,rememberinghowAstridhadstrictlyforbiddenanythingphallicatherlasthurrah.Nopenisstraws,nopeniscakes,andabsolutelynodildos.Iriswashugelydisappointed.
“Nottomention,”Irissaid,loweringhervoiceandleaningforward,“we’vegottohavethebigt-a-l-kwithAstrid,forwhichshe’llprobablyhateusfortherestofherlife.”
Claireclosedhereyesandbreathedinslowlythroughhernose.EversinceAstridhadshockedevenIrisintospeechlessnessafewmonthsagobyannouncingthatshewasmarryingSpencerHale,whomshe’dbarelydatedforninetydaysandwithwhomherbestfriendshadonlyminimallyinteracted,ClaireandIrishadbeenfunctioningonaconstantlowlevelofpanic.Hewashandsomeandrichandtheonlydentistintownandcouldn’tseemtogetthroughamealwithoutputtingsomeridiculousdemandonAstrid.
Handmethesalt,wouldyou,babe?
Askthewaitertobringanotherbeer,wouldyou,babe?
Youdidn’twanttherestofyourfries,didyou,babe?
Andwhat’smore,Astridcompliedeverysingletime,eventhoughthefuckingsaltwasrightinfrontofhisgolden-boyface.
IrisandClairekeptsayingtheyweregoingtotalktoheraboutit,makeaplan,butweeksturnedintomonths,andtheystillhadn’tfiguredouthowtoexplaintoAstridthatthesupposedloveofherlifewasatotaldickwad.Becausehewastheworstkindofdickwad,surreptitiousandsmiling.Halfthetime,Clairecouldn’tputherfingeronwhat
“Yourpoint?”Claireasked.
“Mypointisthatthenextcoupleweeksaregoingtosuck,andthere’snowayyou’regoingtofindsomeoneinVivian’sTearoomorataspaatBlueLilyVineyard.”
Clairebalked.“Hey,somesexystuffcanhappenatspas.”
“NotatthekindAstridfrequents.”
“Youneverknow.”
Irisleanedforward.“Soyou’retellingmethatyou’dgetbusywithyourmasseuseiftheywereintoit?Like”—sheflickedhereyesdowntoClaire’spurportedlyneglectednetherregionsandwaggledhereyebrows—“busy.”
“Oh,forsure.”
“Bullshit.”
Claireliftedherhandsandletthemdrop.“Okay,fine,soI’dliketogoonadatefirst.Sueme.”
“Iknow.You’renotwiredforcasual,andthat’sokay.Hence,aphonenumber.IknowyouhateTinderandHerandSaladMatch.”
“Idon’thatethem,Ijust—wait,SaladMatch?”
“Findyoursaladsoulmate.It’sathing.”
“Ohmygod.”
“Exactly.”
Clairerubbedhereyesunderherglasses.Thedatingworldwasterrifying.Notthatshe’dventuredintoitverymuch.She’ddippedatoeinwithNicole,andthatwasenough.“I’mraisingakidhere,Ris.”
Iris’seyeswentsoft,andshereachedoutandsqueezedClaire’shand.“Iknow.You’veworkedhard.You’vesacrificedalot,andyou’vegotagreatkidtoshowforit.”
Claire’sthroatwentalittlethickattheemotioninherfriend’svoice.“Ris—”
“Whichisallthemorereasontoenjoyanicenon-self-inducedorgasm.”
Clairesmiled,andIrisgotthatgleaminhereyes,thesamekindshegotwhenevershewasworkingonaplannerdesignorboughtabrand-newsetofTombowmarkers.Thatneversaydiekindofsparkle.
“Okay.”Clairesatupstraight,rolledhershouldersbackandherneckfromsidetosidelikeshewasgettingreadyforaboxingmatch.“Okay,Icandothis.”
“Hellyeah,youcan.”
“I’mhot,right?”
“Hotandabadassbitch.”
Sheshookoutherhands.“Justonenumber.Howhardcoulditbe?”
“Easy.Everyoneinthewholedamnroomwantsyournumber.”
“Iwouldn’tgothatfar.”
“Iwould.”IrisreachedacrossthetableandslappedClaireontheback,shouting,“Goget’em,tiger,”overthedin,andthensatbacktosiponherdrinkwithanexcitedgrinonherface.
Claireturnedinherchairandfacedthelacqueredbar,watchingitsactivityforafewseconds.ShelookedoverhershoulderatIris.“Onenumber.”
“Onenumber.That’sit.Avalidnumber.Asinsomeoneyouactuallyfindhotorinterestingorwhateverfloatsyourmomboatthesedays.”
Clairestuckouthertongueatherfriend.
“Savethatforbetteruses,mylove,”Irissaid,winking.
Clairelaughed.“Fine,fine.”Sheturnedbackaroundwithadeepbreath.Stella’swasbusytonight.Itusuallywasontheweekends.Oranyothernight,forthatmatter.BrightFallswascharming,andshelovedit,butwithonlyahandfulofshops,mostofwhichclosedatsixp.m.onthedot,andjustafewrestaurants,theonebarintownwasboundtobepackedonaregularbasis.Shescannedthetablesaroundthebartop,hopingtospotHannahLiagain.She’ddefinitelyfeelmorecomfortableapproachingawomanorsomeonenonbinary.Sincecomingoutasbiwhenshewasajuniorinhighschool,she’dalwaysfeltmoredrawntootherqueerpeopleorfemmes.Joshbeingoneofthefew,albeithuge,exceptions.Still,shekneweveryqueerwomaninthistown,andhalfofthemwerealreadymarriedorpartnered—includingIris,who’dfiguredoutshewasbihersophomoreyearincollegeandwouldalwaysandforeverbemoresisterthanpotentialpartner—sothechancesofsomeonesingleactuallyhangingoutinStella’stonightwasslim.
AndHannahwasnowhereinsight,notatheroriginaltable,notatthebar.
ClairestartedtoturnbacktoIris,readytogiveup,whenhereyessnaggedonapairoftightblackjeans.
Thewomanwaswhiteandhadjustreachedthebar,arollingsuitcasebyherside.Herhairwasdarkandcurly,volumeformiles.Shehadherbacktotheroom,andClairecouldn’ttakehereyesoffthewaysheleanedoverthebartogiveherdrinkordertoTom,thebartenderthatnight,pressingupontothetoesofherblackboots.Tattoosvineddownherbarearms.God,Clairelovedagoodtattooedarm.
Andthosejeans.Thosejeanswerenice.
“Attagirl,”Irissaidfrombehindher
Claireturned.“Youdon’tevenknowwhoI’mlookingat.”
“Please.”Iristippedherglasstowardthetattooedwoman.“Youhaveatype,andthatpersonisit,allbroodyandmysterious.”
Claireopenedhermouthtoprotest,butwhenIriswasright,shewasright.Shesmoothedherhandsoverherownjeans,madesurethecollarofherblousewaslyingflat,andadjustedherglasses.Thenshestoodupandstartedtowardthebar.ChapterThree
STELLA’STAVERNSMELLEDexactlylikeitdidthelasttimeDelilahwashere—booze,sweat,andsawdustfromthelumbermillontheoutskirtsoftownthatbig,burlyworkerswereconstantlytrackinginontheirboots.
Shehadn’texactlyplannedonstoppingbyabarthemomentshegotoutofherLyft.ButittookaboutfifteensecondsofglancingaroundthedarkenedBrightFallscitycentertorememberthatthewholedamnplaceshutdownwhenthesundisappeared,evenonaSaturday.Theinnwhereshewasgoingtostaysureashelldidn’thavealiquorlicense—itwasmoreofaglorifiedBandB—andtherewasnowayshewasdealingwithherstep-monsterswithoutalittleliquidcourage.
Onceinside,though,shehesitated,herlimbssuddenlyrubberyasthelaughterandmusichitherears.It’dbeenfiveyearssinceshewaslastinBrightFalls.She’dfledNewYork,fledJaxandhergorgeouslyingmouthforthis—thecozinessofthetown,allthesefaceswho’dknownoneanotherforlifetimes,thisclubshe’dneverquitefeltlikeshebelongedto,butfeltfascinatedbynonetheless.EversincesheandherfatherhadmovedherefromSeattlewhenshewaseight,ashinynewringonhislefthand,ithadbeenthisway,likeshewasstandingoutsideawarmlylithouseintherain,tappingonthewindow.Anditgotevenworseafterherdaddiedtwoyearslater,leavingDelilahwithastepmotherandstepsisterwhohadnoideawhattodowithher.
Delilahtookadeepbreathandeyedthebar.Itwasashortthirtypacesfromwhereshestood,aseaofbodiesbetweenherandadrink.ShewasaNewYorker.Anartist.Astrugglingartist,yes,butanartistnonetheless,goddammit.Thistown,herfamily,wouldabsolutelynotbringhertoherknees.Notanymore.
Shetookoffhergraybomberjacketandslungitoverhersuitcase.Humid,boozyairoozedoverherbarearms,butitwasbetterthansuffocatinginacoat.Anglingherbodytotouchasfewpeopleaspossible,shekeptherheaddownandwalkedswiftlytothebar.Oncethere,sheexhaledinrelief,thebartender’sfaceastrangerinsteadofsomedudeshewenttohighschoolwithwhowouldonlyendupsquintingatherlikeshewasapuzzlehecouldn’tsolve.She’dbeenpracticallyinvisibleinhighschool,aghostwithacloudofunrulydarkhairandblueeyesshekeptonthedingytilefloor,thestrangegoth,whileAstridsparkledlikeastarattheball.
“Bourbon,neat,”shesaid,settinghersuitcasenexttoastoolandrestingherarmsonthebar.Theguy—Tom,hisnametagsaid—smiledandwinkedather,thenmadeaverylargeshowofpouringherliquorintoherglassfromaheightofabouttwofeet.
Shesimplystaredathim,tappedhershortgray-paintednailsontheshinybartop.
Hesetherdrinkinfrontofherandleanedin.Floppyhair,trimmedbeard,deepbrowneyes.Probablycutetosomeonewhoappreciatedthemaleform.
“Thanks,”shesaid,tossingitback.Itburnedallthewaydown,lightingherupinawaythatmadethiswholegodforsakenweddingseembearable.Sheknewitwouldn’tlastthough.
“Youfromaroundhere?”heasked.
Shefoughtaneyeroll.
“I’mnotyourtype,”shesaid.
Hissmilefaltered.“No?”
“No.”
“Ithinkyoumightbe.”
Shetappedherglassforarefill,andheobligedwithevenmoreshowmanshipthanbefore,flippingtheglassandthebottleintheair.Oh,howshewishedhe’ddropthem.Whenhegaveherthedrink,helingered,eyesonhersexpectantly.Shesippedherbourbonmoreslowlythistime,staringhimdownwithalookthatcouldblowaholethroughthewall,inhopeshe’dscamperoff.
Hedidn’t.
Shesatdownonthestool,knowingthiswasprobablygoingtohavetoendwithhercomingouttoacompletestranger,justlikeshe’ddonesomanytimesbefore,whichwouldmostlikelybefollowedbysomehorriblethreesomejokethisdouchenozzlethoughtwassexy.
AsshefilteredthroughherlistofI’mgayscriptsinhermind,someonesteppeduptothebarnexttoher.Outofthecornerofhereye,shesawitwasawhitewoman—lightbrownhairupinamessybun,thicksidesweptbangs,darkpurple–framedglasses,andavintage-stylecoralblousewithwhitepolkadots.Delilahturnedherheadjustabitmore,takingindarkhigh-waistedjeansthathuggedcurvyhips,softarms,andnailspaintedlavender,chippedatthetips.
Thewomanturnedtoo,theireyeslocking.
Delilahsuckedinaquietbreath.
Thewomanwasgorgeous,yeah.Deepbrowneyes,longlashes,highcheekbones,andafire-engine-redmouthwithafullbottomlipDelilahimmediatelywantedtotugbetweenherteeth.Sherememberedfantasizingaboutdoingthatverythingbackinhighschool,everytimeClaireSutherlandwouldcometoWisteriaHousetodowhateverthehellAstridandhercovengotuptowhileDelilahsataloneinherroom.Clairewasoneofthegirlswho,unbeknownsttoher,helpedDelilahfigureoutshewasqueer.Clairehadbeencurvyandnerdy-sexy,andDelilahcouldseeshestillwas,herhipsandassalittlewiderthantheywerebackthen.Shelookedamazing.
Andnow,twelveyearslater,judgingfromthefriendlysmilegracingClaire’sprettymouth,sheonehundredpercentdidnotrecognizeDelilah.
Atall.
Thiswasn’tthatsurprising.Growingup,DelilahhadwatchedClaireandthatloudredhead,Iris,hangoutwithAstridmostlyfromafar.AfterDelilah’sfatherhaddiedwhentheywereten,Isabelwascompletelyshutdowninherowngriefforawhile,soAstridandDelilahhadbeenmostlyontheirownforthatfirstyear.Astridlatchedontohernewfriendsforcomfort,andDelilahretreatedintothebooksherfatherhadgivenher,thefantasticalworldswhereorphanswereheroesandtheawkwardkidalwayscameoutontop.ShewascuriousaboutAstrid’sfriends,particularlyasDelilahhadneverhadany.She’dlosthermotheratagethree,andherfather’sownquietnaturemeantthetwoofthemfellalltooeasilyintotheirownworld.Delilahwasobservant,watchful,andherfatherhadalwayscelebratedthat.Butafterhedied,everythingaboutDelilahsuddenlybecamestrangeandunwelcome.SheheardthewhisperswhenIrisandClairecameover—Whyisyoursistersoweird?Isthatherpeekingaroundthecorner?Ohmygod,youcan’tevenseeherfaceshehassomuchhair.Astridwouldshushthem,Isabelwouldsaybenignthingslike,Oh,Delilah,don’tyouwanttowatchthemovietoo?butthenthethreeothergirlswouldgosilent,obviouslyfrozeninfearthatDelilahwouldsayyes,andIsabelwoulddonothingtoactuallyenforcehersuggestion.
SoDelilahkeptherdistance,onlyansweringquestionswhenasked,whichwasn’tallthatoften.Eventually,thelonelinessgotsoheavyitfeltlikeshemightsuffocatejustsittinginherroombyherself.Shehadnightmaresaboutit,dyingandnoonerealizingitforweeksandweeks.
BythetimesheandAstridgottohighschool,they’dallfallenintoaroutine.Delilahkepttoherselfasmuchaspossible,driftingthroughherowninternalworldandonlyinteractingwithafewkidsinherartclasses.IsabelenforcedfamilydinnerseverynightanddidhercharityworkandobsessedoverAstrid’ssuccessandbeautyandstatus.AndAstrid,despitethetimesDelilahsawherbuckupagainstherincreasinglycontrollingmother,blossomedintothetown’ssweetheart,alwayssmilingandsurroundedbyadoringfans.
IncludingClaireSutherland.Soofcourseshedidn’trecognizeDelilahnow.Plus,Delilah’slatetwentieshadbeenkindtoher.Shefinallyfiguredoutwhattodowithhercurlyhair,howtomakeitlookmorelike,well,hair,asopposedtoabird’snest,andeverytattoothatnowspiraledupanddownherarmsshe’dgotteninthelastfiveyears.Sheknewshelookeddifferentthanshehadasateenager,asatwenty-five-year-oldthelasttimeshewashere.Lessmakeup,better-fittingclothes
Still,theblanknessinClaire’seyesstunglikeaslap.
“Hi,”Clairesaid,thenloweredhereyes,lashesfanninghercheeks,lipscurvingintothetiniestofsmiles.Shetuckedaloosestrandofhairbehindherearandtookadeepbreath.
Delilahliftedabrow.Wasshe…?Yeah,shewas.ClaireSutherlandwasblushing,pinkbloomingonherroundcheeksasthoughshe’dbeenoutinthewind.ShetookinthewayClairewasstanding—onekneebent,herhippoppedoutslightly,herforearmsrestingonthebarjustcloseenoughtoDelilah’sthatshecouldalmostfeelthelittlehairsalongClaire’sskin.SheglancedupatDelilah,smiledandturnedevenpinker,andglancedbackdown.
ClaireSutherlandwashittingonher.
Her.DelilahGreen,theGhoulofWisteriaHouse.That’swhatAstridandClaireandIrishadsaidaboutheronetime.Theywereallfourteenorsoandwereinthekitchen—thekitchenDelilah’sfatherhaddesigned—andDelilahslippedintograbanapple.Thethreegirlshadbeentalking,laughing,makingatotalmesswhiletheybakedsnickerdoodlesoroatmealbutterscotch-chipcookiesorsomeshit.Buttheconversation,themotion,itallstoppeddeadwhenDelilahenteredtheroom.Hercheeksburned—sherememberedthat,thefirethatfeltlikeitwouldconsumeheranytimeAstrid’sfriendswereover.Shecouldnevertellifitwasfromembarrassmentorangerordesperationtobelong.
“Hi,Delilah,”Clairehadsaidthen.
Delilahrememberedthattoo.Claireoftensaidhello,butagain,shecouldneverfigureoutwhy.Delilahliftedherhandingreeting,thestiff,awkwardgestureofalonelyfourteen-year-oldgirl,grabbedoneofthesix-dollarorganicHoneycrispapplesIsabelinsistedonbuyingfromthebowlonthekitchen’sisland,andfled.
“God,”sheheardIrissayassheleft.“Whydoesshealwaysskulkaroundlikethat?”
“Iris,”Clairehadsaid,butlaughteredgedhervoice.
“What?She’slikeaghost,hauntingthehallwaysofWisteriaHouse.No,wait,she’slikeaghoul.”
“What’sthedifference?”Astridasked.
“Idon’tknow.Ghoulsarecreepier?”
ThenIrismadeawobblywooooonoiseandallthreegirlsdissolvedbackintolaughter.Upstairs,Delilahclosedherselfinherbedroomandbitintoherapple,crunchingsohardsherememberedworryingshemightcrackatooth.
Andnow,hereshewas,theGhoulofWisteriaHousesittinginStella’sTavernwhileaverycuteClaireSutherlandsmiledather.
“Hi,there,”Delilahsaid,spinningonherstoolsoshecouldfaceClaire.ThisalsogaveClaireafullviewofherface,which,comeon,hadn’tchangedallthatmuchsincehighschool.Sure,hernaturallythickeyebrowswereabitmoreundercontrolandshe’dlearnedhowtogoeasyontheeyeliner,butstill.
ShetiltedherheadatClaire,givinghereverychancetofigureitout.
Clairejusttiltedherheadtoo,thetiniestsmileonherlips.
“Whatareyoudrinking?”Claireasked
Delilahwatchedherforabeat.Shecouldtellher.Sheshouldtellher.Sheshouldopenhermouthrightnowandsay,Hey,rememberme?
Or.
Shecouldflirtwiththisgorgeouswoman—maybeevenmorethanflirt,fulfillingeverydaydreamteenageDelilahhadaboutClaireSutherland—andseewhathappened.Clairewasclearlyattractedtoher.Shewouldn’tbestandinghererightnow,lashesfluttering,ifshewasn’t.AwarmandfuzzyfeelingfilledDelilah’schest,thinkingaboutwakingupinbednexttoAstrid’smeangirlBFF…andthentellingher.
Addedbonus?Astridwouldbesopissed.
“Bourbon,”Delilahsaid.
ClairemotionedtoTomforthesame,leaningoverthebarasshewaited.Oncetheglassslidbetweenherfingers—TomfrowningatDelilahasheveryunceremoniouslypouredthedrink—DelilahnoticedClaire’shandswereshaking.
“Cold?”Delilahasked,motioningtoherbourbon.
Clairelaughed.“No.Ithink…IthinkI’mnervous.”
Delilahnearlycackled.Thiswastooperfect.
“About?”
Clairetookasipofherdrinkandthenturnedtofaceher.Delilahspreadherknees,justalittle,justenoughthatClairewasalmostbetweenthem.Sheexpectedanotherblush,butClairesimplylookeddownandliftedabrow.
“OrmaybeIdon’thaveanyreasontobenervous,”shesaid.
“Maybenot,”Delilahsaid.
Claire’seyesnarrowed,andDelilahwonderedifshewasputtingthepiecestogether.
“It’salwaysarisk,”Clairesaid,“talkingtoanotherwomaninabar.NotthatIdothisallthatoften.”
“Arisk?”
Clairenodded.“Youcouldbestraightasanarrow.”
Delilahlaughedbutgavenothingaway.“Andyou’renot?”
“Oh.”Andtheblushwasback.“No,notatall.”
DelilahrememberedwhenClairecameoutasbiinhighschool.Itwasagloriousday,abeautiful,rainbow-huedday.NotthatDelilahhadanydelusionsthatClairewouldevergoforherbackthen,butDelilahhadfiguredoutshelikedgirlsintheseventhgrade,andthefactthatClaireSutherlandwasababyqueertoo?YoungDelilahsavoredtheknowledge,tuckeditaway,usedittogiveherconfidencewhenshegottoNewYork,whenherghoulishBrightFallsdayswerefarbehindherandsherealizedshewasprettydamncharmingandcouldflirtlikehell,thatotherqueerwomenandenbysactuallylikedher.
“Hmm,”Delilahsaid,restingherchininherpalm.“That’squitethepredicament.”
Clairelaughedagain.Itwasanicesound.Completelywithoutpretense.Shewasn’tplayingagamehere.Shewasjustcute.“You’renotgoingtohelpmeout?”
“Ihaven’tdecidedyet.”
“Well,I’dappreciateyouthrowingmeabone.I’mnotverygoodatthis.”
“Goodatwhat?”
“Flirting.”
Delilahmadehereyesdramaticallywide.“Thisisyouflirting?”
“Ohgod,”Clairesaid,droppingherheadintoherhands.
“I’mkidding,”Delilahsaid,takingasipofherbourbon.“Iknowexactlywhat’sgoingonhere.You’retryingtorecruitmeforacult.Igetit.”
Claireliftedherheadandlaughed,eyessparklingbehindherglasses.“Yougotme.I’vegottheProphetoutbackreadytoshaveyourheadandbrandaunicornonyourass.”
“Aunicorn?”
“It’saqueercult.”
ThistimeDelilahlaughed.“Well,inthatcase,signmeup.”
Claire’slipsparted,justalittle.“Really?Soyou’re…”
Shetrailedoff,waitingforDelilahtofillintherest.DelilahleanedinuntilhermouthwasrightnexttoClaire’sear,herkneesbrushingClaire’ships.Shesmelledlikeameadow,likefreshair,somedelicateflowerjustunderneath.Delilahmadeashowofbreathingherin.Ormaybeitwasn’tevenashow.Thiswomanwasfunnyandsexyandadorablyunsureofherself,andforasplitsecond,Delilahforgotwhosheactuallywas.
“I’mvery,veryqueer,”Delilahwhispered,releasingthewordsslowlywhileherbottomlipbrushedtheshellofClaire’sear.Theotherwomaninhaledsoftly,thesoundflutteringlowinDelilah’sstomach.
Clairepulledback,herdarkeyesallpupil.“That’sverygoodtoknow.”
“Isn’tit?”Delilahsaid.
TheywatchedeachotherforafewmomentswhileDelilahthoughtabouthowshewasgoingtoplaythis.TheWhat’syourname?questionwascominganymoment,andshewashavingtoomuchfuntoruinitwiththetruth.Butbeforeshecouldmakeadecision,afamiliarvoicecutthroughthecountrysongtwangingfromthejukebox.
“…where’sClaire?TellmeshedidnotgethungupbabysittingJosh.”
Atthesoundofhername,bothClaire’sandDelilah’sheadsswungtowardthevoice.Astridstoodabouttenfeetaway,shuckingoffherraincoat,nodoubtLululemonorsomeshit,hermouthrunningamileaminutetoaredhead—IrisKelly,thefinalmemberofAstrid’striad—whowasalreadysittinganddrinkingsomeclearliquor.
“Oh,there’smyfriend,”Clairesaid.Delilahjusthummed,watchingherstepsisterpourtherestofabottleofSyrahintowhatmust’vebeenClaire’sglass,fillingitnearlytothebrim.
“Easy,killer,”DelilahheardIrissay.
“She’salittlestressed,”Clairesaid.“She’sgettingmarriedintwoweeks.”
DelilahturnedtolookatClaire,whowasstillbeautifullyoblivious.“Isshenow?”
Clairenodded,thenleanedinandwhispered,“Toatotaldouche.”
Delilah’sbrowsshotup.Shehadn’tmetSteven…Spencer?No,Simon.ItwasdefinitelySimon.Shehadn’tevenlaideyesonhim,butthislittletidbitofinformation,comingfromoneofAstrid’sposse,was…interesting.
“Really?”sheasked.“Howso?”
Claireshrugged.“Spencer’sjust”—dammit,itwasSpencer—“demanding.”
“Soundslikeamatchmadeinheaven,then.”
Thewordsslippedout,andClairefrowned,eyesnarrowingsoftly.Hermouthopened,butbeforeshecouldsayanything,Astrid’svoicesplitbetweenthemagain.
“Youwillnotbelievewhatmysisterdid,”Astridsaid,takingalongpullofwine.“Well,almostdid,butstill,it’sjustlikeherto—”
HertiradecutoffashereyeslandedonDelilah.
“Wait…”Clairesaid,leaningback.Delilahwatchedher,couldseethepiecescomingtogether.Herprettymouthdroppedopen,andhereyeswentwidebehindherglasses.“Ohmy—”
“Delilah?”Astridsaid.Shestoodup,wineglassstillinhand.Shewasdressedindarkskinnyjeans,afittedwhiteT-shirt,andatailoredblackblazerthatprobablycostmorethanDelilah’swholecloset.Herblondhairwasshoulder-length,shaggybangsbrushingherbrows.Goldhoopshungfromherears,andahuge-assdiamondsparkledonherlefthand.
“Hey,sis,”Delilahsaid,thenliftedherglassinsalutebeforeknockingbacktherestoftheliquor.Shewasgoingtoneedit.ChapterFour
CLAIRE’SCHEEKSBURNEDasshestaredatthewoman,whoseflirtysmilehadturnedintoafull-onsmirk.Anger,confusion,surprise—itallstreakedthroughClairelikeaflashflood.
ThiswasDelilah?AsinAstrid’sreclusivestepsisterwhotookoffthesecondsheturnedeighteenandneverlookedback?Orbarelylookedback,atleast.ClairerememberedAstridmentioningDelilah’spromisestocomehomeforChristmasorThanksgivingeachyearandthenonlyshowinguponceortwice.Therewasthatspringtripaboutfiveyearsago,butClairedidn’tthinksheevensawDelilahthen.
Notthatshe’dtriedtoseeher.AfterDelilahhadspenttheirchildhoodprettymuchactinglikeAstriddidn’texist,Clairehadverylittlereasonordesiretoseekthewomanout.Besides,aboutfiveyearsago,ClairewasdealingwiththefalloutofanotheroneofJosh’sdisappearingacts,tryingtocomfortherdevastatedsix-year-old.Anearthquakecould’vebrokenthetowninhalfandshemightnothavenoticed.
Sheblinkedatthewoman—atDelilah—tryingtofigureouthowshe’dmissedit.Thetattoos,thosewerenew,andshecouldactuallyseeherfacenow,whereasbackinhighschool,Delilah’shairusuallycurtainedaroundherfeatures,hidingherfromtheworld.Clairedidn’teventhinksheknewwhatcoloreyesAstrid’sstepsisterhad,butnow,shecouldseethemclearasday.
Blue.
Like,sapphireblue.DarkanddeepandfixedonClaire,achallengeinthesetofherstraightbrows.
“Goodtoseeyouagain,Claire,”Delilahsaidasshesethernow-emptyglassonthebar.
Clairetriedtothinkofsomethingtosayback,somethingsmartandpithy,butallthatcameoutwasabrilliant“Uhhh…”asDelilahhoppedoffthestoolandslidintoadarkgrayjacket.Claire’spulsewasstillinherthroat,herbreathflutteringinherchestfromthewoman’smouthbrushingupagainstherear.
Delilah.DelilahGreen’smouth.
“Whatareyoudoing?”AstridsaidasDelilahmadeherwayovertothetable.
“I’mdrinking,”Delilahsaid.
“Holyshit,youlookdifferent,”Irissaid.
“Andyoulookexactlythesame,”Delilahsaid.
“I’lltakethatasacompliment,”Irissaid,grinningupather.
DelilahshruggedandtookasipofAstrid’swine.Clairewasstillfrozenbythebar,herfingersclammyonherownglass.Shewentbackthroughthenight,everymomentsinceshesawDelilahwalkintoStella’s.Wasshethatintothewomanthatshehadn’tmadetheconnection?Clearly,becauseshestillfeltthetiniestthrumbetweenherlegs,anachethatstartedupthesecondDelilahhadturnedtofaceher,kneesspreadwideandtakingupallthespaceintheworldshewanted.ThecompleteoppositeofhighschoolDelilahGreen.
Thecompleteoppositeofgrown-upClaireSutherland,ifshewasbeinghonest.
Sheshookherhead,swallowedbackthelastofherbourbon,andwalkedovertothegroup.
“Howwasyourflight?”Astridaskedherstepsister.
Delilahlaughed.“Wedon’thavetodothis.”
Astridblinked,butthenhermouthtightened.“Fine.Goodnight.You’llbetheretomorrow?”
Delilahsighed,tookanotherheartyswigofAstrid’swine.“Youemailedmetheitineraryforthenexttwoweeks.Threetimes.Iknowwheretobe.”
“Idon’tknowwhatyouknow.”
“Seeyoutomorrowatnoon,”Delilahsaidasshetookonemoresip.
“Ohshit,”Irissaid.EvenClairetensed.Astridmadesuretheweek’sitinerarywasburnedintoalloftheirbrains,andnoonwasdefinitelynottherightanswerhere.
Predictably,Astrid’sfacecontorted.“It’sten.Tena.m.forthebrunchatVivian’sTearoom.Remember?Delilah,tellmeyouremember.”
Frombehindthewineglass,Delilahsmiled,andClairenearlyscreamedather.ShewasplayingAstridlikeafiddle.
“Ugh,justbethere,okay?”Astridsaid,snatchingherdrinkback.Abitofredwinesloshedovertherim,spillingontotheroughwoodentable.
“Sir,yes,sir,”Delilahsaidsmoothly,thenstartedforthedoorwithhersuitcase.SheglancedatClaireonce,somethingflaringinhereyesClairecouldn’tname.Claireliftedherchin,tryingtoappearcompletelyunaffected,likesheopenlyhitonherbestfriend’ssisterontheregularand,ofcourse,sheknewwhoDelilahwasthewholetime.ButthenDelilahliftedabrowandpursedherlipsasiftocallbullshit,andClairewasthefirstonetolookaway.
OnceDelilahwasgone,shesatbackdownatthetableandtookherwinefromAstrid.Shewantedtochugitlikewater,butshestillneededtodrivehomeandshealreadyfeltabithazy.BourbonandSyrahprobablydidn’tmixverywell.Shecouldn’ttellifherheadwasspinningfromtheliquororDelilah.
“So…”Irissaidastheyallsettledaroundthetableagain.Shehadapurelyevilgrinonherface.“Didyougetthenumberornot?”
“Oh,shutup,”Clairesaidandthengulpeddownthewineanyway.
“What?”Astridsaid,signalingGretchen,theserverwhokepteveryoneatthetableshappy,forathirdglass.“Whosenumber?”
“Noone’s,”Clairesaid,wideninghereyesatIris.Astridwasalreadypulledtightenoughtosnapwiththewedding—nottomentionthatshestillhadnoideathatherbestfriendsdespisedherfuturehusband.Shecertainlydidn’tneedtodealwiththefactthat,nottenminutesago,herwickedstepsisterhadgottenClaireallhotandbotheredwithonelittlewhisper.IfevertherewasasensitivesubjectinAstrid’slife,itwasDelilahGreen.Andhonestly,Clairewasdoingherbesttoforgettheentireinteractionaswell.
Luckily,Astridseemedtobesufficientlydistracted.Sheleanedherelbowsonthetable,fingersmassaginghertemples.“Ihaveaheadache.She’sbeenherefortenminutes,andIalreadyhaveaheadache.”
IrisreachedoutandsqueezedAstrid’sarm.“It’sgoingtobefine.”
“Idon’tknowwhatI—”Shetookadeepbreath,followedbyasipofwine.“Idon’tknowwhatmymotherwasthinking,askinghertobethephotographer.”
“Meneither,”Irissaid,andClaireshotheralook.
“ShewasprobablythinkingthatshelovedDelilah’sdad,”Clairesaidsoftly.“AndDelilahis…well,she’s…”ShewidenedhereyesatIris,silentlybeggingforhelp.
“She’s…partofthe…family?”Irissaidslowly,herintonationtiltingupattheendlikeitwasaquestion.
Astrid’sshouldersslumped.“Yeah.Sheis.”Thenherbackwentramrodstraightandshewavedahand.“Atleast,that’swhatmymothersays,andshe’stheonewiththecheckbook.GodknowsDelilahwouldn’tcomewithoutsomeotherincentive.”
“Yourmotherstillusesacheckbook?”Irisasked,andClairekickedherunderthetable.
“Youknowshealmostbailed?”Astridsaid,ignoringIris.“I’vebeentryingtogetintouchwithherforweeksnow,emailing,texting,leavingvoicemails.Ihadtocallherattwointhemorninghertimelastnightjusttogethertotalktome.”
“Soshe’savampire,”Irissaid,tippingsomeicecubesintohermouthfromherglass.“Explainsalot.”
“Ris,”Clairesaid,shootingheryetanotherlook.
DelilahandAstrid’ssisterhoodwasn’ttypical.Delilah’smotherdiedwhenshewasonlythreeyearsold—cervicalcancer,ifClairerememberedcorrectly—andherdadmarriedIsabel,Astrid’smom,whensheandAstridwereeight,sothey’dpracticallygrownuptogether
AstridtoldthemthatDelilahwasaquietkidfromthebeginning,attachedtoherfatherlikeabarnacle,whichClairesupposedmadesense.Sheunderstoodsingleparenting.Shealsounderstoodbeingayounggirlwithonlyoneparenttorelyon—itwasaprecarious,desperate,somewhatpanic-fueledexistence.ButthenDelilah’sdaddiedsuddenlyofananeurysmwhenthegirlswereten,andtherewerenograndparents,noauntsanduncles,soIsabelhadsolecustodyofDelilah.
ClairerememberedthefirsttimesheeverwentovertoAstridParker’sbigGeorgian-stylebrickhousetoswiminthecrystal-bluepoolinthebackyard.Delilahwasashadow,peeringatthemthroughthatmassofhairaroundthebackpatio’sstonepillars.Astridhadaskedherifshewantedtocomeplayonceortwice,butDelilahneverdid,andIrishardlyeverhadverynicethingstosayabouther.Eventually,theshadowdisappeared,andthat’showitwentforyears,onandon.Delilahwasaghost,awraith.Clairealwaystriedtobenicetoher—Iriswasalittlemoreteasing,buttheywerekidsandDelilahwasstrange.Theydidn’tknowhowtohandlestrange.
Sincebecomingamother,ClairehadsometimesthoughtofDelilah.Atleastshethoughtoftheawkwardgirlshe’dbeengrowingup.Claire’sowndaughterwasaquirkykid,artisticandprecocious,easilylostinherownhead.Shewonderedifthat’sallDelilahwas,andshesimplydidn’thavetherightparenttohelphernavigateit.Isabelwasn’texactlythemostmaternalofmothers,andAstridhadbeenjustakidherself.
Now,Astridshookherhairoutofherfaceandheldupherglass.“It’sfine.It’llbegreat.”
“Itwill,”Clairesaid,clinkingherglasswithAstrid’s.
Irisjoinedin,butsheshotClairealookandmouthedphonenumberbeforetakingasip.
Claireflippedheroff.
ALLTHREEWOMENweresufficientlybuzzedbythetimeAstrid’sphonebuzzedonthetable.Shesnatchedituptoreadthetext,glassyeyesturningalittlecrazed,ifClairewasbeinghonest.SheandIrislockedgazes.Theyknewexactlywhoitwas.Theyalsoknewtheirnightofdrinkingandbestfriendrevelrywasabouttocometoanend.
“I’vegottogo,”Astridsaid.Irismouthedthewordsrightalongwithher.Clairefoughtalaugh.Becausereally,itwasn’tfunny.“ThatwasSpencer.”
“It’sonlyninethirty,”Irissaid.
“Iknow,buthe’stired,”Astridsaid,gatheringherpurse.
“And?”Irissaid.Clairewantedtokickher.Astridwasalreadystressedenough.
“AndI’mtiredtoo,”Astridsaid,standingup.“Seeyouinthemorning?”
“Elevena.m.sharp,”Irissaid.
“Don’tevenjoke,”Astridsaid.
Irislaughed,thenstoodupandkissedAstridonthecheek.“Teno’clockwithbellsandpenisnecklaceson.”
“You’reahorribleperson,”Astridsaid,butshewassmiling.
“Youloveme.”
“GodknowsIdo.”AstridcamearoundtohugClairebeforedisappearingoutthedoor.
“Anotherround?”Irisasked.
“Ishouldgotoo,”Clairesaid.“I’vegottoopenupthebookstorebeforethebrunch.”
“YouknowBriannecandothat.”
Clairenoddedbutsaidnothing.Brianne,herverycapablemanager,wasdoingthat,butshewasstartingtofeelitchy.NinethirtywasRuby’sbedtime,usually.Shewantedtosaygoodnight.Shewantedtomakesuretherewasagoodnighttosay,thatJoshwasn’tgoingtoletherstayupuntilmidnightwatchingcrappymoviesandeatingbowlsofsugarlikehedidthelasttimehe’dbeenintown.
Okay,fine,hedidn’tfeedherbowlsofsugar,buthedidforgodinnerforhomemadechocolatechipcookies.
“You’refullofshit,youknowthat?”Irissaid,butshetookoutherwallet.“Youokaytodrive?”
Claireblinkedintothestill-packedbar,gaugingherself.Shewasn’tsloppydrunk,butherheaddefinitelyfeltfloatyenoughthatshedidn’twanttoriskgettingbehindthewheel.“No,butIcanwalktoJosh’s.”Heliveddowntown,abouttwoblocksaway.
Irisliftedabrow.“Butyoucan’twalkfromJosh’sbacktoyourplace.”
Claireshrugged.Ifsheendedupsleepingonthecouch,wakinguptomakesureRubygotupatareasonablehourandatesomeproteinbeforethebrunch,sobeit.
Outside,itwasdark,alightdrizzlefrizzingupIris’shairandfoggingupClaire’sglasses.Clairelinkedherarmthroughherbestfriend’sastheywalkeddownthecobbledsidewalk.Streetlightsspreadanamberglowthroughthetowncenter,turningthelightrainintogoldendropletsfloatingthroughtheair.AfewbusinessesflewrainbowflagsforPride.AtthecornerofMainandSerenby,IrisslappedClaire’sassingoodbye.
“I’mgoingtogohavesex,justsoyouknow,”Irissaid,juttingherthumbtowardtheentranceofthebuildingwheresherentedthetop-floorapartmentwithherboyfriend,Grant.
“Noonelikesabragger,”Clairesaid
Irislaughed,butClairenoticedhereyestighten,astheyalwaysseemedtolatelywhenitcametoGrant.HewasachemicalengineerinPortland,andthey’dbeentogetherfortwoyears.Moreimportantly,hewasdesperatetohavekids.HewantedtogetmarriedandpopoutatleastfourredheadedamalgamsofhimandIris,goonvacationstoDisneylandduringthesummer,andcoachLittleLeague.
Iris…didnot.Shelovedherbrother’stwins,visitedtheminSanFranciscooften.Shespoiledthem,sentthemlavishbirthdaygifts,andhadpicturesofthemalloverherrefrigerator.ShedotedonRubyandwasAuntIrisineveryway.Butshedidn’twantherownkids.Sheneverhad.ItwasasorespotwithGrant,andClaireworrieditwasgettingsorer.
“Everythingokaywithyoutwo?”sheasked.
Iriswavedahand.“Sameargument,differentday.”
ClairepulledIrisintoherarmsandkissedthetopofherhead.Irissoftened,justforasecond,thenpinchedClaire’sbuttbeforepullingawayandheadingoffdownthesidewalk.
Clairewatchedherforasecondbeforeshemovedontoo,passingRiverWildBooks,herrecentfavoritereadsdisplayedinthewindow,alongwitharainbowflagshe’dsetupthreePridesagoandhaddecidedtoleaveupyear-round.PaperWishescameupnext,itsgreen-and-white-stripedawningflutteringinthedampbreeze.Josh’sapartmentwasonemoreblockdowninarecentlyrenovatedbuilding,aboveanewacupuncturestudiothatjustsetupshopacoupleofmonthsago,aroundthetimeherolledintotown.Itprobablywouldn’tlast.Hardlyanybusinesseverdidinthislittlecorneroftheblock,andthetownspeoplelikedtojokethatthespacewascursed.
Incidentally,AndrewGreen’sboutiquearchitecturefirmhadbeenthelastthrivingbusinesstotakeupthatspace—Delilah’sfather.
ClaireshookoffyetanotherDelilah-shapedthoughtandletherselfintheoutsideentrance,thenclimbedthestairs.AtJosh’sdoor,shestoodthereforafewseconds,listening.Musictrickledintothehallway,thatindiefolkrockthatJoshloved,andshecouldhearRubylaughing.
So,noninethirtybedtime,then.
Rollinghershouldersback,sheliftedherhandandknocked.
Andwaited.
Andthenwaitedsomemore.
Sheconsideredjustopeningthedoorandbargingin—shegrewthekidinsideinherownbody,afterall—butshedecidedtotryonemoreknockbeforegoingallSWATteam.
Finally,themusicturneddownandthedoorswungopen,revealingthefatherofherchildcoveredfromheadtotoeinmakeup.Hislipswerepink,hiseyelidsaglitterypurpleslash,androyalbluesparkledonhisfingernails.
“Hey,”hesaid.Hewasbreathinghardandgrinning,likehe’djustbeenlaughing.“Everythingokay?”
Shelethereyesflickdowntohispaintedtoes.“Ishouldbeaskingyouthatquestion.”
Heblinkedforaminute,andshesawitbloomintohiseyes—thatfearthateverythingwasn’tokay,thathe’ddonesomethingwrong.
“It’slate”wasallshesaidwhenhejuststoodthere.
“Oh.Yeah,well”—hejerkedhisthumbtowardhislivingroom,inwhichClairecouldseesomesortofblanketfortdrapedbetweenthecouches—“wewerehavingamakeover.”
“Iseethat.”
“Losttrackoftime.”
“Mm.”
Hetappedafingeronthedoorframe,andsheliftedabrowathim.
“Ohshit,sorry,”hesaid,openingthedoorwider.“Comein,sure.”
“Thanks,Ijustwantedtosaygoodnight.”
“Right,”hesaid,buthisvoicewasflat.
Insidewasallfreshpaintandsparsefurniture—whichClairewasprettysureJoshrentedalongwiththeapartment—buteventhesimplicityofJosh’sspacecouldn’thidethemess.Thesmallkitchen,whichopenedintothelivingroom,wascoveredinusedpotsandpans,redsaucesplatteredonthecounters.Bitsofdriedpastaclungtoacolander,andtheovenwasstillon.
Claireclutchedherstomach,wonderingiftheappliancewould’vecontinuedtochurnoutgasheatallnightlongifshehadn’tcomeby.Shetookafewsteps,checkedtomakesurenothingwasactuallycooking—therewasn’t—andpressedtheoffbuttonwithalittlemorevigorthannecessary.
“Ihadn’tcleanedupfromdinneryet,”Joshsaid.“Obviously.”
Shejustnodded.Shecouldalreadyfeelit—anger,sadness,terror,somethingelseshecouldn’tname—brimmingtoheredges.Anyminuteitwouldsloshover,butsheworkedhardtotampitdown,justlikeshealwaysdid.
“Mom!”Rubysaid,pokingherheadoutfromundertheblanketfort.Shewascoveredinmakeuptoo,thejobmuchmorepristinethanJosh’sownface.Sheassumedthey’dmadeovereachother.Joshwasagoodillustrator,hishandsniceandsteady.
“Hey,Rabbit,”Clairesaid,walkingovertothefortandbendingdown.Inside,fairylightsglowed,fastenedtothecottonwallswithclothespins,andanestofquiltsswirledaroundRubylikeacloud.Shewasinherpajamasatleast.“What’sallthis?”
“Dadmadeit.Isn’titcool?”
“Thecoolest.”
“Hecookedtoo.Didyouknowhecouldcook?”
Shedid.Whentheyweretogether,hewouldcookalltheirmeals.Shehatedcooking.Alwayshad.WhenitwasjustherandRuby,shemadedo,forcedherselfintoTacoTuesdaysandhadperfectedmanyacasserole,butthatwasjustthrowingstuffintoabakingdish.Joshcooked
“Iremembersomethingaboutthat,”shesaidasJoshsatdownnexttoher,crossinghislegslikeakidandgrinning.Hishairwaslongontop,shortonthesides,andlookedstupidlyadorableinthesoftglowfromthefairylights.Hishazeleyestwinkledather.Ruby’seyes.Theirdaughterhadgottenhishairtoo.Thickandwavy,strandsofgoldslippingbetweenthebrown.
“Hemadethishomemadesaucewithallthesefreshtomatoesandgarlicandoliveoilandugh”—Rubyfloppedbackontothequilts,holdingherstomach—“itwassogood.”
“Sounddelicious,”Clairesaid.“Isn’tittimeforbed?”
Rubystilledandsatup,butittookasecondtogetherbodytodowhatshewanted.Shewasallarmsandlegs,thatawkward,lankyphasesettlingonherthelastfewmonths.“It’ssummer.”
“Iknow,baby,but—”
“AndI’matDad’s.”Herdaughterglaredather,thiswitheringstarethatClairehadbecomeveryaccustomedtolately.“Dad’srules.”
Nexttoher,Joshclearedhisthroat.“Um,Rube—”
“WewereabouttowatchInsideOut.”
ClaireglancedatJosh,andhejustsmiledthatridiculoussmilehealwayssmiledwheneverthishappened.Theonethatsaid,I’mjustabigdumbkidmyself.Whatareyougonnado?
“It’steno’clock,”shesaid.
“It’stheweekend,”Rubysaid.
Clairelethereyestraveloverthefort.Teno’clockwasnobigdeal,sheknew.Neitherwastenthirty.Eleven,foraneleven-year-old,waspushingit.Butamoviewouldlastuntilmidnight,andRubywasabeastwhenshedidn’tgetenoughsleep.Crankyandwhinyandpronetotearsattheslightestproblem,allofwhichClairewouldhavetodealwithtomorrowwhenJoshdroppedheroff.Allofwhichhewouldknowifhewaspartoftheirlivesonanyconsistentbasis.Butnow,sittinghereinfrontofthe,admittedly,mostamazingblanketfortshe’deverseen,she’dbethebadguyifshesaidanyofthis.JustlikeshealwayswaswhenitcametoJosh.
“Rubes,”Joshsaid,leaningtowardhisdaughter.“Maybeweshouldcallitanight.Yourmom’sright;it’slate,andwecanwatchamovieanytime.”
Clairepressedhereyesclosed,waitingforthattoland.SheknewJoshwasjusttryingtohelp,butnowthathe’dsidedwithher,he’djustputastickofdynamiteontopofatickingbomb.
“Ugh,fine!”Rubyyelled,untanglingherselffromherownlegsandcrawlingoutofthefortandstanding.Sheballedupherlittlefists,jawtight.“Why’dyouevencomeoverhere?”
“Ruby,”Joshsaidsharply.
“It’sjustonenight,andnowyouhavetogoruineverythinglikeyoualwaysdo!”Ruby’seyesbrimmedwithtears,andClaire’sheartlurched.Itwastruethatoverthepastfewmonths,herdaughterhadgrownalittlemoodier,alittlemoretemperamental.She’dreadthiswasnormalforherage—hormoneswerestartingup,andgodknewmiddleschoolwastheworstfewyearsinClaire’sownlife,butthis,theseinstanttearsandtheyellingoverasimplebedtimesuggestion,thishappenedeverytimeJoshcametotown.It’slikeRubyranonaconstantlowlevelofpanic,alwaysworriedhewasgoingtoleave,alwayswaitingforhimtoleave,sothateverymomenthewasactuallywithherfeltlikeararejewel,aprize,andanythingClairedidtotryandmaintainamodicumofnormalcywasmetwithtantrumsandeyedaggers.
Clairestood,triedtoreachoutforherdaughter.Sometimesahugworked.
“I’mgoingtogobrushmyteeth,”Rubysaid,slappinghermother’sarmaway.
Andsometimesitdidn’t.
“WanttocomeandwatchmeandmakesureIfloss?”Rubysaid.
Inside,Claireflinched,butsheknewshecouldn’tletRubygetawaywithtalkingtoherlikethat,nomatterthecircumstance.
“That’senough,”shesaid.
Anditwas,apparently,becauseRubyrolledhereyesandstompedofftowardthehallwaythatledtothebedrooms.Adoorslammed,causingJoshtojump.Claire,shewasusedtoit.
TheystoodthereforasecondinsilencewhileClairewrackedherbrainforwhattosay.Shewantedtotakeherdaughterhome,tuckherintoherownbed,andwatchhersleep,butsheknewthatwasn’tanoption.Notunlessshewantedtodeclarewar,andshedidn’t.Nottonight.
Joshclearedhisthroat.“Hey,I’m—”
“I’llseeyoutomorrow,”shesaid,turningandheadingtowardthedoor.SheknewbetterthantoeventrytosaygoodnighttoRuby,andhonestly,rightnowshewassopissedoff,shedidn’ttrustherself.Shehatedfightingwithherkid,butshehatedthisevenmore—thisfeelingthatshewastheboringparent,astickinthemud,awetblanketthrownoveralltheglitterandfairylightsofRuby’stimewithherdad.
“Claire,hangon.”
Shestoppedatthedoorandduginsideherbagforherkeys.Shewassureashellsoberedupnow.“We’vegotAstrid’sweddingbrunchinthemorningatten,soIneedRubyhomebynine.”
“God,Astrid’sgettingmarried?”Joshsaid,stoppingwithheratthedoorandleaningagainstthewall.
Sheflickedhereyesuptohim.“Itoldyoushewas.”
Henodded,eventhoughsheknewhedidn’tremember.“Poorguy.”
“Ohstop,”shesaid,butcrackedasmile.Joshhadgrownupwithalloftheminschool,soheknewAstridwasalot.Particular,high-maintenance,woundtighterthanevenClaire,butpoorguywasn’tevennearlyaccurateinthissituation.MorelikepoorAstrid
“When’sthewedding?”Joshasked.
“Twoweeks.”
“AmIinvited?”heasked,grinning.
“Iwouldn’tcountonit,”shesaidassheopenedthedoor.Hehelditforher,hisarmoverherhead,andshegotawhiffofhisfamiliarscent—cleanlaundryandmintfromhisaftershave.Evenwithallthatmakeuponhisface,herkneeswentwobbly,justforasecond.She’dlovedthismanonceuponatime.Hewasherfirstkisswithaguy,firsttimewithaguy,firstrelationshipwithanyone.She’dmadeoutwithKaraBurkesherjunioryearinhighschool,ataHalloweenbonfirenotlongaftershecameout,butshe’dneverdatedanyoneseriouslyuntilJosh.
Heleanedclosertoher,hissmellwaftingoverherevenstronger.Hereyesflutteredshut,andsheknewshehadtogetoutofherenow.She’dmadethismistaketoomanytimes,sleepingwithhimononeofhistripsback,theemotionandstressofhavinghimreappearintheirlivesandwhatitmightmeangatheringlikeastormuntilitbrokeandtheytumbledintobedtogether.NotevenIrisknewaboutthat.Thelasttimewasovertwoyearsago,rightbeforeshestarteddatingNicole.
“Claire,”hesaid,steppingcloser,hisvoicelikebutter.Thiswaswhyshe’ddesperatelyneededtogetsomeone’snumberatStella’stonight.Shesqueezedhereyesclosed,DelilahGreenflashinginhermind.Thathadcertainlybackfired.
“Look,I’msorryabouttonight,”hewenton.“Ididn’tmeantomakeitworse.”
“Didn’tyou?”
Hurtfilledhiseyes.“No.Comeon.”
Shesighedandfiddledwithherkeys.“Iknow.It’sjust…”
“Igetit.I’munreliable.Butnotthistime.Iswearit.”
Shelookedupathim,alltheirhistorygrowingthickbetweenthemlikelife-chokingvines.Hereachedoutandtuckedastraypieceofhairbehindherear.Shealmostleanedintohim.Itwould’vebeensoeasy.
“I’vegottogo,”shesaid,backingawayandthenslippingoutthedoorbeforeshecoulddosomethingstupidlikekisshim.Sheknewitwouldn’tgofurtherthanthat,notwithRubyintheapartment,butstill.Shedidn’tneedthecomplication.Shedidn’twantiteither.Shewasjusthorny.Thatwasall.Sheknewshedidn’tloveJosh,notlikethat.Butherskinwashungry.Iris’sphonenumberquesthadsufficientlyriledherup.
Ormaybeitwasn’tonlythequest.
WhenshegotbacktothesmallCraftsmanshe’dscrimpedandsavedforyearstomakeherown,herbodystillfeltelectric,pluggedin.Onceinbed,sheslippedahandbetweenherlegs,desperatetogetridoftheachesoshecouldsleep.Butwhenherfingersstartedmoving,itwasn’tJoshsheenvisioned.Itwasn’tevensomenamelessfantasywomanshemadeupinherheadfortimeslikethese.No,thispersonhadariotofdarkcurlsandsapphire-blueeyes,tattoosviningupherarmslikesnakes.ChapterFive
WHENDELILAHFIRSTopenedhereyes,shehadnoideawhereshewas.
Chintz.
Lotsofchintz.
Hugepinkflowersswallowingherwholeinaseaofquiltsandpillows.Eventhewallpaperbloomedlikeaspringgarden.Itwasn’tanaltogetherrareoccurrenceforhertowakeupinsomeoneelse’sbed,butit’snotlikeithappenedeverydayeither.Andthewomensheusuallyspentthenightwithwerenotthetypetodrenchtheirhomesinfloralpatterns.
Aheadacheswelledbehindhereyes,herstomachroilingasshesatup.Shevaguelyrememberedmixingbourbonandwinelastnight,whichwashowhermindwrappedbackaroundtoStella’sTavernandtheKaleidoscopeInninBrightFalls.
Jesus.
Shefellbackonthepillows—whichsmelledfaintlyofgardeniasorsomeothercloyingflower—andrubbedhertemplesbeforecheckingherphone.Justafterninea.m.ShestillhadplentyoftimetogetreadyandbeontimetosnapbanalblackandwhitesofheterosnibblingpetitsfoursatAstrid’sbrunch.
God,Astrid’sbrunch.
Shesqueezedhereyesclosed,breathedinthroughhernoseniceandslow.Forasecond,sheconsideredstayinginbedandskippingoutonthewholething.Astridwasbadenough,butIsabelwassuretobethere,andDelilahneverknewhowtoactaroundherperfectly-put-togetherstepmother.Itwasliketalkingtoasmoothmarblestatue—beautiful,cold,perpetuallyconstipatedexpressionlockedintoplace.TherewasatimesherememberedIsabelsmiling,evenlaughing,lookingatDelilah’sfatherlikehenotonlyhungthemoon,butmadeitsparkleandshinejustforher.IsabelhadtrulylovedAndrewGreen;Delilahknewthatfullwell.
ItwasDelilahGreensansAndrewthatthewomanneverunderstood,nordidDelilahunderstandIsabel.AndIsabelalwaysseemedmorethanfinewiththeirmutualmisunderstanding,whichwaswhathurtmorethananything.
Delilahpulledthecoversoverherheadandopenedupheremail,hopingforsomethingfromtheFitzaboutasale,orperhapsaresponsefromoneofthephotographyagentsshe’dcontactedwithherportfoliointhelastfewmonths.
Nothing.
Sheclickedonhersentmailtab,openingthelatestemailtoanagentshewantedtorepresenthersobadly,she’dgiveupsexforadecade.Shereadthroughhermessageagain,feelingabitcalmeratherprofessionalism,herclearknowledgeoftheindustry.Thensheclickedontheincludedlinktoheronlineportfolio,scrollingthroughtheimagesofherbestwork.
Theywereallblack-and-white,allqueerwomenornonbinarypeople,allfeaturingweddingdressesorsuitsandwaterandsomesortofchaos.HerfavoritewasofaBlackwomanandawhitewoman,bothintatteredlacegowns,sticksandleavestangledintheirhair,holdinghandsandwadingintoLakeChamplaininthemiddleofathunderstorm.Notthesafestshootshe’deverdone,butgoddamn,ithadbeenworthit.Thelightwasperfect,theraindropletslikesilverbulletsshiningintheair,thedesperationevidentinthewayshe’dhadthemodels—EveandMichaela,twowomensheknewfromwaitressingattheRiverCafé—clingtoeachother.Theeffectwaslovelyandterrifyingallatonce,traumaandhope.Itwasbeautiful.
Itwasgood
Andyet,herinboxcontinuedtoaccumulatecobwebs.
SheswitchedovertoherInstagramaccount,whereshetriedpostingaphotoaday.Weirdshitshesnappedonthesidewalks.Uniqueshotsshegotatqueerweddings.Anythingthatmatchedthebrandshewastryingtobuildforherself—queer,feminist,angry,andbeautiful.
Niche.
Herstuffdidn’tappeartoworkformoststick-up-their-assNYCagents,butitsureworkedfortheInternet.ShehadclosetotwohundredthousandInstagramfollowersandcouldn’tkeeptrackofthecommentsanymore.Herqueerstuffgotthemostattention,andlatelypeoplehadbeenaskingwhetherornotshesoldherpiecesinanEtsyshop.Itwasaffirming,buttheideaofrunningherowne-commercebusiness—shipping,taxes,invoices—itallmadeherheadspin.
Shepulleduponeofthepicturesinherphotosappshe’dtakenatJFKyesterday,atripod-selfieinTerminalFourinfrontofthewordQueensprintedonthewallinhugeblueandblackmodlettersagainstthewhitebackground,herinallblackandgazingofftothesidewithonebootedfootonthewallandlooking…well,reallyqueerandangry.
Andsortofbeautiful,ifshewasbeinghonest.
SheworkedonthephotoinLightroomforafewminutes,adjustingthecontrast,thetone,thenuploadeditwithnocaptionbecausesheneverwroteacaption.Shewasjustabouttoclickherphone’sscreendarkwhenanewemailnotificationpoppedup.Itwasn’tfromanagentoranyoneattheFitzgallery,butthesubjectlinegrabbedherattentionlikeayankonherhair.
PossibleshowingattheWhitney
Delilahsatupstraight,floralcomforterslidingtoherlap,herfingertipstinglingasshestaredattheimpossiblewords.Theywerereal,though,sentfromanofficialWhitneyemailaddressnoless.Herhandshookasshetappedonthemessage.
To:delilah@delilahgreen.com
From:alex.tokuda@thewhitney.org
DearDelilah,
Hello,mynameisAlexTokudaandI’moneofthecuratorsattheWhitneyinNewYorkCity.Forthepastseveralmonths,we’vebeenpreparingforourQueerVoicesexhibition,duetolaunchonJune25,whichwillshowcasequeerphotographersandtheirworkfromalloverthecountry.
Delilahhad,ofcourse,heardoftheWhitney’sQueerVoicesexhibition.WhileNewYorkCitywashometoovereightmillionpeople,queerphotographywasstillasmallworld—nichetothetrueassholes—andthefactthattheWhitneyitselfwascreatinganentireshowcasecenteredonqueervoiceswas…well,itwashuge.Delilahwould’vegivenanythingtobepartofthisshow,butshecouldn’tevensubmitworkforconsideration.TheWhitneydealtwithagents,seasonedgalleryowners,famousphotographers.Theydidn’ttakeemailsfromqueerwomenintornblackjeansworkingweddingsandservingupsparklingroséattheRiverCafé.
Sheswallowedhardandkeptreading.
Idoapologizefortheweekendemail,butinthespiritoffulltransparency,I’mabitdesperatehere.Yesterday,amutualacquaintance,LoreleiNixon,sharedoneofyourpieces,Submerged,withme,andIwasveryimpressed.I’mwritingtoaskifyou’dliketobepartoftheexhibition.Iunderstandthisislatenotice.Usually,webookourartistsmonthsinadvance,givingthemplentyoftimetoprepare,soagain,Idoapologize.Justthismorning,oneofourpreviouslyscheduledartistshadtopulltheirworkfromtheexhibitionduetoapersonalfamilymatter,andIimmediatelythoughtofyou.Ifeelyourstyleandperspectiveisintegraltothisshow,andthisexperiencewouldbeawonderfulopportunitytoshareyourworkwithabroaderaudience.Asthisisacollectiveshow,we’reaskingeachartisttopreparetenpiecesfromtheirbodyofwork.
Pleaseletmeknowyouranswerassoonaspossible.WewouldneedyourpiecesreadyformattingandframingbyJune20,attheverylatest.
Best,
AlexTokuda
AssistantCurator,TheWhitney
they/them
LoreleiNixon…LoreleiNixon.WhothehellwasLoreleiNixon?Delilahscannedtheemailagain,landingonthepieceAlexreferenced,Submerged.OfcourseDelilahknewthepiecewell.Itwashers,afterall,andshe’dnamedthedamnthing—abrideinarustybathtubfullofmilkywater,mascaraslidingdownherface,eyesontheviewer.Whatshedidn’tknowwaswhythehellsomeonenamedLoreleihaditavailabletoshowto—
Lorelei.
RealizationflashedhotthroughDelilah’sveins.
Lorelei.
ThatwasthenameofthewomanwhoboughtSubmergedandpromptlytookDelilahhometoherbed.Blondpixiecut,talentedfingers.NotLolaorLeahorLaura,butLorelei
Whichmeantthiswasreal.Thiswasactuallyhappening.TheWhitneywantedDelilah’sphotographsontheirwalls.Granted,theyonlywantedthembecausesomeoneelsemoreimportantorhighprofilehadtodropout,butwhothehellcaredaboutthat?
She,DelilahGreen,wasgoingtoshowattheWhitney.TheWhitney.LaToyaRubyFrazier,aBlackphotographicartistwhoseworkblewDelilahaway—andwhohappenedtobejustafewyearsolderthanDelilah—hadshownattheWhitney.SaraVanDerBeek,LeighLedare.Thiswashuge.Thiswaspotentiallythethingthatcouldalterthecourseofherentirecareer.Thiswasalifechanger.
AndshewasinfuckingBrightFalls.
ShefeltaflareofpanicasshescannedAlex’semailagainforthedetails.June25,whichwasnearlythreeweeksaway,buttheyneededherworkbythetwentieth,whichwasamerefourdaysafterAstrid’sinfernalwedding.Shechewedonherbottomlip,wonderingjusthowmuchgriefAstridwouldgiveherifDelilahcrappedoutonherrightnow.
Notthatshecaredallthatmuchaboutherstepsisterlosinghershit,butasDelilah’smindranthroughdroppingthebombonAstrid,bookingaflightbacktoNewYork,thenwalkingintoherapartmentwithoutthefifteengrandIsabelwaspayingherforthisweddinggig,sheknewshewasupshitcreek.
Delilahneededthemoney.Plainandsimple.TheWhitneymightopenalotofdoors,evengivehersomesales,butsalesweren’tguaranteed,andtheshowitselfwouldn’tpayherrentandensureshecouldbuyagrilledcheesesandwichfromherlocalbodegafordinner.
Still,therewasnowayshewaspassingthisup.Shehadsomepiecesthatshereallylovedalready—maybeevenacouplethatshe’dshownattheFitz—andshe’dhaveafewdaysonceshegotbackhometofine-tunethem,takesomenewshotsifsheneededto,workintheco-opteddarkroomwheresherentedspaceinBrooklyn.
Shejustwouldn’tsleepforseventy-twohours.Oreat.Nobigdeal.
TheWhitney
Herchestswelled,andshefeltaninescapableneedtosqueal.Soshedid,niceandquiet,whileshewroteAlexbackandenthusiastically—buttotallyprofessionally—acceptedtheirinvitation.
She’djusthitsendwhensomeoneknockedonherdoor.Delilahfroze,tryingtorememberifshe’drequestedroomserviceorsomethinginherslightlyinebriatedstateuponcheck-inlastnight.Nothingrangabell,andshevaguelyrememberedhangingtheDoNotDisturbsignonherdoorknob.Bettertohunkerdowninthisseaofcottonflowersuntiltheywentaway,butshe’dbarelydecidedonthisplanwhensheheardtheunmistakablesoundofakeyslidingintoalockandthedoorswungopen,revealingAstridwithtwoto-gocupsfromtheWakeUpCoffeeCompany,thelocalcoffeeshop,stuffedintothecrookofherleftelbow,akeydanglingfromherrighthand.
Delilahdroppedherphoneandyankedthecomforteruptoherchin.“Whatthefu—”
“Iknewit,”Astridsaid,cuttingDelilahoff.“Iknewyou’dstillbeinbed.”Shesetthecoffeesdownonthedresser—theentirepieceoffurnituremightaswellhavebeenonegiantpapier-machéflower—andfistedherhandsonherhips.“It’sninethirty.”
“Howthehelldidyougetakeytomyroom?”Delilahmotionedtotherose-goldkeyring,which,unsurprisingly,wasshapedlikearose.
“Nellisaclientofmine.”
“Nell.”
“Theowner?”
“Ahyes,goodoleNell.”
Astridsighed.“Mostpeopleactuallyknowoneanotherinthistown,Delilah,andIredesignedherlivingroom–kitchencombinationlastwinter.”
“Soafewthrowpillowsandaleathercouchequalsacompleteandutterinvasionofprivacy?Isn’tthatillegal?”
Astridpulledaface,makingitveryclearthatwhatshewasabouttosaynextpainedhergreatly.“I’myoursister.”
Delilahrubbedhereyes—thatwordhadalwayssettledfunnyonhergut.“Well,youshouldhaveredesignedthisgod-awfulhotelroom.”
Astrid’sshouldersloosened,justafraction,beforelookingaroundatthegardenparty.“Jesus,it’strulyheinous.”
“IthinkIdreamedIwasgettingstrangledbyatulipallnightlong.”
“Oh,thesearepeonies,”Astridsaid,runningahandoverthepillowonarattanrockingchairbythewindow.
Delilahflippedheroff.“Iguessit’sbetterthantheEverwood.Thatplaceislikesomethingoutofahorrormovie.”
TheEverwoodInn—theonlyotherinnwithinafifty-mileradiusofBrightFallswasjustontheedgeoftown—wasnationallyfamousfortheBlueLady,thepurportedghostofascornedearlytwentieth-centurywomanwhohauntedoneoftheVictorianhouse’sbedrooms,searchingforherlong-lostloverwithaglowingbluelapislazulistonearoundherneck.Itwasalsocreepyashell,withdarkwoodfurnishings,ancientcarpetsthatprobablydatedbacktotheBlueLadyherself,andcobwebsineverycorner.PruEverwood,theowner,stillranitasaninn,asfarasDelilahknew,butitwaslittlemorethanatouristtrapthesedays.
“I’dlovetogetmyhandsonthatplace,”Astridsaid,swipingherhandoverthedresser,thenrubbingherfingerstogether,asthoughcheckingfordust.“ItcouldbereallybeautifulifPruwouldeverconsiderrenovating.”
“Pruwasahundredyearsoldwhenwewerekids.Idoubtshe’supforabigproject,”Delilahsaid,pushingbackthecoversandswingingherlegsoffthebed.
“Whoa,hey,ohmygod.”Astridshieldedhereyeslikethesunwasattackingher.
“What?”
“You’renaked.”
“Ihaveonunderwear.”
“Andnotop.”
“I’msorry,Ididn’texpectcompanywieldingafuckingkey.”
“Okay,fine,justgetdressedorwe’regoingtobelate.”
“IthoughtI’dgolikethis.”
Astrid’sarmdroppedandsheglared.
“Allright,allright,”Delilahsaid,grabbingherblackbraletteoffthefloorandslippingiton.Thenshestruckapose.“How’sthis?”
“Iwillsneakinhereattwointhemorningandstapleallyourunderweartothewalls.”
“Soundsnoisy.I’dprobablywakeup.”
Astrid’snostrilsflared.Delilahgrinned,herplanunfoldingperfectly.Ifshewasgoingtophotographthiswedding—particularlynowthatshehadatonofworktodofortheWhitneyshow—then,dammit,shewasgoingtohavefun,andshecouldthinkofnothingmoreentertainingthangettingunderAstrid’sskin.AndIsabel’s,ifatallpossible,thoughthewomanwaslikeahighlypolishedgranitewall.Astrid,ontheotherhand,waseasilyruffled.
“Isthatforme?”sheasked,motioningtowardoneofthecoffeecups.
Astridpickedupacupandheldittoherchest.“Youonlygetitifyouputonpants.”
“Itbetterbemyfavoritedrink.”
“Pants.Oradress.Ifyouownone,thatis.”
“God,Ihopethat’smyfavoritedrink.Ifit’snot,ImighthavetogobacktoNewYork.”
“LikeIknowyourfavoritedrink.”
“Americanowithtwoinchesofsteamedsoymilk,obviously.”
“You’resuchacoffeesnob.”
Delilahshrugged.Itwastrue.HerBrooklynflatwasfullofsloppily-put-togetherIKEAfurniture,butdamnifshewasgoingtodrinkshittycoffee.She’drathergowithout.
“Whatareyoudoing?”AstridallbutscreechedasDelilahpulledherbraletteoverherheadandtosseditbackonthefloor.
“Thisshirtdoesn’tworkwithabra.”Delilahslippedonherfavoriteblacksilktankshe’dplannedtoweartoday,specificallyforitsmodestnecklineandbordering-on-inappropriatelowarmholesthatrevealedhalfherribcage.Sheturnedtograbherhigh-waistedlinenpantsoutofhersuitcaseandnearlysmiledasAstrid’shorrorgrew.Shemust’veseenthesideboob.
“We’regoingtoVivian’s,”shesaid.
“Iknow.”Delilahpulledonthecream-coloredpants,tuckinginthetankandsmoothingdownthepleatsbeforeslippingonapairofblackheeledsandalsanddrapingafewthingoldchainsaroundherneck.Thefinallookwassleekashell.AndbyAstrid’sresignedsigh,sheagreed.
“Justdon’tturntothesidewhenMom’saround,okay?”shesaid.
“Iwouldn’tdare.”Oh,shewouldthough.Shewouldtotallydare.
“Anddosomethingwithyourhair.”
Delilahsmiledwithallherteeth.“You’readelight.”
Astridwinced.“I’malittleonedge,okay?”
Delilahdecidedtoignorethis,headingintothebathroomandbrushingherteethforthefulldentist-prescribedtwominutes.Thensheaddedatouchofmascaraandsomecherry-redlipstick—god,Isabelwouldlovethat—beforecheckingoutherhairinthemirror.
Itwashuge,curlsandcorkscrewsfrizzingoutallovertheplace.Usually,shesleptwithitallpiledontopofherheadorwrappedinasilkscarftoavoidwakingupinsuchaway,butlastnight,well,she’dbeenjet-laggedandhalfdrunk,nottomentionalittleamped-upfromClaire-freaking-Sutherland.
“Sowho’sgoingtobetheretoday?”sheaskedAstridasshetookoutabottleofherfavoriteblueberryhairgel,squeezedoutapenny-sizeblob,andmixeditwithsomewaterbeforesmoothingitovereachsectionofherhair.
“Well,Mom,ofcourse,”Astridcalled.“AndSpencer’smother,grandmother,andsister.Thegirls.”
Thegirls
“Ah,thecoven.”
“Don’tcallthemthat,”Astridsaid,appearinginthedoorway.Shewaswearinganivorybandagedress,simplepearlsaroundherneck,asinglediamondsolitairesparklingonherfinger.
“What?Covensarepowerful,feminist,badassgroupsofwomen.”
“Somehow,Idon’tthinkyoumeantitlikethat.”
Delilahgrinnedatherinthemirror.“So…Claire’slookingwell.”
Astrid’sposturewentrigid,hereyesnarrowingonDelilah’sreflection.
God,shemadeittooeasy.Delilahtiltedherheadinnocently,wideninghereyeslikeaningenue.“Verywell.”
“Don’t,”Astridsaid.
“Don’twhat?”
“Claireisnotyourtype.”
Delilahturnedaroundandfoldedherarmsoverherchest.“Oh,Ithinksheis.”
“Well,you’renothers.”
Delilah’seyebrowspoppedup.“Youdon’tthinkso?”
“Noway.”
“That’snotwhatitfeltlikelastnight.”
Astridstraightenedevenmore,ifthatwaspossible.Shewaslikeadrytwiginthewinter,readytosnap.“Whataboutlastnight?”
Delilahshruggedandturnedbacktothemirror.“Just,youknow.”
“No,Idon’t.Clairewouldnevergoforyou.”
Now,thatstungabit,butDelilahtriednottoletitshow.Shefiddledwithherhairabitmore,twirlinganerrantcurlbyherearintotherightpattern.“Andwhynot?”
Astridlaughed,abittersound.“Um,becausesheactuallylikespeople?”
Delilah’smouthdroppedopen,acleverretortrightonthetipofhertongue,butnothingcameout.Ittookherasecondtogethercomposureback,toremindherselfthatsheneededthemoneyfromthisjob,thatshewasn’tthesamegirlshe’dbeeninhighschool,thatshedidn’tneedAstrid’sfuckingapproval,andthatClaireSutherlandhadveryclearlybeenintoherlastnight.
AfactshehadnodoubtwoulddriveAstridabsolutelycrazy,nottomentionIsabel,whoadoredClaireandIrisliketheywereherown.Andherecamethebig,baddykeDelilahGreentocorrupthersweetlittlegirls.God,thatwomanmust’vereallylovedherfathertohavewantedDelilahatthewedding.
“IthinkI’mexactlyClaireSutherland’stype,”shesaid.
“Ijustmeantshe’snotintocasual,Del.And…well,youare.”
Delilahgrittedherteeth.ShehatedwhenAstridcalledherDel.Herstepsisterhadn’tsaidanythingthatwasn’ttrue,atleastasfarassheknew.She’dnevertoldAstridaboutJax,whomDelilahmetsevenyearsagoataqueerweddingshewasworking.WhatstartedasastandardhookupwiththemaidofhonorledtoDelilahfallinghardandfastforthefirstandonlytimeinherlife,asharedapartmentinBrooklynwithinsixmonths,anddreamsofyearsspententangledonthecouchwatchingmoviesandrushinghomefromajobtokissafamiliarmouth.
Jax,asitturnedout,hadotherdreams
Beforeher,Delilahhadn’tdonerelationships.Andafter…well,shedefinitelydidn’tdothemafter.Theysimplyweren’tworthit,andJaxhadmadeitclearDelilahwasn’tworthiteither,evenafternearlytwoyearstogether.Delilahlikedsexthough.Shelovedsex,andNewYorkCitywasfullofqueerpeoplejustlikeher,womenandenbyswhosimplywantedthat—skinandbreathandmouths,onenightwithsomeoneelsefillingyourbedwithoutasinglestickystringattached.
ButAstrid,hersister,partofthetangleofreasonsDelilahdidn’tdorelationshipsinthefirstplace,tellinghershecouldnevergetsomeonelikeClaireSutherland?Theimplicationmadeherfeellikeshewasfourteenagain,anoddball,Astridandthegirlsstandingaroundthekitchenandlaughing.
Delilahturnedaround.“You’rewrong.”
Astridshookherhead.“Leaveheralone,okay?She’sbeenthroughenough.”
Delilahfrowned.SherememberedhearingClairehadakidyoung,didn’tgotocollegeliketherestofthecoven,andstayedinBrightFallstorunherfamily’sbookstore.Oh,damn,yeah,thatwasrough,havingajobandaroofoveryourheadandasuccessfulbusiness.“Allthemorereasonforhertohavealittlefun.”
“Justdropit,willyou?Let’sgo.”
Butshedidn’twanttodropit.Shewantedtoberight.Foronce,shewantedtowinagainstAstridParker,tobesomeoneotherthanthewomanwhoneededherstepsister’smoneytopayherrentthismonth,thegirlontheoutside.Eventhewhisperofavictory,ghoulishlittleDelilahGreenwooingoneofAstrid’sperfectprincessesintoherbed,feltlikeadruginherveins.
“Let’smakeabet,”shesaid.
“Abet,”Astridsaid,hervoiceflat.
“I’llbetyouIcangetClairetorealizeI’mexactlyhertypebyyourwedding.”
Astridrolledhereyes.“Areyouserious?I’mnotbettingonmybestfriend’slovelife.What’seveninthatforme?”
“Winning?Beingright?Iknowyoulovethat.”
“I’vealreadywon,”Astridsaid.“She’dneverdoit.”
“Whynot?”
“Becauseshelovesmeandshe’smybestfriend,twoconceptsIknowarecompletelyforeigntoyou.”
Shespitthewords,andtheyhadtheirdesiredeffect,Delilah’slungsfeelingsuddenlyairless.Shedidn’tleton,though,keepingherfaceperfectlypassiveasshegotherselftogetherinwardly.
Besides,thistime,AstridParkerwaswrong.True,Delilahhadn’texpectedhertoactuallytakethebet,butitwasenoughthatitwasoutthere,achallengethatDelilahwasdamnsureshewasgoingtowin,especiallysinceClairewastheonewhostartedthiswholethinglastnightatStella’s,flutteringherlashesatDelilahthewayshedid.
“Canwejustgoalready?”Astridsaid.Delilahsmiledatherreflectioninthemirror,pullingononeofthearmholesofhershirttorevealjustalittlemoresideboob.
Astridhuffedthroughhernosebeforespinningandallbutstompingbackintothebedroom.
“Ready,”Delilahsingsonged,loopinghercamerabagoverhershoulder.
“Here,”Astridsaid,shovingthecoffeecupatherstepsister.
Delilahtookasipofthedrink,thebitternessofplainblackcoffeemakinghershudder.Mostdefinitelynotherfavorite.
WHERETHEKALEIDOSCOPEInnwasdrenchedinflowers,Vivian’sTearoomindowntownBrightFallswasdrowningincrystal.Chandeliers,saltandpeppershakersonthewhitelinen–coveredtables,vasesfullofcream-coloredminicallalilies,andflickeringivorycandlesinsideroundcrystallineglobesasthecenterpieces.Everythingwascream,white,ivory,orgold,asthoughaneliteweddingplannercameinandprojectilevomitedallovertheplace.
DelilahhadonlybeeninsidetheroomforatotalofthirtysecondsbeforeIsabeldescended.
“Theresheis,”herstepmothersaid.DelilahbracedherselfbutsoonrealizedIsabelwasn’teventalkingtoher.
ShewastalkingtoAstrid.
“Cuttingitalittleclose,aren’twe,dear?”Isabelsaid,glidingoverlikeabatthroughhercave.Shewasdressedinanivorypantsuit—thecolormatchedAstrid’sdressperfectly,becauseofcourseitdid—andthree-inchivorypumps.Thewomanwasalreadyasolidfivefeetninewithoutherpreciousstilettosandpushingsixtyyearsold,butgodforbidsheeverwentanywherewithoutheels.No,IsabelParker-Greenhadtopositivelytoweroverherminions,orelsetheymightjustforgettheirplace
Astridtensed,hershoulderlikeabrickwallagainstDelilah’s.
“Inmyday,bridesarrivedearlytoeverysingleeventsoastogreettheirguests,”Isabelwenton.Shereachedoutandsmoothedthealready-smoothfabricatAstrid’ship.“ButwhatdoIknow,right?IguessIshouldjustbegratefulyoudidn’tmeetSpenceronsomewebsite.”Shesaidwebsitelikeitwasafour-letterword,whichIsabelabsolutelyneveruttered.
“Sorry,westoppedforcoffee,”Astridsaid,exhalingheavily.
Isabelfrowned.Atleast,sheseemedtotrytofrown.Delilahsawatwitchnearherpink-paintedmouth,buttheskintheresimplybouncedbackintoperfectformation,Botox-infusedsoldiersreadyforinspection.“Coffee?Beforecomingtoatearoom?Astrid,really,I’m—”
Delilahploppedhercamerabagontothenearestpristinegold-and-whitetable.Crystalrattledagainstcrystal.“WhereshallIsetup?”
Shesaidthewordssosweetlyherteethached.AndsheplannedtopairthemwithsomedaggereyesinIsabel’sgeneraldirection,butassoonasshe’dmadeherpresenceknown,sheregrettedit.WhenIsabelswungherSaurongazetowardher,Delilah’sheartimmediatelystartedpounding.Herpalmsgrewclammy,andshehadanalmostuncontrollableurgetocurtainherhairaroundherface.Sheresisted.Shewasnearlythirtyyearsold,forChrist’ssake.ShewasaNewYorkernow,agrown-asswoman.ShehadashowcomingupattheWhitney.Shecouldhandleasmall-townsocietypriss.
Exceptthissmall-townsocietyprisshadbeenherparentduringthemostformativeyearsofherlife,entrustedbyhersweet,naivefathertoprovideandcareforhisonlydaughter,andDelilahwasstillwaitingforthatcareparttokickin.
Isabel’seyesskateddownDelilah’stattooedarms,lingering,Delilahwasalmostpositive,onthebloomingblack-and-graywisteriathattrickleddownherleftforearm,endinginasun’scurlingraysatherwrist.Wisteriahadbeenherfather’sfavorite,thereasonhe’dnamedhishomewhathedid,carefullyplantingthepurpleflowersothatitvinedoverthefrontofthehouselikeaguardian.WhenDelilahgotherfirsttattoofiveyearsago,itwasalwaysgoingtobewisteria.Notforthehousethatshecouldn’twaittoescape,butforherfatherwhodreamedofafamily,thelifehewantedtogiveher.
“Delilah,darling,isthatyou?”Isabelsaid,somethinglikeasmileattemptingtosettleonherfrozenlips.ShecameatDelilahwithopenarms,settlingherhandsonherstepdaughter’sshouldersassheair-kissedbothsidesofherface.“It’sbeensolong,Ihardlyrecognizedyou.”
Shedrewoutthesoforwhatfeltlikeathousandyears.
“It’sme”wasDelilah’sbrilliantretort.
“You’relooking…well,”Isabelsaid.
“Why,thankyou,Mother,”Delilahsaidback.Isabelwincedslightly.She’dneveraskedDelilahtocallherMomorMotheroranythingotherthanIsabel,andDelilahknewexactlywhentobringitout.“Youtoo.”
Isabelbaredherteeth,herownspecialversionofawarmsmile.“You’recomingtoMonday’sdinner,yes?Tomorrownight?”
IntheextremelydetaileditineraryAstridhademailedher,nestledinbetweenSunday’sbrunchandatwo-daytriptoavineyardintheWillametteValleywasaMondaynightdinneratWisteriaHouse.DelilahwashopingtoavoidIsabel’slairduringhertimeinBrightFalls,buttheweddingitselfwastakingplaceinthebackyard,nottomentiontherehearsalandtomorrow’sdinner.
Still,thethoughtofwalkingintothathousealwaysmadeherstomachcramp.
“Yes,she’llbethere,”AstridsaidwhenDelilahjuststoodtherewithhermouthpursed,addingasubtleelbowinDelilah’sribs.
“Withbellson,”Delilahsaid.
“Butnotliteralbells,”Astridsaid,herelbowdiggingdeeper.
Delilahside-eyedherstepsister,becausereally?Thenagain,thethoughtofshowingupwithactualbellssomehowattachedtoherperson,clingingandclangingagloriouscacophonyanddisruptingthemuseum-likequietofIsabel’sdungeon,didsoundlikesomethingDelilahwouldbeinto.AndwithIsabel’sage-oldairofentitlementandAstridoverherebossingheraroundlikesheownedher—whichshesortofdidforthenexttwoweeks—Delilahcouldsensethatfamiliaranxietybubblingupagaininherchest,thepressuretopleasejusttoearnasidewaysglance.
Andthefeelingreallypissedheroff.Oh,therewouldbebellsallright.
“I’msoglad,”Isabelsaid,thenwavedahandatDelilah’sarms.“Thesearenew.”Thewisteriawasjustoneofmanytattoos.Shehadmoreflowersspiralingupherleftarm;abirdarchingoverherrightshoulder,anemptycagejustunderneath;alittlegirlholdingapairofscissors,thecutstringofakitefloatingoffnearherelbow;atreehalfcoveredinverdantleaves,halfwinterbare;morebirdstwistingbetweenevenmoretreesandflowers,flyingfreeandwild.Shelovedhertattoos.Eachonemadeherfeellikeherself,likeherownperson,afeelingsheonlyexperiencedafterleavingWisteriaHouse.
“Theyare,”Delilahsaid.
Isabel’smouthtwisted—ortriedto—andshenoddedwhilecontinuingtoscanDelilahasthoughforinspection.“Well,they’relovely.AndhownicetohavethemonfulldisplayhereatVivian’s.”Sheflashedherteethinawaythatindicateditwasn’tniceatall.
Delilahflashedherteethrightback.Shewasnotgoingtoletthiswomanwin.Shewasgoingtobeinthisfun-forsakentownforfourteendays,andthistime,shewasgoingtowin,goddammit.
Sheretrievedhercamerafromherbag,attachedtherightlensforcandids,andloopedthestrapoverherhead,makingsuretoliftherarmsniceandhighandangleherbodysoIsabelgotafullviewofhersideboob.Shemighthaveeven…jiggledalittle.Sheknewshe’dhithermarkwhenherstepmothersuckedinabreath,promptlyturnedonherstilettos,andmarchedofftowardawomanDelilahassumedwastheweddingcoordinator,judgingbyherFrenchtwist,professionalattire,andiPad.
“Ithoughtyouweregoingtokeepthathidden,”Astridsaid,noddingtowardDelilah’sribcage.
Delilahsmirked,wrappingbothhandsaroundhercameratohidethefactthattheywereshaking.“Oh,comeon,youknewIwasn’tgoingtomissanopportunitytoruffleMommyDearest’scouturefeathers,nowwasI?”Thensheshimmiedhershoulderbackandforth,justonce,causingheradmittedlysmallbreaststoundulateunderherblouse.
Astrid’smouthtwitched,andforasplitsecond,Delilahcould’veswornherstepsisternearlysmiled,butthenthefrontdooropenedandthesmilewasgone,replacedbyherusualworry-brow,thattightsettoherlipsthatmadeherlookexactlylikeIsabel.SherolledhereyesatDelilahandthenheadedtowardthewomennowspillingintotheroominaflurryofteadressesandlace.
Delilahgrabbedhermomentoffreedomandspedtowardatablewithachampagnefountainwhereatowerofglassflutesrosetallandproud,alreadyfilledwithsparklinggoldenliquidandasplashoforangejuice.Shestowedhercamerabagunderneath,theivorysatinclothhidingeverythingaway,beforetakingafluteoffthetop.Normally,she’dneverdrinkonajoborwhileworkingonapiece.
Butthiswasanythingbutnormal.
Fromacrosstheroom,shecaughtIsabelwatchingherwiththatquintessentialjudgyexpression—mouthpuckered,eyesnarrowed.OrmaybethatwasjusttheBotox.Eitherway,Delilahtippedherglasstoherandthendownedthedrinkintwogulps.Thebubblesburnedherthroat,butherlimbswarmedprettyquickly.Shetookafewdeepbreaths,readyingherselftodoherjob.Shecouldblendintothewalls,likeanyeventphotographershould,gothroughthemotionsuntilthisdaywasover.She’ddoneitathousandtimesbefore.Twohours,tops.Surely,thisblandcrewwouldn’tbrunchforlongerthanthat.
Aftershefeltsufficientlysteeled,sheturnedaround.Acouplemorepeoplehadarrived—anolderwomanwithacoifofdyedblondhairsheassumedwasthemotherofthegroom,awomanaroundDelilah’sagewholookedaboutashappytobethereasshefelt,andanelderlyladywhoseemedtoberippingIsabelanewonefornotalreadyhavingadrinkinherhand.Delilahlikedherimmediately.
Sheliftedhercameraandsnappedapictureoftheinteraction,capturingIsabel’sfakesmileandtightjaw.Howlovely.Howverymotherofthebride.
Delilahgrinnedtoherself,thinkingofalltheless-than-flatteringmomentsshecouldimmortalizeoverthenexttwoweeksifshesochose.She’dworkedalotofweddingsoverthepasttenyears,andiftherewasonethingshe’dlearned,itwasthattheybroughtouttheworstinpeople.
Shestartedaslowcirclearoundtheroom,snappingthefooddisplay—therewerepetitsfours,ofcourse,allgoldandwhiteandivoryicingandembellishments—andthetablesettings.Figuringsheshouldgetsomeshotsofthebrideherself,shemadeherwaytowardAstrid.IrisandClairewereboththere,thethreeofthemhuddledtogetherandtalkinginlowvoices.AsDelilahgotcloser,theirtonessoundedtense,stretched,andshereadiedhercameratofreezethemomentintime.
ButthenClaireshifted,andDelilahcaughtaglimpseofherfacearoundAstrid’sblondhead.Hereyeswereredanddamp,andshedabbedfuriouslyatthemwithatissue,tryingtokeephertearsfromformingamascaratraildownhercheeks.
God,shewasgorgeousevenwhenshecried.Delilahangledherheadtogetabetterlookather—hairupinatwist,softtendrilsaroundherface,ahunter-greenlacedressthatlookedlikesomethingrightoutofTheGreatGatsby,tealengthwithlacesleevesthatstoppedatherelbows,afittedlacebodicethatshowedjusttherightamountofcleavage,andalittlesatinbowathercurvywaist.Shehadagarmentbagtossedoveronearm.
“Iknewthiswouldhappen,”Clairewassaying.“Goddammit,Iknewit.Iknewhe’ddothis.I’msosorry,Astrid.”
“Hey,comeon,”Astridsaid,herhandonClaire’sarm.“It’sfine.Idon’tcareifRuby’slate.”
Irissnortednexttoher,andAstridelbowedher.
“Idon’t,”Astridsaidagain,hereyesonClaire.“Ijustwanthertobepartofthis.”
Clairenodded.“He’sonhisway.Hesaidhewas,anyway.”
AstridsmoothedherhanddownClaire’sarmwhileIrissaidsomethingaboutliquidcourageandmadeabeelineforthechampagnetable.Throughthespaceherabsencecreated,ClaireliftedhereyesandmetDelilah’s.MaybeDelilahwasimaginingit,wishingitintobeing,butshesworeClaire’spupilswidenedalittlebehindherglassesandhermouthparted,justalittle.
Justenough.
Oh,Astridwasso,sowrong.Delilahwastotallygoingtowin.ChapterSix
CLAIREWASGOINGtokillJosh.Evisceratehim.Flayhimalive.Cookhiminacauldronwithhisownjuices.
Thismorning,she’dwokenupbeforesevenandtextedhim.
Goodmorning!Areyoutwoup?
Asimple,easygoingmessage.Nothingtoodemanding.She’devenprefacedthequestionwithajollygreeting,forgod’ssake.Hehadn’trespondedforanotherhour,butthatwasokay.Eighto’clockwasstillplentyoftimetogetRubyupandmovingandhomebyninesoshecouldchangeintothedressAstridhadboughtforhertowearatthebrunch.Itwaslavender,alllaceandsatin,andRubypositivelyhatedit.Clairedidn’thavethehearttotellAstrid.Twoyearsago,Rubywould’velovedthedress,butnowitseemedherdaughterbalkedatanythingotherthanjeans,darkcolors,andClaire’soldninetiesbandT-shirtsRubyhadfoundinaboxintheiratticsixmonthsago.ClairehadmanagedtoconvinceRubytosuckitupandbepolite—thedresscostmorethanClaire’sownvintageoutfit,afterall,andRubytrulylovedAstrid—butClairealsoknewthatRuby’smoodswunglikeapendulumthesedays,anditwouldbebettertogetdressedathomeratherthanatVivian’s.
Hence,herrequestthatJoshhavetheirdaughterhomebynineo’clockthatmorning.
Butnineo’clockcameandwent.
Whereareyou?she’dtextedhimat9:01.
Onit!he’dtextedback,butclearly,hewasn’tonit,becausewhentheclockstrucknineforty,Clairehadtoleaveorriskbeinglate,andoneofthemaidsofhonorcouldabsolutelynotbelatetoaweddingeventinAstridParker’sworld.ClairedrovetoJosh’sapartmentandbangedonthedooratninefifty.Nooneanswered,andshewasonthevergeofapanicattack,becausenowshenotonlyenvisionedthateyetwitchAstridgotwhenevershewasstressed,buthermombrainranthroughamillionhorrifyingscenarios,everythingfromacaraccidenttoJoshkidnappingtheirdaughterandtakingoffforCanada.
Wherethefuckareyou?she’dtextedwhensheparkedoutsideofVivian’s,herhandsshakingandtearsswellingintohereyes.Maybethefuckwouldgethisattention.Shehardlyeverusedtheword,reservingitfortimeslikethiswhenshefantasizedabouthackingoffavitalpartofJosh’sanatomy.
Onourway!hetextedback.Clairewantedtowrapthathappyexclamationpointaroundhisneck.Stoppedfordonuts!Andthenhe’dhadthegalltofollowthatupwithadonutemojiandagreenheart.
Now,shestoodinthemiddleofVivian’sextravagantballroom,marbleunderherheels,eyesredandpuffy,whileDelilahGreencaptureditallonfilm.
Ormaybenot.Shehadn’tactuallyliftedthecameratoherfacesinceshe’dspottedClaire,butshewasstandingawfullyclosewhileClaireunraveled,lookingridiculouslyhotinablacksilktankandsleekcreampantsthatmadeheralreadywillowyframeevenmoreelegant.
Andthosetattoos,Jesus.Claire’seyessnaggedononeinparticular,lightningboltsandraindropletsfallingfromagraycloudintoanocean-filledcup.Astorminateacup.
She’dbarelynoticedanyspecificdesignslastnight.She’dbeentoobusytryingtoactlikeshewasn’tanexhaustedmomofanangstypreteenwhileshehitonAstrid’sestrangedstepsister.AndthatDelilahhadclearlyknownwhoshewas…No,shecouldn’tthinkaboutthatrightnow.Sheneededtofocusherenergiesonnotcommittinghomicide.ShelookedawayfromDelilahjustasVivian’sfrontdoorburstopenbehindher,JoshandRubyspillinginsideandlaughing.
“Morning,ladies!”Joshcalledwhenhespottedthem,pullinghisaviatorsunglassesdownhisnose,revealingthosetwinklingeyes.
Irisgrowled.
“Joshua,”Astridsaid,foldingherarmsandglaring.
“Ihearcongratsareinorder,”hesaid,butthenheheldhishandspalmsupandmovedthemupanddownlikeabalancescale.“Orcondolencestothegroom.Eitheror.”
“Goodbye,Joshua,”Astridsaid.
“What,I’mnotinvited?”heasked,presentingthatpanty-droppinggrinthathadgottenClaireintotroubleinthefirstplace.
Astridsaidsomethingback,becauseAstridcouldneverkeephermouthshutonceJoshopenedhis,butClaireignoredthemboth.IfshetalkedtoJoshrightnow,she’dclawhisfaceoff.She’dlearnednottoengagewithhimwhenshewasthismad.Shealwayscameoutfeelinglikeshewasoverreacting,likeshedidn’tknowhowtorelaxandwhateverJoshhaddonewasactuallynobigdeal.
Andlately,nothingpissedheroffmore
Clairemadeherwaytoherdaughterandwrappedherinahug.“Hi,baby.”
“Hey,Mom.”RubywasdressedinherusualblackjeansandblackT-shirt,thisonefeaturingBush’salbumcoverforSixteenStone
“Havefun?”
“Thefunnest.Wegotdonuts,andDadletmehavecoffee.”
Claireignoredthatlastpart.“Good,I’mglad.Let’sgetchanged,okay?”Sheheldoutthegarmentbagandsmiledbrightly.
Rubytookthebag,buthershouldersslumped.“DoIhaveto?”
“Honey,wetalkedaboutthis.”
“Iknow,but…thedressitches.AndIhatethecolor.It’salittlekid’scolor.”
“Itisnot.Iwearlavenderallthetime.”
“Yeah,butyou’remymom.”
Shesaidmomlikeshemight’vesaidthewordscorpion
ClaireforcedasmileandtookRubybytheelbow,walkingherovertothehallwaythatledtothebathrooms.“It’sjustfortoday.Ipromise.”
“DadsaidIdidn’thavetowearit.”
Clairegrittedherteeth.Killhim.Cookhimonaspit.“Dadisnotinchargerightnow.AndthisisforAuntAstrid,okay?YouloveAuntAstrid.”
“IfAuntAstridreallylovedme,she’dletmebemyself.”
Clairefeltthecolordrainfromherface.ShecouldalmosthearexactlyhowJoshwould’vesaidthosewordstoRuby,kindly,gently,likeitwasthemostnaturalthingintheworldtosimplydowhateveryouwanted,wheneveryouwanted,consequencesandotherpeoplebedamned.
“Ruby,I…”
Butshedidn’tknowwhattosaytothat.Didn’tknowhowtocombatit.Allhermomwisdomflewrightoutofherhead,andshefeltaweightsettleonhershoulders,thatheavyfeelingofbeingunabletowin.
“CanIseeit?”
Claire’sheadsnappeduptoseeDelilahGreenstandingaboutfivefeetaway,leaningagainstthehallentrywaywithherheadtiltedatRuby.
“Seewhat?”Claireasked.
ButDelilahwasn’ttalkingtoClaire,apparently.ShelookedstraightatRubyandaskedherquestionagain,noddingtowardthegarmentbaginherarms.
“I…Iguess?”Rubysaid.“Whoareyou?”
Delilahsmiledandwalkedtowardthem.“Wickedstepsister.”ThenshewinkedatRuby,andClaire’sdaughteractuallybrokeoutinafull-facesmile,eyescrinklingandeverything.
“Oh,I’veheardaboutyou,”Rubysaid,stillgrinning.
“Ruby,”Clairesaid,butDelilahjustlaughed.
“Haveyounow?”
Rubynodded.Clairecouldn’trememberevertalkingaboutDelilaharoundRuby,butgodknowswhatIrishadsaidattheirhouseononeoftheircocktailnights.Afterevenonedrink,shegotevenmoreloose-lippedthannormal,andRubylikedtolurkwhenshewassupposedtobeinbed.Clairehadcaughthermorethanonceovertheyears,sprawledoutonherstomachinthehallwayjustoutofsight,herchinproppeduponherhands,eyeswideandhungrylikeshewaslisteningforsecretsaboutburiedtreasure.
“Whathaveyouheard?”Delilahasked,tiltingherhead.
Rubyopenedhermouth,andClairesawithappen—therealizationofwhatevershehadtorelaytoDelilahwasn’tnecessarilykind.Pinkspreadoverherdaughter’scheeks,andherthroatbobbedinahardswallow.
“Um…”Rubysaid,andClaireknewshehadtostepin,dosomething,sayanything.Shewrackedherbrainforadistraction,butthen,Delilah’ssmile…fell.
AnunpleasantsensationswoopedthroughClaire’sbelly,shameorguiltorembarrassment,shewasn’tsure.Shewassure,however,thatDelilahalsorealizedthatwhateverRubyhadheardwasn’tflattering.
“Nevermind,”Delilahsaid,wavingahand,thentuggedonthegarmentbaginRuby’sarms.“Soshowmethisdress.”
Rubyexhaledheavily.SodidClaire,ifshewasbeinghonest.Shedefinitelydidn’twantareprisalofIris’sdrunken—orinsomecases,stone-coldsober—tiradesabouttheGhoulofWisteriaHouse.NotthatanythingthatIrissaidwasnecessarilyuntrue—DelilahhadleftBrightFallsandAstrid,despitetheirstrangechildhoodtogether,andneverlookedback—butseeingDelilah’steasingsmileplummet,asthoughaheavyblanketsettledonherinthemiddleofaswelteringsummer…well,Clairehadn’tbeenpreparedforthat.
“It’shorrible,”Rubysaidassheunzippedthebag.“Justlook.”
Delilahreachedoutahand,pullingthelaceandsatinintoview.Clairecouldn’tbesure,butitlookedasthoughherfingersshook,justalittle,asshetouchedthedress.Herbrowfurrowed,mouthdippingdownward.
“God,itis,”shesaid.
Rubyburstoutlaughing,andjustlikethat,anyempathyClairehadvanished.
“Areyouseriousrightnow?”shesaidasquietlyasshecould.Really,shewantedtoscream.Shedidn’tneedthis.ShejustneededRubyinthedress.
“Iwouldn’tlieaboutsomethingsoimportant,”Delilahsaid,meetingClaire’seyes.Therewasnomalicethere,nosarcasm.Just…well,hell,Clairecouldn’ttellwhatwasthere.Delilahheldhergazeforabeatlongerthanfeltnatural,herfullmouthtippingupatthecorners,justbarely.Frecklesspilledoverhernoseandontohercheeks.Clairehadn’tnoticedthemlastnightinStella’sdimlighting.Now,though,shesawthemplainasday,andhadaridiculousdesiretotraceapatternwithherfinger.
Claireshookherheadandsteppedback.“Ruby,weneedtogetchanged,okay?”
“Mom,”Rubysaid,hervoiceawhine,andClairefeltevenmorebloodrushtohercheeks.Thiswasgoingtoturnintoafight;shecouldfeelit.Ahuge,tear-streakedfight,righthereinVivian’s,atAstrid’sfirstweddingevent.Shetookadeepbreathtocalmherwobblingstomach,tryingtothinkofwhatshecouldsaytoRuby,themagicwordstomakethisallfine,buthermindwasblank.
Horrifyingly,hereyesstartedtosting,aswelljustbehindthem.Shewassotired.Shewasso,sotiredofbeingthebadguy.
“Hey,”Delilahsaid.Shetookthedressfullyoutofthebaganddrapeditoverherarm.“Let’sseewhatyouandIcanmakeofthis.Whatdoyousay?”
ShewaslookingrightatRubyagain,Claireforgotten.Ruby’sarmsdroppedandherfacebrightened.
“Yeah?”Rubyasked.“Likewhat?”
“Well,”Delilahsaid,headingtowardthebathroom,“IhappentohavealotofexperienceinremakingapieceofclothingIhateintosomethingIsortoflike,andI’mthinkingyou’vegotsomeideasupyoursleevestoo.”HereyesflickeddowntoRuby’snailpolish—brightturquoisealternatingwithadeepplum—thenuptoherhair,whichClairehadn’tevennoticedyet.Herdaughter’slockswerelongandlooseononeside,butontheother,anexpertlywovenfishtailbraidarcheddowntohershoulder.Shedidn’tevenknowRubycoulddoafishtailbraid.Andwhenshelookedevencloser,shespottedasilver-and-black-stripedribbontwistedthroughtheplait.
“Maybe,”Rubysaid,grinning,andthenDelilahsweptRubyintothebathroom,theheavyoakdoorthunkingshutbehindthem.
Clairestoodthereforafewlongmoments,tryingtofigureoutwhatthehelljusthappened.Shefeltsilly,slightlyembarrassed,thatshehadn’tthoughtofjustaskingRubywhatshewouldchangeaboutthedress.Itwasadress.Itwasalreadymade.Astridboughtitforher,andgodknew,itprobablycostmorethanallofRuby’sotherclothescombined,whichwereablendofTargetandOldNavy,cheapstuffthatshe’djustgrowoutofinayear.Clairelovedclothes,lovedfindinguniquepiecesinthriftstoresandvintageclothingshopsthatmadeherfeellikeherself,butsheneverreallyremadeanything.She’dnevereventhoughtaboutit.
Still,underneaththeneedtodoamassiveface-palm,therewassomethingelse,somethingstronger.
Relief.
Delilahwasactuallygoingtogetherdaughterintothedress.TherewouldbenopublicargumentthatendedwithRubyscreamingthatshehatedher.Clairepressedherhandstoherstomach,breathingintothenewspaceshefeltthere.
“Claire?”Astridcamedownthehall,herheelsclickingonthemarblefloor.“Everythingokay?We’rereadytostart.”
Clairenoddedandjuttedherthumbtowardthebathroom.“Ruby’sjustgettingchanged.”
“Ohgood.Ireallyhopeshelikesthe—”
Buthervoicewascutoffwhenthebathroomdoorswungopen.Rubysteppedoutfirst,Delilahbehindher.Thedresshadbeencompletelytransformed.Well,notcompletely.Theboneswerestillthere.Onlythebones.Thelaceoverlaywasgone,leavingthesatinslipunderneath,sleevelesswithascoopedneckandfallingtojustaboveRuby’sknees.Insteadofthematchinglavenderpumpsthathadbeeninthebag,Rubyworeherblackcombatboots,theonesClairehadgottenherforherbirthdaylastApril.
Theeffectwas…perfect.
Rubylookedlikeherself,muchmorethanClaireeverimaginedshecouldinVivian’sTearoom.What’smore,shewassmiling,andthatwasenoughforClaire.
“What…How…When…”Astridspluttered,hermouthhangingopen.“Whathappened?”
“Delilahfixedmydress,”Rubysaidproudly.Shepoppedherhandsonherhipsandstruckapose.“Isn’titamazing?”
“Yeah,sister,isn’titamazing?”Delilahsaid,hermouthpursedlikeshewastryingnottolaugh.
“I…well…”
ClairesawRuby’ssmilestarttodim.
“Itisamazing,”shesaid,takingherdaughter’shandsandholdingoutherarmsouttogetabetterlookather.Thesmilebrightenedagain.ClairetwirledRubyaroundoncebeforeleadingherbackintothemainroom,herdaughterleaningagainstherhappily.
Shelookedbackoverhershoulder,justonce.CatchingDelilah’seye,shemouthedthankyouattheexactmomentDelilahliftedhercameraandsnappedaphoto.ChapterSeven
DELILAHLOWEREDHERcameraandinspectedthephotoonherscreen.ClairehadherarmaroundRuby,herheadturnedoverhershoulder.Hermouthwasopenalittle,lipspursedslightly,herthankyoujustreleasedintotheair.Withherhairupandthosenerdy-sexyglasses,hergoldheelsandthatlacydressswellingoverherhipsbeforehittinghercalves,shelookedincredible.
Classic.
Iconic,even.
Andthephotowasdamngood.Thelightingwasperfect,thesoftglowofthehallwaygatheringaroundClaireandRuby,likeitwasprotectingthem.
ButwhatwasevenbetterwastheexpressioninClaire’seyesasshelookedrightatDelilah.Shewasgrateful,sure.Delilahhadclearlyhelpedheravoidsomesortofpreteencatastrophe,butthegleaminClaire’sgazewasmorethanthat.Itwasinterest
Delilahsmileddownatherscreen,enjoyingwhateverdancethetwoofthemwereengagedin.Astridwasdeadwrong—Clairewasintrigued,attheveryleast,andDelilahcoulddefinitelyworkwithintrigued
Still,shewasn’texactlysurewhyshesteppedintohelpRubywithherdress.She’dbeencovertlysnappingphotosofAstrid’sargumentwithJosh—whomDelilahvaguelyrememberedasabaseballguyfromhighschool—figuringAstridwouldlovetomemorializehowhermouthtwistedupandherforeheadfilledwithlittlewrinklesassheberatedhim.
Butthenitallcametogether:Clairecrying,thegirl—whocouldn’tbemorethantenoreleven—lookingabsolutelymiserableasClairepulledhertowardthebathroomwiththatgarmentbag.DelilahknewClairehadakid,thatshe’dgottenpregnantrightafterhighschoolanddecidedtokeepthebaby.Delilahhadn’tfeltanythingaboutthenewsthen—otherthanmaybeaslightmorbidgleethatClaire’sdecisionmeantshewouldn’tgettoattendBerkeleywiththerestofthecoven.
Beforesheknewit,DelilahhaddriftedawayfromAstrid’sbickeringandtowardClaire,fascinatedwithsomeoneheragehavinganalmost-teenager.OrmaybeshewasmorefascinatedwithhowClaire’sdressperfectlyclungtoheramplechest.Eitherway,thereshewas,watchingRubyslowlymeltingdownoveradress.
Shehadaflashrightthen,oneofIsabellingeringinherdoorwaywithclenchedfistswhileathirteen-year-oldDelilahsatonherbed,rippingupthedressherstepmotherhadwantedhertoweartoacharityeventforwhichshewasontheboard.
Youcouldn’tdothisonethingforme?Isabelhadasked.AftereverythingI’vedoneforyou?
“CanIseeit?”sheheardherselfasking,andthatwasthat.Sheandthegirlhadgoneintothebathroom,andonceDelilahhadaskedherwhatsheactuallywantedthedresstolooklike,RubychatterednonstopaboutthebootshermomhadgottenherforherbirthdaythispastAprilandsomethingsimplethatdidn’tmakeherarmpitsitch.
Now,asClaireandRubywanderedbackintothetearoom,Astridclearedherthroat.
DelilahliftedhereyesandsawAstrid’sclenchedjaw.So,helpingRubyhadcomewiththeaddedbonusofpissingAstridoff.Thisdaywasgoingbetterthansheexpecteditto.“Yes,dear?”
Astrid’seyesnarrowed.“Really?YoujusthappentobetheonewhotearsupthedressIgaveRuby?”
“Shehatedthedress.”
“She—what?Shedidnot.”
Delilahgaveheranohcomeonlook.“Didyouseethehappygirlwhojustwalkedoutofthebathroom?”
“Yes,butI—”
“It’sadress,Ass.Letitgo.”
Astridpressedhermouthflat.“Justtakethepictures,okay?”
“Oh,I’vealreadygotsomegoodones.”SheflippedthroughthephotosonherscreenandlandedononeofAstridtalkingtoJosh,hermouthwideopenandhernostrilsflaring.“See?”
Astridlooked,thenliftedherarmsbeforelettingthemslapbackdowntohersides,exasperated.
“Damn,youreallyhatethatguy,”Delilahsaid.
TherewasabeatofsilencebeforeAstridsaid,“Well,he’sunreliableandirresponsibleanddoesn’tgiveashitaboutanyonebuthimself,soyeah.”
DelilahverynearlymadeajokeaboutAstridswearingagain—AndinVivian’s!FetchIsabel’ssmellingsalts!—butthenherstepsister’swordsregistered,hangingheavyintheairbetweenthem,spatwithalittlemoreforcethanDelilahthoughttheguywasworth.Astridcrossedherarmsandstareddownatthefloor,herteethworkingherlowerlip.
SomethinguncomfortablesettledinDelilah’sstomach.
“Justgetbacktowork,okay?”Astridsaid,alreadyturningawayandwalkingoffdownthehall.“I’mnotpayingyoutobeagoddamntailor.”
THINGSWENTSOUTHfromthere.
Delilahdidherjob,justlikeAstridasked.Sheslinkedaroundtheroomandsnappedphotosofawholelotofdaintynibblingoncrustlesscucumbersandwichesanddelicatesippingofmimosas.Likeanyeventphotographerworththeirsalt,hardlyanyonenoticedher,whileshenoticedeveryone,everything.
Everylaugh.
EverytimeIsabelputherhandonAstrid’sbackorsmoothedahandoverherhair.
Everychairfilled,notevenanextraoneinacornerincaseDelilahmightlikeabreak.
EveryI’msoproudherstepmotheruttered.
Delilahcaptureditall,justlikeshewassupposedto.
Still,shefeltlikeshewassuffocating.Shecouldn’tgetAstrid’swordsoutofherhead,couldn’tforgettheangerandhurtthatlacedeverysyllable,likeshewasn’ttalkingaboutJoshatall.LookingatAstridnow,sheseemedfine.Happy.Shehadeverythingsheneeded.Friends,anadoringmother,afiancé,abeautifulweddingbrunchthatwouldbleedintoevenmorebeautifulweddingevents,culminatinginabeautifulwedding.KnowingAstridlikeshedid,thiswaseverythingherstepsistercouldeverwant.
Delilah’sskinitchedandherlungsfelttight.Shearrangedshots,changedlenses,bentandarchedtogettherightangle,allthewhilesweatgatheredonherupperlip,underherarms,thesamesickfeelingsherememberedsooftenfromherchildhood.
TheonlypersonwhoseemedtonoticeherwasRuby,whokepttryingtocatchhereyewithafunnyface,herfeaturesalltwistedupandadorable.Delilahmanagedtosmileather—shewasasweetkid—andsnappedafewpicturesofhersillyexpressionstohumorher.
ShegotalotofClairetoo.Onceortwice,Delilahcould’veswornthattheotherwomanhadbeenlookingather,hadjustswunghereyesawayrightwhenDelilah’scameracenteredonher,butshecouldn’tbesure.Eitherway,shegotfarmoreshotsofClairethansheprobablyshouldhave,butwhatcouldDelilahsay?Clairewasabeautifulsubject,andfocusingonherseemedtocalmDelilah’sswirlingthoughts.Infact,concentratingonmakingsurethechandelier’slightreflectedonClaire’sshinyhairjustrightwasallthatwaskeepingDelilahfrompickinguponeofthoselittlequiches—whosecrustlookedjustlikeagoddamnseashell,forChrist’ssake—andyellingatthetopofherlungs,Whatthefuckisthisallfor?
Sherememberedeventslikethiswhilegrowingup.Rememberedthemvividly,Delilahstuckinanitchydress,sittingatoneendofWisteriaHouse’slongdiningroomtablewhileIsabelandAstridsatatanother,surroundedbyadoringtownsfolkwhothoughtIsabelwasthesoulofclassandcharity.
Isn’titsoamazinghowIsabeltookinthatpoorgirlafterherfatherdied?
Isabeldidn’thavetodoit,youknow.
Sheisanoddlittlething,isn’tshe?GodblessIsabel.
Delilahhadhearditallovertheyears,praiseandadoration,themusingsatDelilah’sdemeanor,thejudgmentthathergratitudeforIsabeldidn’tbubbleoverlikechampagnefromafountain.
Despitewalkingcalmlyandsnappingphotosdutifully,herbreathingbecamequickerandmoreraggedastheminutespassed.Shefocusedonhertask,thesimplemovementofaimingandclicking,butitdidn’thelp.ThenshetriedthinkingabouttheWhitneyshow,butatthismoment,NewYorkfeltlikeanotherplanet,threeweeksalifetimeaway.ShecouldfeelAstrid’seyesonher.Isabel’s.Dyed-blondcoiflady,who,ifshewasSpencer’smother,wouldsurelyknowallaboutDelilahbynow,herpoordeadparents,howmagnanimousIsabelwasintakingherin,likeshewasafuckinglostorphanIsabelfoundonthestreets.
Shepassedclosebythechampagnetower,whichwasjustastallasithadbeenatthebeginningoftheevent,Vivian’sstaffreplacingaglassassoonasonewastaken.Sheliftedoneoffthetopagainandgulpeddownthedrink,swishingthebubblesaroundhermouthasshestaredatthegoldenliquidthroughtheexpensiveglass.
Then,beforeshecouldthinktoomuchaboutit,sheletherhipbumpthetableassheturnedbackaround.Itwassubtle,clearlyanaccident,butitwasenoughthattheglassesrattledagainstoneanotherandthen…toppled.
Gloriously.Horrendously.LikeSauron’stowerfinallyvanquished,theflutescrasheddownward,champagnesplatteringandglassshardsspillingalloverthetableandmarblefloorwithatriumphantcacophony.
Theroomfellsilent.Delilahliftedhergaze,herexpressioncompletelyflat,andlookedrightatIsabel,whoseownexpressionhadapparentlybrokenfreeofitsBotoxprison—nostrilsflaring,skinflushed,barely-thereeyebrowssolowtheydippedintoherlashes.
“Oops,”Delilahsaid,thensnappedapictureofthealcohol-and-glassmessatherfeet.
DELILAHDIDN’TBOTHERgettinganymoreshotsafterthat.Shehelpedthestaffcleanupthemess—theleastshecoulddo,asthisdisasterwasherfaultandonehundredpercentworthit.Evenbetter,theaccidenthadbroughtthebrunchtoanabruptclose.Whenthefloorwasonceagainpristine,however,shedidn’twanttodealwithAstridorIsabel.AsguestsbegantogetupfromthetablesandIsabelpastedonasmileagain,Delilahgrabbedhercamerabagfromunderthetable,packeditup,andallbutsprintedoutVivian’sfrontdoor,desperateforsomenon-perfumedairandsomeliquor.
Shespilledoutsideandsuckedinthewarm,early-summerbreeze.InNewYork,itwasalreadystiflinghot,buthereinOregon,theweatherstillfeltlikespring,blueskypeekingbetweenlightgrayclouds,thepineyscentofevergreens.ShespeddownthesidewalkandheadedstraightforStella’s.
Unfortunately,theidyllicspringweatherdidn’tchangethefactthatthebardidn’topenuntilsix.SheslappedherhandagainsttheroughwoodendoorandheadedbacktotheKaleidoscopeInn,wheresheturnedoffherphoneandtookoffherpantsbeforeorderingaclubsandwichfromtheinn’skitchen.Snuggledinthehugeking-sizebed,chintzbedamned,shebingedsixepisodesofashowonherlaptopaboutagayteenagerinGeorgia.
Eventually,though,whentheskystartedtogolavender,shegotantsy.Shewasusedtonightsoutonthecitystreets,waitingtablesorkeepingherhandsbusybyworkingonapiece,goingtoartevents,orjusthangingoutinabaruntilshefoundsomeonesheliked.Itdidn’talwaysendwithahookup—sometimesitwasjustnicetositwithsomeoneandtalkaboutnothing,anything.
Shedidn’tlikethequiet,thenightsalone.
Sheflippedherlaptopshutandslippedherpantsandshoesbackon.Fiveminuteslater,shewasheadingdownMainStreettowardStella’s,theglobedstreetlightscastingagoldenglowoverthecobblestonesidewalk.Therewereafewpeopleout,couplesandfamilies,annualvacationerswho’dcometostayinoneofthefewhugehousesliningtheriver.Mostofthemwerewhite,straight-looking,aweirdnumberofthemlickingvanillaicecreamconesliketheywereposingforcandidsinGoodHousekeeping
Delilahspedup,readyforthenoiseandactivityofStella’s.Shewasabouthalfwaytherewhenshespottedamessybunthroughastorewindow,purpleglassescatchingthesoftlight.Booksfilledthewindowdisplay,lotsofcolorfulpaperbackspromisingsummersunandromance,afewthickcookbooksfeaturinglemonygrilledchickenandwatermelonsaladwithcayennepepperonthecovers.
RiverWildBooks,thesignsaid.
Ofcourse,Delilahknewthestorewell.Asakid,itwasoneofthefewplacesshecouldgoinBrightFallswhereshecouldbreathefreely,disappearinginawaythatfeltlikeachoiceratherthanbeingignored,happilyspendinghoursreadingfantasynovelsandcomicbooksinthebackoftheshop.
Shepaused,steppingclosertothewindow.Clairestoodatthecounternexttotheregister,flippingbooksintoastack,pausingtotypesomethingintothecomputereverysooften.Inside,itwasdim,asingleTiffanylamponthecounterandastrandoffairylightsaroundthestore’sperimetertheonlylight
Beforeshecouldoverthinkit,Delilahpulledatthedoor,areliefshecouldn’texplainfillingherchestwhenitswungopeneasily.Alittlebellchimed.
“Hey,sorry,we’reclosed.Imeanttolock—”
Claire’swordscutoffassoonasshesawDelilah.
“Oh.Hi,”shesaid,settingdownthebookinherhand.
Delilahglancedatherphone,theopendoorrestingonherbackside.“Closedatseveno’clock?”
Claire’smouthtwitched.“Smalltown.ButwegetreallywildandstayopenuntileightonFridayandSaturday.”
“Whoa,edgy.Nextthingyouknow,Stella’swillbeputtingonadragshow.”
Clairelaughed.“Ifonly.”
Delilahlaughedtoo,thentheybothfellsilent.Clairehadn’ttoldhertogetthehellout,soDelilahtookthatasagoodsignandcameallthewayinsidethestore,thedoorclosingbehindher.Thesmellhitherfirst—paperandglue,thefaintwhiffofsomethingcitrusyandfresh.Itnearlyknockedherbackafewsteps,thescentofherchildhood.ButunliketheperfumedaromaofWisteriaHouse,thestore’scleanairremindedherofsafety,belonging.
Theshophadchangedabitsinceshewaslasthere.Thedarkshelveshadbeenlightenedtoablondwoodandwentallthewayuptotheceilingnow,withextrastockatthetopandtwomatchingblondwoodenladders,oneoneachsideofthestore,attachedtoanironpole.Thecarpetusedtobethisthinindustrialstuff,thekindyou’dfindininsuranceofficesandschools,butnowsmoothhardwoodstretchedtheentirelengthofthesmallspace.Fairylightsdangledhereandthere,andinthemiddleofthestore,nestledbetweendisplaytablesandfreestandingshelves,fourdarkbrownleatherchairswerearrangedfacingoneanother,abook-coveredcoffeetableinthemiddle.Alightfixturehungoverthereadingspace,smallroundlightbulbshangingamidstglisteningsilverleavesonchains.
Theeffectwasnosmallthing,brighteningtheshopinawaythatmadeDelilahsmile.
“Thisplaceisgorgeous,”shesaid,runningherhandalongthecounterwhereClairestood.“Itdidn’tlooklikethisbackwhenwewereinhighschool.”
“Yeah,Iknow,”Clairesaid,fiddlingwiththebooksatherside.Shestackedandthenrestackedtheminadifferentarrangement,overandover.“Whenmymomremarriedafewyearsago,sheandherhusbandwantedtotravel,soItookover.”
Delilahleanedherelbowsonthecounter.SherememberedClaire’smother—Katherine.Shehadsoftbrowneyesandroundhips,andshehadbeenoneofthefewadultsinthistownwhohadtreatedDelilahlikeanormalkidasopposedtoanuisance.TherewasnoMr.Sutherland.HehadtakenoffwhenClairewasaroundnine,rightbeforesheandhermothermovedtoBrightFalls,ifDelilah’smemoryserved.
“Youdidallthis?”sheasked.
Clairemethereyesandstaredforafewseconds.Delilahwasn’tsureClairewasevenawareshewasdoingit,andshewatchedClaire’sthroatbobinahardswallow.
“Hello?”Delilahsaid,tappingthebackofClaire’shandsoftly,justoncebeforedrawingback.
Clairejolted,thenclearedherthroatandlookeddown,fiddlingwiththebookstackagain.“Um,yeah,Idid.Iwanttodomore.Addacafé,getsomelocalartonthewallsthatpeoplecanbuy,butthattakesmoney.”
“Mostthingsdo.”DelilahtookthetopbookoffofClaire’sstackandpretendedtolookatit.Intruth,shewasjustthinkingupwaystokeeptheconversationgoing,reasonsshewouldn’thavetoleave.Shefeltweirdlyateaseinhere.Plus,shewasenjoyingthewayClairegotallflusteredaroundheralittletoomuch.“Yourmomstilltraveling?”
“Yeah.She’sin”—Claire’seyesnarrowedinthoughtforasecond—“Coloradothismonth.Butshe’llbebackforAstrid’swedding.”
“Ahyes,thejoyousoccasion.”Delilahturnedandrestedherhiponthecounter.
“HaveyoumetSpenceryet?”Claireasked.
“Haven’thadthepleasure.”
“Oh,it’sapleasure,allright.”SarcasmcoatedClaire’stone.
“Thatbad,huh?”
“Idon’tknow.”Clairewavedahand.
“IfIrecallcorrectly,youmentionedlastnightthatyoudidn’tlikehim,”Delilahsaid.
Clairestiffened.“I’drathernottalkaboutlastnight,ifyoudon’tmind.”
“?‘Atotaldouche.’That’swhatyoucalledhim.”
Clairesighed,pressedhereyesclosed.“Ishouldn’thavesaidthat.Ithought—”
“ThatIwassomeoneelse.”
“AndyouknewexactlywhoIwas.”
Thewordsweresharp,ready,likeClairehadbeenholdingtheminforawhile.Theylookedateachother,theairbetweenthemsochargedDelilahwonderediftheymightgetashock.Sheletthesilencesettle,letherselfmaintaineyecontact.Shehadtoplaythisdelicately,orClairewouldcloseuplikeaclam.Therewasn’tanydenyingwhathappenedlastnight,nowayDelilahcouldfeignignorance.
Soshedidn’t.
Instead,sheleanedintoClaire’sspace—nottoomuchtocrowdher,butenoughtonoticeastrayeyelashonhercheek.
“Idid,”Delilahsaidsoftly.
Claire’sbrowsdipped.“So…soyoujustletmemakeafoolofmyself?”
“Fool?”Delilahfrownedandtiltedherhead.“Youdidn’tmakeafoolofyourself.ButwouldyouhavekepttalkingtomeifyouknewwhoIwas?”
Clairepressedhermouthtogether.
“It’sokay.Youcansayit,”Delilahsaid.
“Saywhat?”
“Thatyouwouldneverhaveapproachedmeifyou’dknownIwasDelilahGreen.”
“I…That’snot…You’retwistingitaround.”
“AmI?”
Clairerubbedherforehead.“Okay,fine,no,Iprobablywouldn’thavecomeuptoyoulikethatifI’dknown.”
“Well,thereyougo.”
“Thereyougowhat?”
Delilahleanedjustalittlecloser,whisperinghernextwords.“ThereasonIdidn’ttellyouwhoIwas.”
Itwasn’tacompletelie.True,DelilahhadbeenataddeviousthenightbeforeatStella’s,lettingClairegoonliketheyweretotalstrangers,revelinginhowshe’dfeelwhenshefoundouttheyweren’t.ButDelilahhadalsobeenturnedonashell,intriguedbyadult,bisexualClaireSutherland,aClairewhoclearlythoughtadultDelilahwasintriguingenoughherselftoapproachinabar.
ThetwowomenstaredateachotherforamomentbeforeClairepulledhergazeawayandstraightenedherstackofbooksonemoretime.
“SothatwasquiteaneventtodayatVivian’s,”Clairesaid.
“Itwas.”
“Exciting.”
“Endedwithquiteabang.”
Claire’smouthturnedupatthecorners—shewasclearlytryingtofightalaugh,whichDelilahfoundcompletelydelightful.
“SohowmadwasAstrid?”sheasked.
“Onascaleofonetoten?”Clairesaid.“Twenty-three.”
Delilahnodded,couldn’thelpthesmilethatsettledonhermouth.Clairewatchedherforafewsecondsbeforeclearingherthroat.
“Thankyouforyourhelptoday,”shesaid.“WithRuby.”
Delilahshrugged.“Itwasnobigdeal.She’sagoodkid.”
“Itwasabigdeal.WeweretensecondsawayfromameltdownoverabitoflaceandsatininthemiddleofVivian’s.”
“Wouldthathavebeensobad?Probablythemostactionthatsnorefesthasseensinceitopened.”
Clairelaughed.“Untilyoucamealong,thatis.”
Delilahflourishedherhandinagreement.
“Still,”Clairesaid,“AstridboughtthatdressforRuby.Ijustdidn’twanttoaddtoherstress.”
Delilahchewedonthis,thinkingbacktowhensheandRubywentintothebathroomwiththedress.Thegirlhadbeensweet,yeah,butshe’dalsotalkedherearoff,andDelilahhadlether.“Honestly,IthinkRubywould’vewornthedressasitwas.Shejustwantedsomeonetolistentoher.”
“Ilistento—”ButClairecutherselfoff,hermouthhangingopenassheblinkedoverandoveragain.Thensheletoutagroananddroppedherheadintoherhands.“Ohmygod.”
Delilahlaughedsoftly.“It’sokay.”
Clairelookedup.“I’mturningintooneofthosemoms.”
“Whatkindofmoms?”
Sheflappedherhandsaround.“Theones,theoneswhoneverlistenandthinkkidsareidiotswhocan’tthinkforthemselvesandjustwantthingstobeeasyandquietandohmygod.”
“DoyouthinkRuby’sanidiotwhocan’tthinkforherself?”
“No!”Claire’seyeswentsoft,alongwithhervoice.“No.She’ssosmart.Youtalkedtoher,right?She’sagreatkid.”
Delilahnodded.“Seemstobe.”
“Ijust…Iwanther…”Clairesighedandlookeddownatherhands.“Shehasn’thaditeasy.AndIthinksomepartofmethinks,thetighterIholdontoher,themore…Idon’tknow,organizedImakeherlife,thesafershe’llfeel.AndI…”
Clairestopped,stoodupstraight,herposturesuddenlyrigid.“God,I’msorry.”Sheclearedherthroatagain.“Youdon’twanttohearaboutthis.”
“SureIdo,”Delilahsaid.Shesaiditoninstinct,therightthingtosaytolureClaireintolikingher,butasClairesighedoutalittlelaughandstraightenedthebooksforthehundredthtime,Delilahrealizeditwastrue.BackinNewYork,shedidn’thaveanyfriendswithkids.Everyoneinhercirclewasanartist,aggressivelysingle,andcompletelyabsorbedintheirwork.Infact,Delilahwasn’tevensureshe’dactuallycallanyofthemfriends.Theywerecolleagues,fellowartists,peopleshemetupwithatevents,occasionallysleptwith.Theywereconnections,hookups.
Friends?
Delilahdidn’tthinkshe’deveractuallyhadoneofthose.Notarealone,someoneshe’dcallifshewashavingabadnightorintrouble.Sheneverwenttocollege,neverhadaroommatetobondwith.Jaxhadneverbeenherfriend—lover,chaosandpassionpersonified,butnotherfriend.
Now,standinginRiverWildwithClaireSutherland,ofallpeople,shefoundherselfleaningin,fascinatedbythislifeClaireled,raisingatinyhuman,apersonallherown.ShewantedtoaskClairetogoon,evenifjusttohearhervoice,thewayitwasthelittlestbitraspy,butbeforeshecould,footstepsclompedoverthehardwoodsfromthebackofthestore.
“Mom,canwegohomeyet?”Ruby’svoicecalledfromsomewhereamongtheshelves.
“Yeah,sweetie,I’malmostdone,”Clairesaid.Shetookthebooksandslidthemtothebackcounterwheretherewassomesortofgift-wrappingstation,thickrollsofbrownpaperandsimplestripedribbons.Thenshecamebacktotheregisterandstartedtoshutthecomputerdown.Delilahwatchedher,waitingforsomeeyecontact,butClairenevergaveit.
“Good,I’mstarving,”Rubysaid,emergingfrombetweenthefreestandingbookshelves,stillinherlavenderdressandboots.WhenshesawDelilah,herfacebrokeoutinagrin.“Hey!You’rehere!”
Delilahsmiledather,crossingheranklesassheleanedagainstthecounter.“Iam.”
Ruby’seyesgleamed,hergazeroamingoverDelilah’stattoos.Delilahcouldseethequestionsstackingupinthegirl’smind.
“Whichdoyoulikethebest?”sheaskedRuby.
PinkspreadoverRuby’scheeks,likeshe’dbeencaught.“Oh.Um…”
“It’sokay,”Delilahsaid.“Iwanttoknow.”
“Well…”Rubytookastepcloser.“Ilikethisone.”Shepointedtotheraincloudthunderingovertheteacup.
“That’soneofmyfavoritestoo.”
“Whatdoesitmean?”
“It’sastorminateacup,”Delilahsaid.
Rubyfurrowedherbrow.“Huh?”
Delilahlaughed.“It’sanoldphrase.Itmeans…makingabigdealoutofsomethingsmall.Igotittoremindmyselftohavesomeperspective.That,mosttimes,thingsaren’tasdevastatingastheymightfeelatfirst.”
Thegirlnodded,headtiltedinthought
“Ilikethatonetoo,”Clairesaid.
Delilahsnappedhergazetotheotherwoman.Sheletaslowgrinspreadoverhermouth.
Clairesmiledandshookherheadbeforekneelingdowntograbherbagfromunderthecounter,butDelilahsworesheblushedalittle.
“Ready?”ClairesaidtoRuby,comingaroundthecounter.
“Finally!”thegirlsaid,speedingtowardthefrontdoor.
Delilahfollowedthembothoutside,hoveringasClairelockedupthestore.ShelookeddownthesidewalktowardwhereStella’swaitedafewblocksdown,butthethoughtofgoinginthere,alone,justtogethalfdrunkatthebar,alsoalone,suddenlymadeherfeelverytired.
“So…haveagoodnight,”ClairesaidasRubyheadedtowardalittlesilverPriusparkedattheendofthestreet.Delilahwonderedwheretheylived,whattheirhouselookedlike.
“Yeah,youtoo.”Sheslippedherhandsinherpocketsandstartedwalkingbackward,hereyesstillonClaire.
Theotherwomanopenedhermouthonce…twice…beforefinallyasking,“I’llseeyoutomorrow,right?”
Delilahstopped.“Tomorrow?”
“Astrid’sdinner?Atyour…atIsabel’shouse.”
Delilah’stirednessmorphedintoexhaustion.“Yeah.You’llseeme.”
Clairenoddedandfiddledwithherkeys.“Good.Okay,then.”
“Okay,then.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
Exceptneitherwomanmoved.Delilahwasn’tgoingtobudge;sheknewthat.Shewasenjoyingthisfidgeting,addledClaire.EspeciallysinceDelilahwasninetypercentpositiveshewasthecauseoftheaddling.
“Mom!”Rubycalledfromthecar.
“Coming!”
ClairelookedatDelilahonemoretimebeforefinallyturningherbackandspeed-walkingtowardherkid.Delilahstoodinthemiddleofthesidewalk,icecreamlickersanglingaroundher,watchingwithasmileonherfaceuntilClairedroveoutofsight.ChapterEight
DELILAHSTOODINthedriveway,WisteriaHouserisingupaboveher.Itwasdusk,theairasoftlavender,anditseemedlikeafewpeoplewerealreadyhere.Shecouldnot—wouldnot—walkintothathousewithjustIsabelandmakesmalltalk.Or,inIsabel’struemedium,passive-aggressivetalk.Shewasn’tevensureshecouldwalkinthereregardless,evenwithitfullofotherpeople.
WisteriaHousehadalwaysbeenaconfusingplaceforDelilah.Ontheonehand,she’dlivedherewithherfatherfortwoyears,fromageseighttoten.Sherememberedthattime,unlikethefoggy,unformedpicturesinhermindfromherearlierchildhoodinSeattle.Hermother,deadbythetimeDelilahturnedfour,wasjustashadowbynow,ablurofcurlyhairandasofthandonhercheek.Butherfather,Andrew,sherememberedhisfaceperfectly,hisdarkblueeyes,thewayhelaughedsoloudly,fromwaydeepdowninhisbelly,alwayscausingDelilahtolaughtoo,evenifshedidn’tgetthejoke.WisteriaHousewashis,builtandnamedforhisnewfamily,forhisdaughterhenevergottoseegrowup.
ButWisteriaHousewasalsotheirs.Isabel’s.Astrid’s.AfterAndrewdied,Isabel’sgriefwasheavy,adarkcloakovereverything.She’dalreadylostherfirsthusbandtocancer—whichwasonereasonsheandAndrewhadinitiallybonded:asharedgriefoverahorribledisease—andlosinganothersosuddenlynearlykilledher.Delilahrememberedthinking,throughherownsadhaze,thatIsabelmightactuallydieofabrokenheartandthensheandAstridwouldbelefttrulyaloneormaybeevensentaway.
ButIsabelsurvived,andassheslowlycamebacktolife,Delilahkeptwaitingforthemothersheneeded.Theparent.Shewaitedforcomfortandassurance.Hell,justahandsqueezinghershoulderinpassingwould’vemadeherheartfeelalittlebitmoreathomeinherownchest.Astridsureashellwasn’tgoingtogiveit.ButitnevercamefromIsabeleither.Thewomanfedher.Providedherwithschoolsupplies.Madesureshedidherhomework.BoughtherChristmaspresents.ClothedherwithdesignerlabelsthatAstridlovedandDelilahnevercaredfor,butthatwasit.Basicneeds,leavingloveoutoftheequationaltogether.Granted,shewasn’toverlyaffectionatewithAstrideither,butinvolved.Alwaysaskingaboutschoolprojects,Astrid’sfriends,goingtoeverysingletrackmeetduringhighschoolandcheeringloudly,pushingAstridtobebetter,faster.Thatwasakindofcare,wasn’tit?Astridlappedupallthatattentionwhentheywereyounger,andthenseemedtogrowannoyedbyitwhentheygottohighschool.Still,wheneverDelilahsatnexttoIsabelonthosemetalbleachers,watchingAstridflyaroundatrackwithherblondponytailflickingbehindher,Delilahcravedaquestion,anyquestion,anypushtogreatness.
Itnevercame.SowhenDelilah’sfingerscurledaroundherhighschooldiplomatopolite,dispassionateapplause,sheknewitwastimetoleaveforgood.
Now,justlikeeachofthefewtimesshe’dbeenbackinthelasttwelveyears,shelookedupatthelovelyGeorgianbrickexteriorofWisteriaHouseandfeltalowsimmeringpanicjustundereachbreath.Shepressedherhandstoherstomachandinhaled.Sheknewshehadtogoin,getthroughthisjustlikeshe’dgottenthroughthebrunch.Shejustneededamomenttoprepare.Butonemomentturnedintoanother,andsheknew,anysecond,herphonewouldgooffwithAstridscreechingaboutprofessionalismandtimeliness.
Shetookonesteptowardthefrontstoop,thenanother,andwasnearlytothebottomofthestairswhenafamiliarcarpulledintothedriveway.
AsilverPrius.
DelilahwatchedasClaireopenedthedriver’sdoorandtwootherpeoplegotoutofthecaraswell—IrisandsomeguyDelilahhadneverseenbefore.Hewasdressedinsleekgraydresspantsandablackbutton-down,darkhairpulledintoanimpressivemanbun.HewrappedanarmaroundIris,andDelilahletoutabreathofrelief.
Whichgaveherenoughspacetoactuallyfocusonwhatshewasseeing.
Claire,inredheels,redlipstick,andanincrediblytightvintagedressthatseemedweldedaroundeveryperfectcurve.Thiswasthekindofdressfantasiesweremadeof,designedforbodieslikeClaire’s,withitsinch-widestrapshookingoverherroundshouldersandthesweetheartnecklineshowingofftheperfectamountofcleavage.Theblack-and-whitepolkadotslentanairofinnocencetothewholestyle,butshit,Delilah’sthoughtsrightnowwereanythingbutinnocent.
Shefelthermouthdropopenandcouldn’tdoasinglethingtostopit.
“That’sexactlywhatIdidwhenIsawher,”IrissaidtoDelilah.“ShelooksjustlikeBettiePage,amIright?”SheelbowedClaire.
“What?”Clairesaid.“Noway.MyboobsandassarewaybiggerthanBettiePage’swere.”
“Yeah,andthat’sagoodthing.”Irisgrinnedather,shakingherhead.
Delilahdimlyregisteredtheconversationtheywerehaving—vintagemodel,boobs—becausedress.AllshecoulddowasstareasClairegotcloser.
“Heythere,”IrissaidwhenshestoppedinfrontofDelilah.Shetiltedherheadather,likeshewaswaitingforsomething.
“CanIhelpyou?”Delilahaskedafterclearingherthroat.
“Youcan.You’reblockingthesteps.”
DelilahconsideredsuggestinginasaccharinetonethatIrisuseprettypleaseinasentence,butwiththetaskofwalkinginsidethehousestillhoveringoverherandClairestandingtherelookinglikeapinupmodel,shedidn’thaveitinher.Shesimplymovedaside,flourishingherhandupthestairs.
“Hey,I’mGrant,”theguysaidashepassedby.
“Delilah,”shesaid,andhiseyeswentwide.Herstomachclenchedalittle.“Yes,thatDelilah.”
“Oh,um,yeah,nicetomeetyou,”hesaid,rubbingthebackofhisneck.
“Smooth,”Irissaid,takinghisarm.SheglancedatClaire,noddingherheadtowardthedoor.“We’llmeetyouinside?”
“Yeah,”Clairesaid,thenshejuststoodthereasIrisandGrantdisappeared,shiftingfromonefoottotheotherandpullingonthestrapsofherdress.
“Itlooksamazing,”Delilahsaid.
Clairefroze.“What?”
“Thedress.”ShemotionedtoClaire’shandstillontheleftstrap.“Itlooksgood.Reallygood.”
Shewatchedasalittlesmilecurledonecornerofhermouth.“Yeah?”
“Ohyes.”
Clairepursedherlips,clearlytryingtofightalargersmile,buthercheekswentpink.Sheletherhanddrop.“Areyougoingin?”
Delilahsighedandlookedupatthehouse,atred-brownbrickandshinywindows.“Eventually.You?”
“Well,Ivaluemylifequitealot,so,yes.”
“Astridalwaysgetswhatshewants,doesn’tshe?”Thewordscameoutquieterthanshemeantthemto,sadder,andClaire’sbrowsdippedasshesearchedDelilah’sface.Delilahtriednottolookaway,butdamnthiswoman,shehadsomeverydeepeyes,theirbrownlikeabottomlesspit,andDelilahdidn’tfeellikefallingtonight.
Shepushedhergazedown,adjustedthecamerabagonhershoulder.Sheneededtogaincontrolofthissituation,ofwhatshewasandwasnotdoingwithClaireSutherland,oneofAstrid’smeangirls,forgod’ssake,butcontrolwasneversomethingshefeltwhenshewasatWisteriaHouse.
“Wecouldwalkintogether?”Clairesaid,moreaquestionthanastatement.
Delilahconsideredit.Claire’sshoulderpressedtohersasshewentthroughthefrontdoor,abuffer.Butalso…thelookonAstrid’sfacewhenshesawthemcomeintogether.
Delilahsmiled.“Yeah.Wecoulddefinitelydothat.”ThensheloopedherarmthroughClaire’sandpulledherbodyclose,justforgoodmeasure.
DELILAH’SSHOULDERSCREPTuptoherearsastheywalkedthroughthedoorandintothewidefoyer.Thesmellhitherfirst.Lavenderandbleach,likechemicalsattemptingtotamesomethingwild.Thenthetemperaturecurledaroundher,frigidcold,theair-conditioningblastingtothepointofrustlinghairandskirts.Finally,therewastheview,theentrywaystillpaintedalightgray,thedarkhardwoodfloorsstillgleamingandpristine,thewallsstilldottedwiththemostboringpaintingsimaginable,neutral-coloredabstractsandboringriverscapes.Inbetweenthesemasterpieces,therewere,ofcourse,posedphotographsofAstridatallages.Blackandwhitesindriftwoodframesofablondprincessinherballetcostume,hertrackuniform,herhunter-greengraduationgownloadeddownwithgoldandwhitehonorsstoles.
TherewasonepicturefeaturingDelilah—aneight-by-tenfamilyportraitofherandAstridaroundagenineonthewhitesofainthelivingroom,IsabelandDelilah’sfatherperchedoneithersideofthem,hisblueeyessparkling.Aplainantiquedgoldframesurroundedthehappyscene,setontheconsoletablenearthestaircaseandhalfcoveredbyavelvetysucculentinaceramicpot.
Shefeltdizzyforamoment,butthatwasn’tallthatunusual.Shejustneededaminutetogetherbearings,coatherselfinherusualIsabel-and-Astridarmor—sarcasmanddisdain.Sherolledhershouldersback,herarmtighteningonClaire’sasshedidso.
“Youokay?”Claireasked,watchingher.
“Peachy,”shesaid,butshedidn’tletgoofClaire.
AndClairedidn’tletgoofher.
Atleast,notuntilAstridappearedaroundthecornerthatledintothelivingroom,hereyesimmediatelynarrowinginonDelilah’sandClaire’sarms.OnlythendidClaireuntangleherself,straighteningherdressandclearingherthroat.
“Hey,”Clairesaid.
“Hey,yourself,”Astridsaidbackasshecamecloser.Shewaswearingastraplessivoryjumpsuitwithwidelegs,sleekandexpensive.Ironically,itpairedperfectlywithDelilah’sownstraplessblackjumpsuit.
Theangelandthedevil.
IfAstridnoticed,shedidn’tsayanything.Instead,sheair-kissedClaire’scheekswhilesheside-eyedherstepsister.
“Youmadeit,”shesaidtoDelilah.
“Miraculously,”Delilahsaid.
“Well,Iwasn’tsureifyourememberedwhereitwas.”
Delilahjusttiltedherheadatherstepsister.“Pointmetowardthechampagnetower?”
“Thereisn’tone,”Astridsaid,hertonelacedwithvenom.
“Pity.”
“Okay,so,”Clairesaidbrightly,“everything’ssetupoutside?”
Astridseemedtounclenchandnodded,soDelilahletherselfshiftintoprofessionalmodeandmentallyranthroughthelensshe’dneedforthatkindoflight.Thechampagnetowerincidentwastherapeutic,butshewouldn’tputitpastIsabeltofireherass,andattheendoftheday,shehadtogetpaid.AfactAstridknewfullwell.
WisteriaHousehadahugebackyard,flatandgreenwithapoolareajustbelowtheporchandavastspaceofgreenlawnthatrolleddownintothebanksofBrightRiver.TherewasadockwithacoupleofAdirondackchairssetup,alittleskiffthatIsabelstrictlyforbadeanyonefromusingwhentheywerekids,andatireswingthathungfromthehugeoakwhosethickbranchesarchedoverthesilver-bluewater.
“Anyparticularshotsyouwantmetoget?”Delilahasked,butbeforeAstridcouldanswer,amanappearedaroundthecornerindarkgraypantsandabluebutton-down,bothofwhichhadthatveryexpensivesheentothem.Hewastallandlean,hisgoldenblondhaircutshortonthesideandalittlelongerontop.Hesaunteredtowardthem,handsinhispocketsuntilhereachedAstrid,thenhehookedanarmaroundherwaistandtuggedhercloser.
“Thereyouare,babe,”hesaid,whileDelilahwatchedhisfingersdigintoAstrid’ships.Shefoughtaneyeroll—cishetwhitemenandtheirproprietarypetnames.
Astrid,though,immediatelycurledintohisside,puttingahandonhischest.“Spencer,thisisDelilah.”
Hiseyebrowsrose.“Delilah,huh?”
“Intheflesh,”Delilahsaid.Shedidn’tliftherhandtoshakehis.Forhispart,though,neitherdidhe.
“IneverthoughtI’dhavethepleasure,”hesaid,buthedidn’tgiveDelilahtimetorespondtothatlittletidbit.Instead,heturnedtoAstrid,hoistinghercloser,andsaid,“Ineedmorechampagne,babe.Helpaguyout?”
“Sure,ofcourse,”Astridsaid,thenlookedatClaireandDelilah.“Doyoutwowantsomeaswell?”
“God,yes,”Delilahsaid,butitechoed.ShelookedatClaireassherealizedthey’dbothsaidtheexactsamethingatthesametime.Clairelaughed.
“Okay,I’lltakethatasayes,then,”Astridsaid,herbrowfurrowed.“Comingrightup.”
Sheclick-clackedtowardthekitchenwhileSpencerjuststoodtherewatchinghergo,hislegswideandhishandsonhiships.
“She’sagoodgirl,”hesaid,andDelilah’sjawclenchedeventighter.
“Ithinkyoumeanwoman,”shesaid.Claireshifted,hershoulderjusttouchingDelilah’s.
Spencerturnedbacktothem.“Excuseme?”
“Woman.”DelilahwavedtowhereAstridhaddisappearedintothekitchen.“Astrid,yourfiancée,isawoman.Nearlythirtyyearsold,ifIrecallcorrectly.”
Spencer’seyesnarrowed,justslightly,butthenhesmiled.“Astridsaidyouwere…fiery.”
“AndAstridsaidnexttonothingaboutyou.”Thewordsjustcameout,rudetoneandall.SheheardClaire’squietintakeofbreathandknewsheshouldshutup—shewasonthinicewithIsabelalready—butsomethingaboutthisguyfeltlikesandpaperrubbedoverasunburn.NoonecouldeveraccuseDelilahoffeelingaffectionforherstepsister,butshefeltevenlessforassholeswhosoobviouslywieldedtheirdickslikeswords.
Hissmiledidn’tbudge,hisstancestillspace-taking.Finally,heswunghisgazetoClaire,eyesflickingtoherchestforasplitsecondandthenbacktohereyes.“Goodtoseeyou,Claire.”
“Youtoo,Spencer,”Clairesaid,hervoicelikestone.
Andthenhesauntereddownthehalluntilhereachedthebackdoor,disappearingontotheporch,whereadozenhuman-shapedshadowsundulatedintheduskylight.
Nexttoher,Claireexhaledsoheavily,Delilahwassureshe’dcrumpletotheground.Sheshookoutherhandsandshivered.Delilahwatchedher,waitingtoseewhatelseshe’ddo.
Clairecaughtherlookingandshookherhead.“Sorry.Ijust…well,nowyou’vemetSpencer.”
“Ishealwayssuchadick?”
Clairestilled.“Isheadick?”
“Um,hellyes,”Delilahsaid.
“God.”Claireclutchedherstomach.“I’msogladtohearsomeoneotherthanIrisandmesaythat.”
“It’snotobvioustoliterallyeveryone?”
Clairedeflated,hershouldersslumpingsouth.“Well,Astrid’soneofthesmartestpeopleIknow,andshe’smarryinghim.”
Delilahwrinkledhernose.
“Plus,”Clairewenton,“IrisandIhavereallyonlyhungoutwiththetwoofthemafewtimes.Ifshe’snotwithus,theydotheirownthing.Iwashopinghe’dgrowonmeastimewenton.”
“How’dshemeethim?”
“Sheredesignedhisofficelatelastfall.He’djustmovedherefromPortland,tookoverDr.Latimer’spracticeafterheretired.”
“Dr.Latimeronlyjustretiredlastyear?”
Clairelaughed.“God,Iknow,hehadtohavebeeninhisseventieswhenwewereinhighschool.”
“Atleast.”
“Anyway,SpenceraskedAstridoutafterthejobwasdoneinJanuary.IrisandImethimacoupleweeksaftertheirfirstdate,andtheywereengagedtwomonthslater.”
“Twomonths?Jesus.Sothey’veonlybeenengagedsinceMarch?”DelilahnowrememberedwhenAstridcalledheraboutphotographingthewedding—ithadbeencoolinNewYork,winterjustlooseningitsholdoverthecity.
“Iknow,right?”Clairesaid.“Ittookherayeartopickoutacouchforherlivingroom.”
“WhatdoesIsabelsay?”Delilahasked,eventhoughshealreadyknew.Rich,prestigiouscareer,nicegolden-boyhair.IsabellovedSpencer,andClaireconfirmedasmuch.
“Icanneverputafingeronit,”Clairecontinued,“buthejust…He’s…”
“Smarmy?”
“Yes!”ClairereachedoutandgrabbedDelilah’sarminsolidaritybutquicklydroppedit.“Butlike…inasneakyway.Like,rightnow,whatjusthappenedwithhimall”—heresheflutteredherhandsaroundherboobs—“whatwouldIsayaboutthattoAstrid?‘Hey,yourfuturehusbandlookedatme’?”Sheshookherhead.“EvenIris,whowilllegitsayanythingtoanyone,can’tfigureouthowtowordit.”
Delilahranherbrainthroughwhatshewouldsay—Yourfiancé’sadouche,helookslikeaKendoll,heogledyourBFF’stits,youturnintoasycophantwhenyou’rearoundhim—buteachandeveryobservationthatpoppedintohermindwouldonlypissAstridoff,which,nowthatshethoughtaboutit,mightbeadelightfulwaytospendanevening.
Andasurewaytogetfired.
Still,theideaofAstrid’sweddingfallingapartandallofIsabel’smoneyandplansanddreamsofthesocietyeventoftheseasoncrumblingbeforeherface-liftedeyes?Well,let’sjustsayitmadeDelilahfeelallwarmandfuzzyinside.
“Spencerneverdoesanythingconcrete,”Clairesaid.“It’sjustafeeling,thewaysheactsaroundhim.”Sherubbedherforehead.“God,she’dkillmeifsheknewIwassayinganyofthistoyou.”
“Notexactlyhowamaidofhonorwantstofeelaboutthegroom,Iguess.”
“No.No,it’snot.”
DelilahwatchedasgenuineworrysettledonClaire’sfeatures.Then,asAstrid’sheelsechoeddownthehallwayagain,itbledawayjustasquickly.Linessmoothedout,andClairesmiledatherfriend.Butthatwasgenuinetoo,thegrincrinklinguphereyesandpressingasingletinydimpleDelilahhadnevernoticedbeforerightnexttoClaire’smouth.ThiswomanlovedAstridwithherwholeheart.
Godonlyknewwhy.
“Cheers,”AstridsaidasshehandedflutesofgoldenbubblytoDelilahandClaire,keepingonebackandlookingaround.“Where’sSpencer?”
Delilahtookasipofherdrinkthensaid,totallydeadpan,“Hopefully,takingaflyingleapoffthedockintotheriver.”
Clairechokedonherchampagne.
Delilahfeltarushofpride,butthenshesawthelookonAstrid’sface.
Sheexpectedangryorannoyed.Shedidn’texpect…crestfallen.Herstepsister’smouthwentslack,andhereyebrowsdippedinconfusion.Delilah’sstomachalreadyfeltwobblyfromwalkingintothishouse,butnow,suddenly,itwasapitofwrithingsnakes,andshedidn’tlikeitonebit.
“What?”Astridasked.
“Nothing,”Delilahsaid,wavingherfreehand,preferringAstrid’sprofessionalindifferencetothisunfamiliarwoundedversionstandinginfrontofher.“Youwantmetotakesomepicturesbeforedinner,right?”
“Yeah,”Astridsaid,hereyesflickingtoClaire.
“Let’sgooutback,then,”Clairesaid,clearingherthroat.ThenshehookedherarmthroughAstrid’sandtookasteptopullheraway.
Delilahreadiedherselftobeleftbehind,togofartherintothehouseonherown.She’ddoneitbefore.She’dspenttenyearsinthishouse,eightwithoutherdadoranyotherally.Shecouldcertainlywalkthroughagoddamnfoyerasaneventphotographer.
Butthishouse,Astrid,Isabel,allofthosethingsstirredtogetherinonepotwasapotentbrew;onesipwasallittooktomakeherfeellikeanodd,lonelyteenageragain.
Sheclosedhereyesfortwoseconds,breathedinsomelavender-bleachair,andorderedherfeettomove.Beforeshecould,though,beforesheevenopenedhereyesagain,shefeltsoftfingerscurlaroundherarm.
DelilahblinkedtofindClaire,onehandstillholdingontoAstridandtheother…smoothingdownDelilah’striceptoherelbow.Astridfrownedather,thoughherexpressionwasmorecuriousthanangry,andDelilahfeltsomethinguncoilinhermiddle.
“Comeon,”Clairesaidgently.“Ready?”
No,Delilahwantedtosay.Sheneverwas.
ButasClaire’sfingerstightenedonherskin,justalittle,herfeetunfrozeandshetookonestep,thenanother,thenanother.Beforesheknewit,shewasthroughthewhite-couchedlivingroomwhereshe’dspentmanyaChristmasmorningdiggingthroughherstockinginsilence,andoutsideonthewidebackporch,fairylightscastingasoftglowoverthewholespace.
Therewereatleastfifteenpeopleouthere.Delilahrecognizedsomeofthewomenfromthebrunch,Spencer’sfamily,andofcourseIsabel,whowasholdingcourtwhileperchedonapatiochair,champagnesparklinginherhand.AstridkissedClaireonthecheekbeforeshootingDelilahherusualirritatedlookandbreakingofftojoinSpenceronthefarendofthedeck,wherehewaslaughingwithagroupofthreeotherguys,allofthemdude-bro-ingitupwiththeirpreternaturallywhiteteethandperfecthair.
DelilahwaitedforClairetobreakofftoo,speedingtowardIrisorsomeotherfriendDelilahmayormaynotknow,maybeJosh,thoughshedidn’tseehimanywhere.
But…Clairedidn’tmove.Shestayedrightwhereshewas,herfingerscoolandsoftaroundDelilah’sarm,likeshewaswaitingforDelilahtobreakawaytoo.ChapterNine
CLAIREWASSTILLholdingDelilah’sarm.Shedidn’tknowwhy.Shetoldherselftoletitgomorethanonce,butsheworriedthatifshedid,Delilahmightfloatawayorcrumpletothegroundorjuststandtherelookingaslostasshehadinthefoyer
OrmaybeshejustlikedthesilkyfeelofDelilah’sskinunderhers.
Thethoughtwasalightningbolt,forcingClairetofinallyyankherfingersaway,sloshingabitofherchampagneontotheslattedporchfloorasshedid.
Delilahdidn’tseemtonotice.Asshelookedaroundandtookasipofherdrink,shedidn’tfloatorcrumple,butherexpressionwasstillabitwide-eyed.Itwasfascinatingtoseethisbold,brashwomanlooklikeadeerwanderinginthewoods.Clairewasn’tsurewhatitwasallabout,butshereallywantedtoknow,whichwasexactlywhysheswallowedherquestionswithatoo-biggulpofalcohol.
“Hey!”Iriscalledfromacrosstheporch,pullingGrantbythearmtowardClaire.“Whattookyousolong?”
“It’sbeenliketenminutes,Ris.”
“Whichistenminutestoolongtoleavemealonewiththiscrowd.”Iriswavedherownchampagnetowardtheposhgroupofpeople.“God,haveyoueverseensomuchLouboutininoneplace?AreweseriouslytheonlynormalpeopleinAstrid’slife?”
Clairelaughed.“Youknowweare.”
IsabelParker-Greenhadmoneyandalotofit.Herfirsthusbandhadfamilymoney,whichpassedtoIsabelafterhedied,andhersecondhusband,Delilah’sfather,hadbeenaprettysuccessfularchitectinSeattlebeforehemovedtoBrightFalls.Heopenedupasmallboutiqueofficehere,whichIsabelpromptlysold(andpossiblycursed)afterhedied.Shewasallaboutcharitiesandphilanthropy,butClairealwaysgottheimpressionitwasfortheclout,ratherthantheactualdo-gooding.
Isabellikedcontrol,likedbeautyandpower,andshemadesureAstridknewit
BackwhenClairefirstmetAstrid,theothergirlhadconstantlyclungtohermother,desperateforaffectionandattention.Clairesupposedsheunderstoodit.Astrid’sstepfatherhadjustdied,andIsabelwaslockedinherowngrief,andshecouldtellAstridwasterrifiedhermotherwouldleavehertoo.ButastheyearswentonandIsabelnotonlylavishedAstridwithattentionbutnearlysmotheredherwithit,ClairerememberedcountlessnightsinhighschoolwithAstridcryingintoIris’slapwhileClairerubbedherback,wordslikeIhateherandCan’tshejustleavemealone?stutteringthroughAstrid’ssobs.
Sincecomingbackfromcollegeandgettingherownplace,AstridandIsabel’srelationshiphadmellowed,butitwasn’twhatClairewouldcallclose.Itwascivil.Polite.Still,ClairecaughtthatlookinAstrid’seyesometimes,theneedtoimpress,toplease.
“Justthink,”Irissaid,wavingherglassatthecrowd.“Bythistimetomorrow,it’lljustbethethreeofuswithcopiousamountsofwineatafive-star-ratedspa.”
NexttoClaire,Delilahclearedherthroat.“Ishouldgetsomeshotsbeforedinner,”shesaidbeforetrailingofftoadarkercorner,settingherdrinkonthenearbytable,andkneelingdowntogetouthercamera.
“Iris,”Clairesaid,smackingherfriendonthearm.
“Ow.What?”
“Yousaidthethreeofus.Delilah’sgoingtoo.”
Iris’smouthparted,butthensheshrugged.“Idoubtsheactuallywantsto.Astrid’spayingher.It’sajob.”
“Easy,Iris,”Grantsaid.
“Oh,comeon,”Irissaid.“Thewomanwouldratherchewonbrokenglassthanbehere.It’sobvious.”
Claireshookherhead,herstomachclenchingassheglancedatDelilahagain.Allshesawwasherback,bareshoulders,andtattoos,buttheotherwoman’spostureseemedtight.
“Iknewit,”Irissaid.
ClaireturnedtofindbothIrisandGrantstaringather.“What?”
“You’reintoher,”Irissaid.
“Iamnot.”
IriswavedherhandoverClaire.“Thedress,walkinginwithher.Youlikeher.”
Clairetuggedononeofthedress’sshoulderstrapswhileIrissmiledtriumphantly.She’dorderedthegarmentmonthsagofromoneofherfavoritevintageclothingsites,drawninbythewaysheknewitwouldmakeherhourglassfigurelookevencurvier.Thedesignercalleditawiggledress,becauseyouhadtoliterallywiggleiton,andhadnamedit“Vixen.”Clairewasn’tsureshe’deverhavetheoccasion—orthecourage—towearit,buttonightseemedlikeagoodchance.Itwasclassyandsexyatthesametime.
Notthatshewasgoingforsexy.
“Ilikethisdress,Ris,”shesaid.“Iworeitforme.”
Iris’ssmilefell.“Honey,ofcourseyoudid.I’mjustsaying—”
“AndjustbecauseI’mbeingnicetosomeoneandnotactinglikeatotalbitchdoesn’tmeanI’mintothem.”
Thistime,Iris’smouthdroppedopen.“I’mnot—”
“Yeah,yousortofare,”Grantsaid.
“Hey,”Irissaid,hittinghimonthechest.Hereleasedanoofsound,capturingIris’shandandslippinghisfingersbetweenhers.
Irislethim,herexpressiongrowingpensiveasshelookedatClaire.“Okay,fine,I’mnotahugefan.NeitherwereyouthelasttimeIchecked.ShebarelyevenspoketoAstridgrowingup,ordidyouforget?”
“Ididn’tforget,”Clairesaid,butsheturnedaway,watchingasDelilahwovethroughthecrowdsnappingpictures,drawingeveryone’sgazeasshewent.
DINNERWASMOSTLYuneventful.ClairesatnexttoIrisneartheendofthelongtablethecaterershadsetupinthebackyard,tikitorcheslightingthearea,andatehermushroomrisottoandorganicgreenbeansaladwhileeveryoneinIsabel’sposhcircleaskedAstridandSpencerabouttheirhoneymoon,wheretheyweregoingtolive,howmanykidstheyweregoingtohave.
Astridanswereditallwithasmile,Spencer’sarmtightaroundhershouldertheentiretime.Heevenatehisfoodlikethat,cuttingintohislemon-pepperchickenwithhisforkone-handed.WhenAstriddeflectedthekidsquestion,however—“Oh,Idon’tknow,we’renotinanyrush”—Spencerlaughedlongandloud,likeAstridwasastand-upcomedianputtingonashow,andsaid,“Threeboys,assoonaswesettledowninSeattle.”
Everyoneoohedandaahedatthis,asthoughtheideaofAstridpoppingoutthreewhiteboysintothiswhite-boyworldwasjustthecutest.ButClaire’smindcaughtonthewordSeattlewaymorethanthreeboys
SheturnedtoIris,hermouthopen,butIrislookedjustasconfused,hereyespinnedonAstrid.
“Whatthefuck?”Iriswhispered,butAstridprobablyknewIriswellenoughtoknowwhatshewasmouthinginherdirection.Theirbestfriend’sfacewentcrimson,atrulymiserableexpressionsettlingonherfeatures.Shemouthedback,I’msorry,whichonlymeantitwasalltrue.
“He’stakinghertoSeattle?”Claireasked.
“I…Idon’tknow,”Irissaid
“Whywouldn’tshetellus?”
“Probablybecausesheknewwe’dfreakthefuckout.”
“ShehatesSeattle,”Clairesaid.“Thecrowds,thegritmixingwithallthatrain.It’sherworstnightmare.ShebarelysurvivedBerkeleyduringcollege.”
Achilledwhitewinehadreplacedthechampagneoncethemealstarted,andClairesluggedbacktherestofhersecondglass.God,shewasgoingtoneedastrongerlivertogetthroughthiswedding.
Seattle.Itwasn’tthatfaraway,aboutfourhoursbycar,butstill.Seattlewasn’tBrightFalls,andBrightFallswaswhereAstrid’swholelifewas.Herbusiness,herfriends,herfamily.
“Completelyodious,”Iriswhisperednexttoher,andClairedidn’thavetoaskwhat—orrather,who—shewastalkingabout.
“Didweeverlikehim?”Claireasked.“Like,whenAstridfirstintroducedus?”
“Hellno,”Irissaid.“Imean,okay,helookslikeagodwiththathairandthosebiceps,somaybewewereabitdistractedbythatatfirst.Youknow,beautifulpeoplegettingawaywithmurderandallthat.”
“God,Ihopehe’snotamurderer.”
Irislaughed.“I’mprettysureallhe’sactuallyguiltyofissittingonhisasswithaScotchandacigarwhileAstridvacuumsthelivingroom.InSeattle.”
Clairecrackedasmilebutcontinuedtosimmer.Eversincetheengagement,she’dbeenwaryaboutSpencer,butsuddenly,itallseemedtobecomingtoaboil.HearingDelilah,someonewhodidn’tevenlikeAstrid,confirmthatSpencerwasatotaljerkjustmadeitallthemorereal.AndSeattle?Takingherawaytoacityshehated?Godonlyknewhowlongshe’dbeenhidingthattidbitfromherfriends.
“Wecan’tlethermarryhim,”Clairesaid.
Irisfrozewithhermouthonherwineglass.“We…Saywhatnow?”
Claireloweredhervoiceevenmore.“Youknowwecan’t.”
Irisshookherhead.“Hangon.IthoughtwewerejustgoingtotalktoAstridaboutSpencer.Letherknowourconcerns.Where’sthisblowuptheweddingplancomingfrom?YouknowAstridisgonnaAstrid.”
“Yeah,andthatwomanrightthere”—shewavedherhandtowardwheretheirbestfriendwaslegitspooningsomeofherownrisottoontoSpencer’splate—“isn’tAstrid.”
Iris’seyesnarrowedonthescenethenlockedbackontoClaire’s.Amillionversionsofthesamequestionpassedbetweenthemsilently—how,how,how—asthepartybrokeuparoundthem.
IrisstoodandpulledClairewithher,sighingverydramaticallyasshepressedtheirtemplestogether.Theystoodthereforasecondlikethat,watchingallofIsabel’sfriendsdriftofftowardthefarendofthepatiowhilethecaterersstartedcleaningup.Claire’seyesfoundDelilah,camerapointeddirectlyatClaireandIrisbeforetheotherwomanlowereditandcheckedthescreen.DelilahpressedsomebuttonsonhercamerabeforelookingupatClaire,thesmallestofsmilesonherlips.
Clairefeltaswoopinherbelly,butshecouldn’ttellifitwasembarrassmentatbeingphotographedor…somethingelse.
“Ris,Claire,”Astridcallednearthestairsthatledintotheyard.“Comeon,we’regoingdowntothedock.”SpencerandhisbuddieswerealreadyboundinginthatdirectioninaseaofkhakiandTop-Siders.“Youtoo,Del.”
“Ohgoody,”ClaireheardDelilahsay,andcouldn’thelpthesmilethatsettledonherface.
“Indeed,”Irisansweredback.
“Idon’thavetohangoutwiththem,doI?”GrantaskedfromnexttoIris,hiseyestrainedonSpencerandCo.astheystoodonthedockinthedistance,theambersunslippingunderneathBrightRiverandturningeveryoneintobacklitshadows.
“No,sweets,youcanstickwithme,”Irissaid,pattinghisarm.
“Oh,thankgod,”hesaid.
ClairelaughedasIristoppedofftheirglassesandtheyheadedtowardthewater.ShewasawareofDelilahbehindherbutdidn’tturnarounduntiltheyreachedthedock.Delilah’scameraswungfromherneck,averyfullglassofwineinherownhand.Shedidn’tlookatClairethough.Instead,sheleanedagainstoneofthetallpinesthatborderedthebank—god,thiswomanwasalwaysleaningonthings—andwatchedSpencerlaughwithhisfriends.
Astridstoodnexttohim,sippingherdrinkandsmiling,butforthefirsttime,Clairenoticedsomethingicyaboutherexpression.Practiced.Ormaybeitwasjustwishfulthinking.Maybeitwastoodarkoutheretoseeanythingclearly.Thesunhadgonecompletelytosleep,turningthegentlyrushingwaterintoink,andthefewelectrictikitorchesthatlinedthebankweretheonlylight.
“Canweleaveforthevineyardnow?”Irisaskednexttoher.
“Iwish,”Clairesaid,butthatjustcausedawholeothersetofworriestobloomintohermind.Itwasonlyatwo-daytrip,butRubywasstayingwithJoshovernightagain,andClairewouldbefourhoursawayifanythingwentbadly.
Itwouldn’t,shetoldherself.ShehadalreadyropedIrisintoaskingGranttocasuallycheckinonJosharoundeighto’clockthenextnight,stoppingbyJosh’sapartmentforarandombeerwhenreally,she’dgivenhimstrictinstructionstomakesuretheovenwasturnedoffandtherewerenocandlesaflame.
“Shit,thesegoddamnhorseflies,”Spencersaid,pullingClaireoutofherthoughts.Heswattedathischeek,thenhisear.
“Goodhorsefly,”Irismuttered.
“Gogetsomebugspray,willyou,babe?”Spencersaid.
ThenhetappedAstridontheass.Notaslap,necessarily,buthardenoughtojolther.Oneofhisfriendslaughedbutthencovereditupquicklywithaswigofwine.
“Sure,”Astridsaidevenly.“Itisprettybuggyouthere.”
Whenshesweptoffthedocktowardthehouse,Claireseizedthemoment,grabbingAstrid’shandasshepassedandpullingherclose.
“What’sgoingon?”Claireaskedsoftly.
“Whatdoyoumean?”Astridasked.
“Seattle?”Irissaid.“Whatthehellisthatabout?”
Astridsighed.“We’renotgoingrightaway.It’sjustsomethingwe’retalkingabout.”
“YouloveBrightFalls,”Clairesaid.Shecouldn’thelpthehurtthatroseupinherthroat.
“Spencerdoesn’t,”Astridsaid.“Hetookoverthepracticehere,buthewantstoexpand,andBrightFallsisn’tbuiltforthat.”
“Soyou’rejustgoingtofollowhim?”Irisasked,voiceraising.“Whataboutyourjob?”
Us?Clairethought,butcouldn’tgetthesmallwordoffhertongue.
“IcandomoreinSeattle,”Astridsaid.“It’sabiggermarket,abigger—”
“Youhatebigger,”Irissaid.
Astridrubbedherforehead.“Look,it’snotdefinite,okay?We’rejusttalkingaboutit.Andwewouldn’tgoforanotheryearorsoanyway.”
“Yeah,but—”
“Babe!Where’sthatspray?”Spencercalledout.
Astridwavedathim,thenpressedakisstobothClaire’sandIris’scheeksbeforehurryingofftowardthehouse.
“Doyouknowagoodlawyer?”Irisasked.
“What?”Clairesaid,watchingAstrid’sformdisappearuptheporchsteps.
“Alawyer.Preferablycriminallaw,”Irissaid.
“OhJesus,”saidGrant,who’dhoveredofftothesideasthey’dtalkedtoAstridbutnowslunghisarmaroundIris’sshoulder.
Claireturnedtoherfriend.“Whatthehellareyoutalkingabout?”
Irisgrittedherteeth.“I’mtalkingabouthowI’mgoingtoneedareallydamngoodlawyerinabouttwopointfourseconds,becauseI’mgoingtomurderthatshitboot.”ShewavedherglasstowardSpencer,whowaschattingwithhisfriends,teethshininginthedark.
“Shitboot?”Clairecrackedasmile.
“AnIrisoriginal,”Grantsaid.
Thethreeofthemlaughed,butClairestillfeltuneasy,helpless.ItwastruethatAstridhadn’tbroughtSpenceraroundthemallthatmuchsincethey’dbeentogether.Adinnerhereandthere.Mostly,though,shewaseitheronlywithIrisandClaireoronlywithSpencer.
Now,ClairewasstartingtoseethereasonforAstrid’slittleboxes,especiallywithSeattleinthemix.Astridknewherfriendswouldcausemorethanafussoversomeguydraggingherofflikeacavemantoatownsheloathed.
“Takethese.”
ClairestartledtoseeDelilahsuddenlyrightinfrontofher,holdingoutherphoneandcamera.“What?”
“Justhangontothem,okay?”
ButbeforeClairecouldanswer,DelilahclosedClaire’sfingersaroundthephoneandloopedhercameraaroundClaire’sneckbeforesaunteringfartherdownthedock,wineglassheldlazilyinonehand,hipsswaying.MorethanoneofSpencer’sfriendscheckedoutherassasshepassed,which,forsomereason,madeClaireclenchherteethtogether.
“Well,ifitisn’tthewickedstepsister,”Spencersaidassheapproached.Hestoodatthedock’sedge,darkwaterlappingunderneath.
“OnlyIgettocallmyselfthat,”Delilahsaid,butClairecouldtellshewassmiling.“Sotellmeaboutyourself,Spence,”shewenton,voicelikemaplesugarasshereachedouttosqueezehisarm.
Butthensheseemedto…wobble.Herheelcaughtononeoftheroughwoodenplanks,andshestumbledintoSpencer.
“Shit,”shesaid,latchingontohisshouldersashegrabbedherarmstosteadyher.
“Whoa,easy,”hesaid,butherbodyjustkeptmovingforwardlikeaballdownahill.Shetwisted,wineglassclankingunbrokentothegroundasshetriedtogetherbalance.
“Ohmygod,”Irissaid.“Aretheygoingto—”
Butshecutherselfoff,becauseyes,yestheywere.
SpencerandDelilahtumbledintotheriverinatwistoflimbsandprofanity.
“Dude,youokay?”oneofSpencer’sfriendssaid,andtheyallcrowdedtotheendofthedock.Clairerushedovertoo,IrisandGrantclosebehind.SheelbowedherwaythroughthefratboystoseeDelilahandSpencersplutteringintheinkywater,bothofthemcompletelydrenchedandlookinglikedrownedrats
“Whatthefuck?”Spencersaidasheswipedhiswethairbackandfoundhisfooting.Thewaterwasn’tthatdeep,butevenstanding,itstillcameuptohischest.
“I’msosorry,”Delilahsaid,hervoicemeasuredandcalm.“Idon’tknowwhathappened.”
ShetreadedwaterasSpencer’sfriendsallleaneddowntohelphimoutoftheriver.Hissilkyshirtwasruined,hisleathershoeswaterlogged,andhisexpressionlookedlikeathundercloud.
“Ohmygod,Spencer,whathappened?”Astridsaid,comingupbehindthemallwithagreencanofbugspray.
“Nothing,”hegrowled,shakingoffhisfriendsandmovingpasther.“Ineedtogochange.”Andthenhestompedoffdownthedockandintothegrass,headinguptowardthehouse.
Everyonewassilentforafewseconds,butthen…asnortoflaughter.
“Holyshit,”oneofSpencer’sfriendssaid—PeterorPatrickorsomething.“Helovedthatshirt.”
“Andthoseshoes,”anotheronesaid.
“Needsomehelp?”Peter/PatrickaskedDelilah,whowasstillinthewater.
“I’mfine,thankyousomuch,”shesaid,voicestilldrippinginsugar.
Heshrugged,andtheguysallmovedofftowardthelawn,leavingClaire,Iris,Astrid,andGrantaloneonthedock.
AndDelilahinthewater.
“Whathappened?”Astridasked,glaringdownatherstepsister.
“Itripped,”Delilahsaid,makinghereyesalmostcomicallywide.“Itwasanaccident.”
IfClairedidn’tknowbetter…Well,thefactwassheactuallydidn’tknowbetter.Shedidn’tknowDelilahatall.Butwiththewoman’sphoneandcamerastrategicallyinherpossessionandDelilahswimmingslowlytowardtheladderattheendofthedock,shewasprettysurethiswholethingwasorchestrated.
“Areyouokay?”ClaireaskedasDelilahclimbedtheladder.
“Neverbeenbetter.”Delilahwrungoutherhair.“Water’sdamnrefreshing.Imightneedachangeofclothesthough.”SheglancedatAstridandgrinned.“Gotsomesweatsforyoursis?”
Irissnort-laughedbeforeleaningclosetoClaireandasking,“Issheforreal?”
“Ithinksheis.”
Astridjustgapedather,thengrabbedClaire’srelativelyfullglassofwineandknockeditbackinthreeswallows.Sheshuddered,handedtheemptyglassbacktoClaire,thenstompedofftowardthehouse.
“Idon’tknowwhythehellIthoughtthiswasagoodidea,”shesaidasshewent,DelilahfollowingbehindobedientlyaftercollectingherthingsfromClaire.Delilahdidn’tmakeanyeyecontact,butonceshewasoffthedock,sheturnedherheadandlookedback,justforasecond.Itwasdark,andClairecouldn’tbesure,butshethoughtthewomanwinked.
Andnotonlywinked,butwinkedather.
Clairefeltalaughbubbleupinherchestbutmanagedtopushitdown.
“Damn,”Irissaidastheystartedtowardthehousetoo.“NotthatIwantourpreciousBFFtobeallpissedoff,butthatwas—”
“Brilliant?”Clairesaid.
“Yes.Yes,itfuckingwas.”ChapterTen
“I’MSORRY,WHAT?”
LateTuesdaymorning,DelilahwatchedasAstrid’seyesbulgedtoinsect-likesize,herslenderfingersgrippingthesidesofthefrontdeskatBlueLilyVineyardandSpa.Thewholebuildingwaslikeanoasis,allsmoothtawnywoodinsidewithwhiteupholsteryandseaglass–blueaccents,fromthejarthatheldthepensontheconciergedesktothepaintingsonthewalls,imagesofclearriversandliliesswayinginthesun.Windowslinedtheentiremainfloor,andbehindaveryterrifiedreceptionistnamedHadley,DelilahcouldseetheWillametteValleystretchingoutinaswathofgreeninthedistance,neatrowsofplumpinggrapesdirectlybelowthem.
“Threerooms?”Astridsaid.“No,Idistinctlyrememberbookingfour.”
“Ohshit,”Irismutteredunderherbreath.
Delilah,forherpart,leanedagainstthecounterandkeptherfaceimpassive.Shewasexhausted.Honestly,shecoulduseamassage.Thewholedriveuphere,that’swhatshe’dfocusedon—massages,areallygoodpinotnoir,herveryownchintz-freeroomoverlookingthevineyardwhereshecouldjustbe,freeofAstridandBrightFallsandalltheemotionalsludgehervisittoWisteriaHouselastnighthadleftgunkingupherveins.
Granted,shewastechnicallyheretogetsomephotosofthethreeBFFs,probablytohangintheircaveastheyperformedtheirspellsforeverlastingbeautyandpower,butshe’dtakethefreemassageregardless.
She’dneverbeensotiredasshehadbeenthesepasttwodays,andthatincludedherfirstfewmonthsinNewYorkateighteen,whenshefirstdiscoveredotherqueerpeopleandbarsanddidn’tsleepforaweek.Butsofar,thistriptoBrightFallshadleftherfeelingbonelessandnotinthatblissed-out,postorgasmicway.Morelikeshecouldn’tfindherfooting,wobblingallovertheplace.
Theonlyreliefshe’dreallyfeltwaswhenshepulledthattosserintotheriverlastnight.
God,thatwasfun.
Astriddidn’tthinkso,ofcourse,whichwasanaddedbonus.AsherstepsisterhadshovedapairofsparesweatsintoDelilah’sarmslastnight,Astrid’sexpressionheldnoneofthecrestfallenhurtDelilahhadglimpsedinWisteriaHouse’sfoyer.No,itwasallirritation,familiarandlife-giving.ThegodshadgiftedDelilahwithabrand-newwaytogetunderherstepsister’sskin,andsheplannedtomilkitforallitwasworth,whichhadtobedonecarefully,artfully,ifshewasgoingtokeepherjob.ButthinkingofcreativewaystopissoffAstrid’sbelovedjustmadeitallthemorefun.Plus,Spencerwasawalkinggolden-hairedadvertisementforthepatriarchy,soitwasn’tlikeanycleverlydisguisedinsultsshecouldtosshiswayweren’tjustified.
Herdeterminationgrewevenmoreasshestoodthereintheresort’slobby,fightingtokeepherfaceneutralasitbecamemoreandmoreclearthatAstridhadn’tactuallybookedfourrooms.She’dbookedthreeforherself,Iris,andClaire,andDelilahhadn’tevenbeenanafterthought.Shetriednottonoticehowherhearttrippedinherchest,herthroatgrewalittlethicker,ahorriblecocktailofanger,annoyance,andhurt.
Clairesteppedalittleclosertoher,andDelilahtriednottonoticethateither.Herbody,however,hadotherplans,andshefeltherselfstraighteningandthenleaningtowardtheotherwoman,justenoughthathershoulderbarelybrushedClaire’s.
“DelilahGreen,”Astridsaidtotheunfortunatereceptionist,enunciatingeverysyllable.“Lookagain.Iknowit’sthere.”
“I’msosorry,Ms.Parker,”Hadleysaid,“butthereservationhereclearlysaysthatyoucalledonApril4andbookedthreeroomsforonenight,oneforyourself,anotherforaMs.IrisKelly,andathirdforaMs.ClaireSutherland.Idon’tseeanythingforaMs.Del—”
“Allright,Iunderstand,”Astridsaid,sighingheavily.“Butsurelytheremustbeanotherroomavailable.”
Hadleywinced.Delilahalmostfeltbadforher.“Idoapologize,Ms.Parker.Summerisourbusiestseason,andwe’reallbookeduptonight.Butifanythingbecomesavailable,you’llbethefirsttoknow.”
Astridstaredatthepoorwomanforagoodfiveseconds,likethemereforceofhergazewouldmakeavacantroomappearoutofthinair.Hadley,forherpart,heldhersmile,butwhenAstrid’sshouldersslumpedindefeat,thereceptionistaudiblyreleasedabreath.
“It’sokay.I’lljustsleepwiththegrapes,”Delilahsaid.
Astridslowlyturnedbutdidn’tmeetherstepsister’scoolgaze.Instead,shelookedatthefloorandinhaledseveraltimesinarow,likeshewastryingnottocompletelylosehershit.
Delilahfoldedherarms.She’dratherliketoseeAstridlosehershit,righthereinfrontofHadleyandthecalmingspa-bluecolorpalette.
“It’sfine,”Clairesaid,layingahandonAstrid’sarm.“It’llbefine.Thebedsareking-size,right?Delilahcanstaywithme.”
Ohmygod,thiswastooperfect.Astrid’sheadsnappedup,hereyesgoingwide.
“No,no,it’smyfault,”shesaid.“Shecanstaywithme.”
“Astrid,”Clairesaid.“Youdeservearoomtoyourself.”
“Sodoyou,”Astridsaid.
“Well,Isureasshitdeservearoomtomyself,”Irissaid,andDelilahnearlylaughed.Honestly,inanotherlife,sheprobablywouldhavelikedIrisawholehellofalot.
“Astrid,”Clairesaid,closingherhandsaroundAstrid’supperarms.“Idon’tmind.AndIinsist.It’llbegreat.”
“Yeah,Ass,it’llbegreat,”Delilahsaid.Shemetherstepsister’sgazeandliftedasinglebrow,somethingsheknewAstridcouldn’tdoandwishedshecould.Theystaredateachother,Delilah’slittlebetaboutgettingClaireintobedhoveringbetweenthem.Granted,thiswasn’texactlywhatDelilahmeant,butitwasastart.Itwasadamngreatstart.
Astridclosedhereyesbriefly,andinthattinyspaceoftime,Delilahknewshehadwon.
Therewassomethingelsetheretoothough.SomethingotherthanthesatisfactionDelilahfeltknowingAstridwasinwardlyseething,andshewasprettysureitwasexcitement.Clairewasfun,sweet,andsexyashell.Shewasinteresting.AndDelilahcouldn’tstopthinkingaboutlastnightinthefoyeratWisteriaHouse,thatsplitsecondwhereClairecould’vewalkedawaywithAstrid,leavingDelilahtodealwithherdemonsallbyherself,justlikeDelilahwasusedtodoing.
Onlyshehadn’t.
Clairehadturnedback,browneyeswideopenandhonest,andshe’dwaitedforDelilah.She’dwalkedherthroughwhatcould’vebeentheworstmomentofhertripbacktoBrightFalls,andturneditintoasimplestridedownahall.
Andforthefirsttimesinceherfatherdied,Delilahhadn’tfeltaloneinWisteriaHouse.ChapterEleven
CLAIREHADNOcluewhatshe’dbeenthinking.
Well,HelpAstrid.ThatwasthespiritbehindherwholeshareabedwithDelilahGreenidea—keepherbestfriendfromcompletelymeltingdownduringtheonepre-weddingactivityClaireandIriswereactuallylookingforwardto.She’dseenitbrewing,thefreak-out,Astridbreathinglikeabullfacingamatador,andsheknewhowterribleAstridmustbefeelingforleavingDelilahout.
What’smore,ClairesawDelilah’sdisappointment.Or,notdisappointmentsomuchas…shewasn’tsure.ButsomethinghadbeenbehindDelilah’seyeswhenitwasclearwhathadhappened.Herfaceremainedexpressionless,boredeven,buthereyeshadflickered,likeastrongwindnearlysnuffingacandleoutbeforetheflamerearedbacktolife
So,ofcourse,offeringtobunkupwithDelilahseemedlikethebestcourseofaction.Irissurelywasn’tgoingtodoit,andifDelilahandAstridsharedaroom,thetripwouldprobablyendinsomesortofbloodshed.
Clairewastheobviouschoice.
Butnow,asthedoorshutbehindthetwoofthemintheirroom,apangofnervousnessshotthroughClaire’sbelly.
“Thisisnice,”Delilahsaid,rollinghersuitcasetothebedandfloppingdownonthecrispwhitelinens,spreadingoutlikeastarfish.
“Um,yeah”wasallClairecouldseemtogetout.Inherflopping,Delilah’sblacktanktophadriddenup,revealingastripeofsmooth,paleskin.Abellybutton.Hipbones.
Claireturnedaway.Breathed.Shesetherownsuitcaseonanarmchairinthecornerandunzippedit,rummagingpointlesslythroughherclothesinanefforttodosomething,anything,otherthanwatchDelilahsnow-angelonthebed.
Theroomwasnice.Darkhardwoodfloors,lightgraywallswithbright-tonedartworktooffsetalltheneutralcolors,ahugebedwithawhiteduvetcoverandsheets,blueaccentpillowsarrangedjustso.Awidewindowcoveredmostofthebackwall,andtheviewwasincredible,allshimmerydistantvalleysandrowsofjuice-filledgrapesrollinglikegreen-leafedwaves.AndasClairebroughthertoiletrybagintothebathroom,shewalkedintowhatwasprettymuchaminispawithitssea-glasstilefloorsandhugeglassshower,adualvanitywithwhiteporcelainbowlsandbronzednickelfixtures.
Sheturnedonthewaterinthefarsink,runningherfingersunderthecoolstreamwhileshegotherheadonstraight.Thesuitewasridiculouslyhugeforoneperson,thebedlikethestateofOregonitself.SheandDelilahwouldhardlyevennoticeeachother.
Probably.
Maybe.
“Hey.”
ClairejumpedasDelilahappearedbehindher.
“Whoa,sorry,”Delilahsaid,droppingherowntoiletrybagontothemarblecounter.“Youokay?”
“Yeah,fine.”Clairemanagedtosmileather,butthenDelilahleanedonthecounterandshehadtolookaway
“Iguessweshouldgetundressed,huh?”
Clairedroppedthelittlepotoflipglossshe’dmindlesslyopened,fingerswirlingthroughtheshimmerypinkjustforsomethingtodo.Itclatteredintothesinkwiththewaterstillflowing,soakingtheglossbeforeClairecouldsnatchitback.
“What?”sheasked,grabbingafluffyhandtowelandwipingthepotdry.
Inthemirror,Delilah’seyesflickedtothelipglossandbacktoClaire.“Massages?Thirtyminutes?”ShebrandishedacreamyrectangleofpaperthatdetailedtheservicesAstridhadalreadyarrangedforthem.Thisschedule,thankfully,didincludeDelilah.
“Oh,”Clairesaid.“Right.”
Delilahlookeddownatthepaper.“Itsaysherewe’resupposedtoundressandputontherobesprovidedbeforeweheaddownstairstoourassignedmassageroom.”Shesetthepaperonthecounterandgrabbedthetwofluffywhiterobesthathungonthewallnexttotheshower,holdingoneouttoClaire.
Clairetookit,curlingittoherchest,andthenshejuststoodthere,staringatDelilahlikeshewaswaitingtoseewhowouldstartundressingfirst.
DelilahclearedherthroatandClairejolted.
God,wasClairewaitingtoseewhowouldstartundressingfirst?Shewasofficiallyadisaster.Ahorny,stressed-the-hell-outdisaster.
Andfromthesmallsmilethatliftedthecornersofhermouth,Delilahknewit
“YouwanttochangeinhereandI’lltakethebedroom?”sheasked.
Clairenoddedwaytoovigorously.“Yes.Good.Perfect.”
Thatlittlesmileagain.“Good.Perfect,”Delilahsaidbeforeleavingandclosingthedoorbehindher.
Claireslumpedagainstthecounter,rubbingherforeheadwiththerobe.Shehadtogetagrip.Itwasjustarobe.Itwasjustaspa.Delilahwasjustaperson.Agorgeousperson,true,butapersonnonetheless,likeClaire.Apersonshehadabsolutelynobusinessthinkingaboutnakedorwhattheskinjustunderherearmighttastelike.
“Doyouthinkwe’resupposedtoleaveonourunderwear?”Delilahcalledfromtheotherroom,hervoicecompletelyguileless.
Clairegroanedintotherobe.“Idon’tknow!”
“Hmm.I’mtakingmineoff.”
Oh,forgod’ssake.
Clairestrippeddowntoherundiesandbra—decidedlyleavingbothon—andsplashedsomecoldwateronherface.Thenshewrappedthecloudlikerobearoundher,securingthetiearoundherwaist,andsatontheedgeofthehugesoakertubwhileshetookafewdeepbreaths.WhatshereallywantedtodowascallRuby,butherphonewasoutinthebedroom.Whileshesatthere,tryingnottothinkabouttonightornakednessorDelilah’sunderwearonthefloor,aknocksoundedontheoutsidedoor.
“Whoisit?”sheheardDelilahcall.
“Me.”
ClairerecognizedIris’svoiceandstoodup.
“Mewho?”Delilahsaid.
“Iris.”
“Proveit.”
Clairecrackedasmileandopenedthedoorintothebedroomaninch,justtomakesureDelilahwasrobed—shewas,andsatontheendofthebedscrollinglazilythroughherphone—andthenwenttoletIrisin.Shewasthankfulforthedistractionintheformofherbestfriend,hervoiceofreasonwhenitcametoDelilahGreen.
“Hey,”Irissaidwithherownfluffyrobeinplace,herredhairpiledontopofherheadjustlikeClaire’s.SheglaredatDelilah.“Areyoualwayslikethis?”
Delilahlookedup.“Definethis.”
“Annoyingbitch?”
“Iris,”Clairesaid.
Delilah’ssmilewasbeatific.“Foryou,Iputmybestfootforward.”
Irissighedandpoppedherhandsontoherhips.“Fine.Whatever,I’msorry.Sowhat’stheplan?”
“Plan?”Delilahasked.
“Yes,plan,”Irissaid.
“To…getmassagesandamudmask?”Delilahsaid.
Irisshookherhead.“Todethroneloverboy.”
ApitopenedupinClaire’sstomach.Lastnight,sheandIrishaddefinitelydecidedthattheyneededtogetseriousaboutAstridandSpencer.Butthedecisionhadbeenalcohol-induced,fueledbywitnessinghiscovertdickishnessandempoweredbyseeingDelilahhaulhimintotheriver.Actuallydoingsomethingaboutitinthesoberlightofday,essentiallyruiningtheirbestfriend’swedding,wasawholeothermatter.
Clairepressedherhandstoherstomach.“Iris—”
“Ohno,”Irissaid,pointingather.“Ohhellno.Youarenotbackingoutnow.You’retheonewhosaidwecouldn’tlethermarryhim.”
“I’mnotbackingout.I’mjust…thinking.”
“You’rebackingout.EvenDelilahcanseehe’saghastlyexcuseforahumanbeing.”
Delilahtappedherchin.“I’mgoingtochoosetotakethatasacompliment.”
“Chooseaway,”Irissaid,butthencontinuedstaringatDelilah.“Willyouhelpus?”
“HelpyougetridofSpencer?”
“Notgetrid,”Clairesaid.“Just…maybe—”
“Yes.Getrid,”Irissaid.“OurdarlingClairehereistookindhearted.”
“Getridsoundssoviolent,”Clairesaid.“WejustneedtotalktoAstrid.”
“Andthreeisbetterthantwo,”Irissaid.“Afterlastnight,Ilikeyourstyle.”
Delilahflashedagrinatthatbutthengrewserious.“Whatdoyouplanondoing?TossingAstridinariver?”
“Ofcoursenot,”Irissaid.
“Oh,Iknow,”Delilahsaid,claspingherhandstogetherunderherchinandflutteringherlashesdramatically.“Sitherdownforaniceheart-to-heartandconvinceherthathertrueloveisstillouttheresomewhereovertherainbow.”
ClaireandIrislookedateachother.Thiswasn’texactlywhattheyplannedondoing,butitwasclose.
“Doyouhaveabetteridea?”Irisasked.
Delilahlookedatthembothforafewsecondsbeforeanswering.“MaybeIdo.”
Irisstaredather.“Caretoshare,ohwiseone?”
Delilahsuckedherteeth.“Ihaven’tdecidedyet.”
“Whichmeansyou’vealreadythoughtaboutthis,”Irissaid,lightinguplikeafirework.“Youhave,haven’tyou?”
Delilahwavedanonchalanthand.“WhywouldIcarewhoAstridmarries?”
“Trustme,Iknowyoudon’tcare,”Irissaidspitefully,andDelilahliftedabrow.
“Okay,enough,”Clairesaid,thenlookedatDelilah.Shecould’vesworntheotherwoman’sgazesoftened.“Look,wedowanttotalktoAstridaboutthis.Wejustdon’tknowhow.”
“Aren’tyoutwosupposedtoknowherbetterthananyone?”Delilahsaid.
“Yes.Wedo.”Clairegrappledfortherightwords.“ButAstrid’s…complex.Shedoesn’topenupeasily,eventous.”ShelookedatIris.“RememberwhenshehadacrushonTobyMcIntoshforalloftenthgrade?Shedidn’tevenadmitituntilgraduation.”
“Iremember,”Irissaid.
“Youdon’thavetodoanything,”ClairesaidtoDelilah.“But,ifyouthinkofanyideas…”
Delilahstaredatherforasecond,Claire’sheartinherthroat.Finally,theotherwomanreleasedahugesigh.“Fine.Jesus.Butifyou’regoingtodothis,youhavetobecarefulaboutit.Astridwouldhavetobecompletelyconvincedthathe’swrongforher,notjustmadathimoversomethingyousayhedid.Ithastocomefromher.”
“Youmeanwe’dhavetobemanipulative,”Clairesaid,wincing.
“No,ImeanwhatIsaid.Careful.Gethertotalkabouthim,askherquestionsaboutwhatshelikesabouthim,thingslikethat.Helpherrealizeitallonherown.”
Irispaced,herthumbnailinhermouth.“Yes.That’sperfect.Itneedstobeherideaorshe’llneverseeit.YouknowDelilah’sright,Claire.”
Clairerubbedhereyesunderherglasses.Delilahwasright.Astridwouldnever,everwalkawayfromsomethingshe’dcommittedtounlessitwasheridea.Isabelraisedhertoberuthlesslikethat,alwaysincontrol,alwaystheonewiththeupperhand.Honestly,thisdie-hardtraitwaswhyClairebelievedAstridchoseSpencerinthefirstplace.Hecalledtheshots.Heworethepants.Astridhadbeentheperfectstudent,triedhardtobetheperfectdaughter,andnowshewastheperfectbusinessmanager.Soforthisoneareainherlife,shedidn’thavetoworksohard.Shedidn’thavetoconstantlybethinkingabouthowtomakeherrelationshipsucceed.
Shejusthadtosayyestoeverythingheralready-perfectfiancésaid.
Clairefeltanalmostunbearablesadnesssettleoverheratthethought.ShehadtobelievetherewereplentyofmenouttherewhowouldlovepartneringwithAstrid,workingtogethertobesuccessfultogether—orhell,evenfailingtogether—insteadofthisimbalanceofpowershehadwithSpencer.
“Allright,”Clairesaid.“It’sastart,Iguess.”
“Exactly,”Irissaid.“Sowe’reallagreed”—hereshewavedherhandinadramaticcircletoincludeDelilah—“thatourplanisgettinghertotalkandthinkaboutSpencerandhisdouchebagways.”
ClairenoddedwhileDelilahsimplystoodup,tightenedherrobebelt,andheadedforthedoor.
Irisclearedherthroat.
“What?”Delilahasked,droppingherphoneintoherrobe’spocketandslinginghercamerabagoverhershoulder.“Youwanttocomeupwithasecrethandshakeorsomething?”
Irisjustglared.ChapterTwelve
DELILAHHADNOcluewhatshe’dbeenthinking.
She’dhadherownplan—annoyAstridtowithinaninchofherlifeaboutthehumangermshe’dchosentomarry,becomingtheproverbialthorninAstrid’ssideduringwhatshould’vebeenthehappiesttimeinherlife.WasDelilahanassholeforhatchingthislittlescheme?Possibly.Okay,probably.Butitwasharmlessfun,justlittledipsintotheriverandsomebrokenglass,awaytoholdontoalittlebitofcontrol,whichAstrid—andIsabel,forthatmatter—alwayshadinspades.Astridwasgoingtodowhatshewanted,nomatterwhatherstepsisterdid,andDelilahhadnodoubtthesetwoweekswouldendwiththehappycouplesailingoffintothesunsetandDelilahheadingbacktoNewYorkwithfifteengrandinherpocket,noharm,nofoul.
Besides,whatdidshecareifAstridmarriedthisguy?WhatdidshecareifAstridyessedherwaytopoppingoutahundredbabiesinSeattle?WhatdidshecareifAstridtiedonanaproneverynighttocookherman’sdinner?MaybeAstridlikeddoingallthosethings.Feminism,afterall,wasaboutequalrespectforequalwork,notensuringawomanneverbakedacakeorfetchedacoldone.
ButthenClairehadturnedherdoeeyesonDelilah.She’dbeenso…dammit,sosweetinhercareforAstrid,hergenuineworry,andDelilahhadcrackedlikeanegg.She’dnevergivenintoanyonesoeasilyinherlife,andshestillwasn’texactlysurewhatthehellhadhappenedbackintheirroom,howshe’dendeduphelpingthefuckingcovenbreakupherstepsister’swedding.She’dgetpaidnomatterwhat—compensationwasguaranteedevenintheeventofaweddingcancellation,alittleclauseshe’daddedtoherstandardcontractespeciallyforherbelovedstepfamily—andsohereshewas,collaboratingwithAstrid’sBFFs,helpingthemtakedownthepatriarchyonedickbagatatime.
WhentheyreachedAstrid’sdoor,Delilahhungback,leaningagainstthewallwithherarmscrossed.She’dagreedtohelp,butdistancewasgoodhere.Athere’syouandthenthere’smesortofmessagetoIrisandClaire.
ButthenClairesidledupnexttoher,shoulderbrushinghers,smellinglikecleanlaundryandthatmeadowyscentDelilahrememberedfromthatnightatStella’s.
“Doyouthinkthiswillwork?”ClairewhisperedasIrisknockedonAstrid’sdoor.
Herbreathsmelledlikemint,andDelilahfoundherselfwishingshe’dthoughttobrushherowndamnteeth.
“Ihavenoidea,”Delilahsaid,andthenthoughtofaddingsomethingsaltylike,MaybeAstridandSpencerareactuallyMFEO,butthensheturnedenoughtomeetClaire’seyes,sawhopeandsomethingelseinallthatdeepbrown,thatsameflickerofinterestaswhenDelilahhadhelpedRubywithherdress,andnervesflutteredlowinherbelly.
Actualnerves.Shehadn’tfeltnervousaroundawomansince…
Youactuallythoughtweweregoingtogetmarried?Areyoufuckinginsane?
Jax’svoiceechoedbetweenherears—mean,incredulous,shaming—whileanakedwomanDelilahhadonlyeverseeninJax’soldphotographsloungedinDelilah’sownbed,staringwide-eyedlikeshewaswatchingasoapopera.
Delilahturnedawayandcrackedherknuckles.Shedidn’tthinkaboutthathorriblelastdaywithJaxfiveyearsagoveryoften,butwhenshedid,sheknewhowtodealwithit.
“Ineedadrink,”shesaid.
“Youandmeboth,”IrissaidasAstridflungopenherdoorandsweptintothehallwaywithherownrobetiedsnuglyaroundherthinframe,herblondhairinastylishlymessybun.
Asthefourofthemheadedtowardthemassagerooms,DelilahcouldstillfeelClaire’seyesonher,butshedidn’tlookatheragain.
DELILAHSPENTTHErestoftheafternooninsilent,massaged-and-muddedbliss.Byherobservation,sodidtherestofherparty,whichmadegettingAstridtotalkaboutSpencer’smisogynisticwaysdifficult.Theyalldideverythingtogether,rotatingthroughseaweedwrapsandsaunasasapack,butitwashardtobringupalife-alteringdecisionwhenapersonnamedStormywasbusyspreadingpore-cleansingcharcoalalloveryourthighs.Delilahcouldbarelytakeanyphotographs,doingherbesttocaptureafewinbetweentreatments,particularlywhenAstrid’sfacewascoveredincomplexion-brighteningmud.
Still,throughouttheafternoon,DelilahkeptcatchingIris’sandClaire’seyes.Shedidn’tmeantolookatthem,sheswore,butwheneverthey’dallmovetoanewroomorAstridmadeacommentaboutsomethingevenremotelywedding-esque,likefittingsorthechanceofrainthatdayorhowshewasworriedthesalmonpuffssheorderedwouldn’tbefresh,thethreeofthemwouldfindoneanother,widentheireyesasthoughdaringtheotherstosaysomethingfirst.Delilah,forherpart,knewitwouldbeeasiertobringupSpencerifAstridbroughthimupfirst,butsheneverdid.Notonceinfourhoursofpamperingdidshementionherdashingfiancé.
Butthatcertainlydidn’tstopallthelooksfrompassingbetweenDelilah,Iris,andClaire.Andeverytimeithappened,somethingbloomedinDelilah’schest.Shecouldn’tputafingeronit—nerves,irritation,pureadrenaline.Whateveritwas,shedidn’tthinkshe’deverfeltitbeforeandwasn’tquitesureshelikedit.
Bythetimethefourofthemhadshoweredandgatheredagainfordinnerontheverandaoverlookingthevineyard,Delilahwasexhausted.Beingaroundotherpeoplealldaylong,eveniftheyhadn’ttalkedallthatmuch,wascompletelydraining.Shefeltconstantlyon,andrightnow,allshewantedwasaglassofwinethesizeofherheadandaquietroomofherown.
Plus,therewasthatfeelingagain,rightunderherribcageeverytimeIrisandClairesomuchasglancedatherortappedherfootunderthetable,likesomethingabouttospillover.
“Thisisnice,”Astridsaid,proppingherelbowsonthewoodentableandrestingherentwinedhandsunderherchin.“Isn’tthisnice?”
ShewaslookingatDelilahwhensheaskedit,soDelilahcomplied.“Nice.Wonderful.”
Anditwas.Thiswasthefirstmealataweddingeventshe’dactuallygettoeat.Hercamerawasunderthetable,butshewassotired,shewasn’tabouttogetitoutofherownvolition.Shejustwantedtosithere,inalltheniceness.Thepatioonlyhadafewotherdiners,anditwasdimlylitwithgas-poweredlamps,flamesflickeringshadowsoverfacesandarms.Thesunwasjustdippingintothevalley,turningtheeveninglavenderandsilver,andtheairsmelledlikeearthandrain,eventhoughtherewasn’tacloudinthesky.Everythingfeltverdant,alive.
AndthentherewasClairesittingnexttoher,dressedinakelly-greenlinenromper,shortsfallingmid-thighandblouse-liketopunbuttonedjustenoughtoshowalittlecleavage.
Jesus,didthiswomanlookbadinanything?
Delilahrubbedherforeheadandtookagulpof2014BlueLilySignaturePinotNoir.Despitethewayshe’dplayedwithClaireearlierintheday,shoutingthroughthebathroomdooraboutthestatusofherunderwear,shewasn’tinthemoodforanygamestonight.Shefeltraw,likeshe’dbeeninthesunalldayandneededtobewrappedinaloe,andClaire’smeadowyscentwasn’thelping
“It’slovely,”Irissaid,lookingatClaireandthenDelilah.
“Gorgeous,”Clairesaid,lookingatIrisandthenDelilah.
“Oh,forfuck’ssake,”Delilahsaid.
Thethreewomenfroze—Astridwithherbrowsdippedinconfusionandtheseothertwoyahooswiththeireyespoppedwide.Delilahfeltalaughbubbleintoherchest.
“Whatisitnow?”Astridasked,immediatelyirritated.
Underthetable,ClairehookedheranklearoundDelilah’s,barelegagainstbareleg.Claire’sskinwassmooth,cool,andmadeDelilah’sstomachfluttermorethanshe’dliketoadmit.Itdidthetrickthough.Shetookadeepbreathandsmiled,liftingherglasstohermouthandlookingaroundasiffortheserver.
“I’mstarving,isall,”shesaid.“Don’ttheybringbreadorsomething?”
Astridvisiblyrelaxed.“Oh,yeah,Ithinkso.”Sheflaggeddowntheserverwho’dbeentakingcareofthemandaskedforabasketofcarbs,whichwaspromptlydelivered,alongwithahomemadehoneybutterthatDelilahwantedtolickrightoutofthelittlestainlesssteelcontainer.
ShewasonhersecondpieceofwarmbrownbreadwhensherealizedClaire’sanklewasstilllightlytwinedaroundhers.
Theknowledgewaslikeanelectricalshock.Delilah’sspinewentstraight,andshecouldn’tkeepherowngazefromfindingClaire,whoseemedtorealizeatthesametimethatshewasstillwrappedaroundDelilahlikeakoala.Clairejerkedherlegbacksoquickly,herkneebashedintothetable,rattlingtheplatesandglassesandpullingaswearoutofherprettymouth.
“Shit,youokay?”Irisasked,steadyingthevaseofliliesatthecenterofthetable.
Clairegrimacedandnodded,rubbingherleg.“Yeah,sorry.Klutzoverhere.”
Delilahcrackedasmile,whichClairereturned,alovelyblushspreadingoverhercheeks.Watchingthisbeautiful,completelyadorablewomanunderthesinkingsun,thewholedaysuddenlyseemedhilarious—theone-room-at-the-innfauxpas,Clairelockingherselfinthebathroomlikeaself-consciousteenager,thisridiculousteamefforttotakeSpencerdown.Asthree-fourthsofaglassofwineriveredthroughDelilah’sveins,hersmilegrewintoalaughshecouldn’tholdback.
“What’ssofunny?”Astridasked.
Delilahshookherhead,morelaughterslippingthroughhermouth.Nexttoher,Clairestartedlaughingtoo,herhandoverherfaceandhershouldersshaking.IrisandAstridjuststaredateachother,thoughIrisworeatinyknowingsmilethatmadeDelilahfeelalittlelessinsane.Still,shehadtogetittogetherorAstridwouldenduppoutyandpissed,theoppositeofwhatthethreeotherwomenweregoingfor.
Well,atleasttheoppositeofwhatIrisandClaireweregoingfor.
Andrightnow,withthelightandthewineandthelaughs,allcoupledwithherownexhaustion,DelilahwouldgiveClaireSutherlandjustaboutanything.
“Okay,so,”Delilahsaid,knockingbackanotherswallowofwineandproppingherelbowsonthetable.SheleveledhergazeatAstridandflutteredherlasheslikeaschoolgirlatasleepover.“Tell.Me.Everything.”
Irischokedonherwine,andClairecoveredhersmilewithherhand.Astrid,however,didn’tseemtonotice.Hereyeswentwide,andshereleasedanervouslaugh.
“What?”
“Spencer,”Delilahsaid,tearingapieceofbreadinhalfandstuffingitinhermouth.
“Oh,”Astridsaid.Shepickedupherglassandtuckedapieceofhairbehindherear.ItdidnotescapeDelilah’snoticethatAstrid’ssmiledimmed.Justalittle.Justenough.
Apparently,itdidn’tescapeClaire’snoticeeither,asherlegnudgedDelilah’soncebeforeretreatingagain.Delilahplayedalong,pressingherthighbackagainstClaire’sandthendecidedlyleavingitthere.SheheardClaireinhaleslowly,buttheotherwomandidn’tmove.
“Wedon’thavetotalkabouthim,”Astridsaid,wavingahand.“Ibabbleonabouthimenough.”
“Doyouthough?”Irisasked.
Delilahrolledhereyes.IriswasaboutassubtleasakidonChristmasmorning.Butthen,asIrisseemedtorealizeherless-than-suaveprodandshovedsomebreadinherbigmouth,somethingoccurredtoDelilah.Awayin.AlittlegoldnuggetfromherandAstrid’schildhood,oneofthefewmemoriesshehadthatwasn’tlacedwithresentment.
“He’syourGilbertBlythe,right?”shesaid,daintilysippingherwine.“Mustbealottosayabouthim.”
Astrid’smouthfellopen.“Gilbert…GilbertBlythe?”
“Yeah,from…”Delilahpretendedtobestumped,wavingherhandintheair.“Whatwasit?”
“AnneofGreenGables,”Clairesaid.HerlegtwitchedagainstDelilah’sbutdidn’tmoveaway.SomethingflutteredinDelilah’sstomach,andshehadtoforceherselftofocusonthetaskathand.
Delilahsnappedherfingers.“AnneofGreenGables.”
“YourememberGilbertBlythefromAnneofGreenGables?”Astridsaid.
“Irememberhowmuchyouswoonedoverhim,”Delilahsaid.AndthatAnneandDianawereobviouslysupergayandhotforeachother,whichwaspreciselywhatshe’dtoldAstridbackwhenshe’dfirstreadthebooks.TheywerethirteenandAstridhadfinishedAnneofGreenGablesfirstbeforeleavingitonDelilah’sbed,somethingshesometimesdidwithoutanywordofexplanation.Afterreadingthefirstfourbooksintheseries,DelilahhadpresentedherAnne-and-Diana-are-queertheoryoverpizzaonenightwhileIsabelwasatacharityevent.Astridhadn’tevenarguedwithher,justlaughedandsaidshewasprobablyright
“Whodidn’tswoonoverGilbertBlythe?”Astridasked,andClaireandIrisbothlaughed.
Delilahraisedherhand.“Gayashell,remember?”
Astridgaveheralookandleanedforward.“You’retellingmeyourheartdidn’tskipjustalittlewhenGilbertrescuedAnneontheriverinhersinkingskiffwhenshewaspretendingtobetheLilyMaidorwhenheturneddowntheAvonleateachingpositionsoAnnecouldhaveitandstaywithMarilla?”
Delilahtappedherchin.“Okay,maybealittle.”Thensheheldoutbothofherhandsinfrontofherchestsuggestively.“ButonlyifIimaginedGilbertwithanicepairof—”
“Okay,Igetthepicture,”Astridsaid,rollinghereyes.
“MyheartdidskipafewbeatswhenAnnebrokethatslateoverhisheadforcallingher‘Carrots,’?”Delilahwenton.“Ithought,that’smykindofwoman.”
Irissnortedalaugh.
“Okay,buthisproposalwasamazing,”Clairesaid.
“Yes!”Astridsaid,swallowingmorewine.“Twiceheproposed!Sheshothimdown,andthenheaskedheragainyearslater,tellinghershewashisdream.”ShetippedherglassatDelilah.“Comeon,evenyouhavetoadmitthat’sromantic.”
Anotherlegnudge.“Yep.Isuredohavetoadmitthat.”
Claireloweredherhead,andDelilahonlyknewshewassilentlylaughingbecauseherbodyshookalittle.
“SohowdidSpencerdoit,then?”Delilahasked.“Wasitasromanticasallthat?”
Astrid’ssmiledippedagain,butshecovereditwithasipofwine.
“Oh,comeon,Ihaven’theardthisstory,”Delilahsaid,andimmediatelyknewhervoicewaswaytoochipper.ShesoundedlikesomeoneoutofaJaneAustennovel.Astridfull-onfrowned,andIrisjustlookedatherlikeshewasondrugs.OnlyClaireseemedtobeenjoyingthespectacle,herthighwarmandrightthereandhermouthpressedflattokeepfromlaughing.Delilahfeltherownlaughtertryingtobubbleupfromherchestintohermouth,andshetookalargeswallowofwinetokeepitinside.Shefeltoddlyrelaxedthough,lessedgesandmoreroundedcorners,thatrawfeelingfromearlierfadingateverystolenglancewithClaire.
Ormaybeitwasjusttheseventy-dollarbottleofwine.
“Wehaven’teither,”IrissaidafterthrowingbothDelilahandClaireagetyourshittogetherlook.
“Yes,youhave,”Astridsaid.
“No,”Irissaid.“AttheendofMarch,youtextedustomeetyouatStella’s,andwhenwegotthere,youshowedustheringandsaidheproposedandimmediatelystartedbabblingaboutweddingplans.You’devenalreadysetadatebythetimewefoundout.”
Astrid’sexpressionwentfromquestioningtohurtintwosecondsflat.DelilahcouldfeelClaire’sworryradiatingnexttoher,thewarmthofitlikeahomemadequilt.
“Weweresoexcitedforyou,Iguessweforgottoaskforproposaldetails,”Clairesaid,tryingtosavethemoment.ShereachedacrossthetableandsqueezedAstrid’shand.“Tellusnow.”
Astridrelaxed,butonlyalittle.Shesighedandtooktwogulpsofwinebeforewavingherhandthroughtheair.“HeaskedandIsaidyes.That’saboutit.”
“That’saboutit,”Irissaid,hervoiceflat.“Andyoulethimgetawaywiththat?You,whooncedumpedaguy,atprom,mindyou,becauseheforgottogetyouacorsage?”
Jesus,Irisdidnotunderstandtheconceptofagentlehand.
“Ohmygod,Irememberthat,”Clairesaid,laughinginwhatDelilahassumedwasanattempttolightentheincreasinglydarkeningsituation.“PoorHenryGarrisondidn’tknowwhathithim.”
“Aboutonniereintheface,that’swhathithim,”Irissaid,andsheandClairecrackedup.
Astriddidn’tlaugh,buthercheeksreddened,andDelilahdidn’tknowifshewasgettingflusteredorpissedorifthewinewaskickingin.Andthen,likeastormrollingacrossaplain,Delilahcouldseeithappening—thefamousAstridshutdown.
“Youknow,I’mactuallyalittletired,”shesaid,scootingherchairback.“IthinkI’llheadtomyroom.”
“What?”Irissaid.“Ourfoodisn’tevenhereyet.”
“Yeah,I’mnotallthathungryanymore.”Astridstood,glassinhand,andmanagedasmile.“Toomuchbread.”
“Astrid,”Clairesaid,takingherhand.“Comeon,sweetie,sitdown.What’swrong?”
ButAstridshookherhead.“I’mjustexhausted,that’sall.I’mfine.Just…weddingstuff,youknow?I’mgoingtocallSpencerandtryandgetsomesleep.Seeyouinthemorningforyoga?”
ClairenoddedasAstridkissedheronthecheek,thencamearoundthetabletodothesametoIris.Delilah,shecompletelyignored,andthentookthehalf-fullwinebottlewithherassheleft.
Thethreeofthemsatthereforafewminutesinsilence,lettingwhathappenedsettlearoundthemastheeveninggrewdarker.
“Well,thatwasadisaster,”Clairesaid.Hervoicewassmall,thick-sounding.
“Trainwreck,”Irissaid,collapsingbackinherchairwithasigh.
“Areyoubothkiddingme?”Delilahasked.“That’sexactlywhatyouwanted.”
Clairestiffened,herthighmovingawayfromDelilah’s.“No,it’snot.Wewanted…we—”
“Wantedhertoquestionwhatthehellshe’sdoingwithSpencerwhenhe’sthecompleteoppositeofeverythingshe’severdreamedof?”Delilahsaid.
Claire’swholebodyslumped,whichsentherlegintoDelilah’sonceagain.“Yeah,butnotlikethis.Notlike…likeshe’shurt.”
“Honey,”Irissaidsoftly,leaningforward.“IfAstridrealizesshe’smadeamistakewithSpencer,it’sgoingtohurt.”
Claire’sfacecrumpled,butonlyforasecondbeforeherexpressionclearedandshenodded.“Iknow.Ijust…”Shegroanedandrubbedhereyesunderherglasses.“Goddammit,whydomenhavetosucksomuch?”
“Notallofthemdo,”Irissaid.
“Mostofthemdo,”Delilahsaid.
Iristappedherchininthoughtforasecond,thenblewoutabreath.“Okay,yeah,you’reright.Mostofthemdo.ThankfuckI’mbi.”
Clairelaughed,legpressingmorefirmlyagainstDelilah’s.Delilahhadtofighttokeepherhandinplace,thedesiretoreachoutandsqueezetheotherwoman’sthighalmostirresistible.Clairewasridiculouslyadorable.Andsweet.Jesus,howdidshegetsosweet?Beingateenagemom,raisingapreteendaughtermostlyonherown,runningabusiness,dealingwithherhalf-assedex—Delilahwouldbeacompletedisasterifshewasinhershoes.Andyet,hereClairewas,agonizingoverherbestfriend’sheart.
Irisliftedherglass.“Toshittymenandthewomenwhoputthemintheirgoddamnplace.”
“I’lldrinktothat,”Delilahsaid,raisingherownglass.
Clairefollowedsuit,andthethreewomenclinkedovertheliliesanddrank,thendugintotheirfood,whicharrivedafewminuteslater.Theyproceededtotalkabouteasierthings—movies,books,howtheycouldcutthroughthefiletmignonlikeitwasbutter.TheylaughedabouthoweverytimeIrisdrankevenjustoneglassofredwine,herfaceblazedbrightredandwiththeheatofamillionsuns,alwaysleavingherwithawickedheadache,butshelovedthestuffanyway.TheytalkedaboutRubyandhowshestillsleptwiththestuffedpurpleunicornIrishadgivenherwhenshewasbornandClairewasdreadingthedayshestopped.
Delilahhadcompletelyclearedherplateanddrainedherthirdglassofwinebeforesherealizedit.
She’dbeenlaughing.
Alot.
WithClaireandIris.
Liketheywereactuallyfriendsandnotatangleofcomplicatedhistoriessimplytoleratingeachotherforthenight.ChapterThirteen
CLAIREFLOPPEDONTOthebed,herheadpleasantlyfuzzy,asmilestillonherlipsfromthefunnight.
Well,mostlyfun.ThinkingaboutAstridmadeherstomachhurt,butthewinewashelpingkeeptheacheatadistance.
SowasthefactthatDelilahwasinthebathroomrightnow,changinginto…whatevershesleptin.Pajamas?Anightie?Nothingatall?
Clairesqueezedhereyesshut.She’dalreadycompletedhernightlyroutine—teeth,face,lotion—andwasnowkeenlyawarethatshewaswearingapairofsleepshortsandatanktopwithnobra.Shehadn’teventhoughtaboutitwhenshewaschanginginthebathroomafewminutesago.Thewine,theconstantlaughingatdinner,ithadalldistractedherfromthisverymomentwhensheandDelilahwouldbothslideinbetweenthesheets,theirskininchesawayfromeachother,and—
Ruby.
SheneededtocallRuby.
Itwasonlytenthirty,andshewasalmostpositiveherdaughterwouldstillbeup,probablystuffingherfacewithrawcookiedoughandwatchinganR-ratedmovie.Foronce,shewasgladforJosh’slaxrules.Shesatup,ignoringthesoundofrunningwaterinthebathroom,andtappedJosh’snameonherphone’sfavoriteslist.Rubydidn’thaveherownphoneyet,andClairerefusedtocavetoherwhiningaboutit.Sheshudderedtothinkofherdaughteronsocialmedia,butknewitwascoming,loominglikeastormjustoffshore.
“Hey,”Joshsaid.
“Hey.”
“How’sthespa?Pleasetellmeyougotamassage.Orfive.”
“Haha.Andyes,Idid.”
“Five?”
Shefeltasmiletugatherlips.“One,butitwasaverygoodmassage.CanItalktoher?”
“Oh,um…well.No,notexactly.”
Clairesatupstraight.“Excuseme?”
“She’sindisposed.”
“Indisposed?Whatdoesthatmean?”
“Itmeansshecan’tcometothephone.”
Therewasthehintofalaughinhisvoice,anditmadeherwishshecouldtranscendspaceandtimeandstranglehimrighthereandnow.Herpulsestartedracing,hermindswirlingwithallthescenariosofwhyherdaughterwasindisposedattenthirtyatnight.
They’reatsomewildpartywithJosh’sbaseballbrosfromhighschool.
TheydecidedtotakearoadtripandJoshleftRubyatagasstation.
JoshcompletelyforgotthatshewasspendingthenightanddroppedheroffatClaire’shouseandsomeonekidnappedheroffthefrontporchandnowRubywasintheclutchesof—
Thebathroomdooropened,andDelilahsteppedoutdressedinnothingbutanoversizewhitecottonteethatfellatmid-thigh,herhairupinaclip.ThesightjoltedClairebackintotheroomandclearedherhead.Delilahgaveheraweirdlook—Clairewasdefinitelyhuffinglikeahyperventilatingrhino—andfrozeonthespot.
ClairewavedahandasiftosayI’mfine
“Josh,putmydaughteronthephonerightnow.”
“Claire.”
“Idon’tcarewhereyouareorwhatthehellyou’redoing.”
“Claire.”
“Isweartogod,Iwilltakeadullknifetoyourmanhoodifyousomuchas—”
“Jesus,Claire,she’sasleep.”
Clairestilled.“Asleep.”
“Yes.”
“Inabed?”
“Seriously?Yes.”
“Inherbedatyourapartment?”
Hesighed.“Yes.”
Sheclosedhereyes,warmreliefspreadingthroughherbody.
Quicklyfollowedbyachillyirritation
“Thenwhythehelldidn’tyoujustsayso?”shesaid.“Goddammit,Josh.”
“I’msorry.Iwasjustplayingaround.Ididn’tthinkyou’dfreakoutthatmuch.”
Sheletabeatofsilencepass,becausethisguy.ShechancedalookatDelilah,whowasstillstandingbythebathroomdoorwatchingherwithaconcernedexpressiononherface.
“Okay,fine,”Joshsaid.“NowthatIthinkaboutit,Iprobablyshould’verealizedyouwouldfreakout.I’msorry,really.”
Sheinhaleddeeplyforwhatfeltlikethehundredthtimeinthepasttenminutes,hershouldersdropping.Delilahmust’vetakenthatasasignthatthingswereokay,becauseshesteppedclosetothebedandrestedonekneeonthemattress.Hershirtinchedupabit,whichClairedefinitelydidnotnotice.
“It’sallright,”Clairesaid,suddenlyexhausted.Shedroppedherheadintoherhandandpressedherfingerstohertemple.
“Wantmetowakeherup?”
“No,no,I’lltalktoherinthemorning.”
“Okay.Hey,theoven’soff.”
Shedroppedherhandintoherlap.“What?”
“Theoven?I…IturneditoffassoonasIwasdonecookingdinner.EvenbeforeyouhadGrantstopbyandcheckonme.”
“Ididn’t—”
“AndRuby’sbeeninbedsinceteno’clock.Iknowit’slaterthanninethirty,butIfigured,summerandall.Tenisgood,right?”
Shewasn’tsurewhatshewassupposedtosaytoallthis.Didhewantamedalforperformingbasicparentingdutiesandpressingabuttononthestove?Afteryearsofdisappearing,stayinggoneformonths,andbarelyevencallingonceaweek,allinthenameofI’mnotgoodforanyonerightnow?
“Okay,Josh,”shesaid.“I’lltalktoyoutomorrow.”
Andthenshehungupbeforehecouldsayanythingelse,settingthephoneonthenightstandwhileshegotherselfbacktogether.
“Everythingallright?”Delilahasked
Claireclosedhereyesjustforasecond,thenlookedupandsmiled.“Yeah.Fine.”
Delilahnarrowedhereyesather,clearlynotbuyingit.“Sohe’sadick,isthatit?Weneedtotakehimouttoo?”
“No.”Theanswercamesoquickly.Areflex.BecauseJoshwasn’tadick.Notbyalongshot.Thiswouldallbesomucheasierifhewas.“He’sjust…”Sheshookherhead.“He’saguywhohadtogrowuptoosoon.”
Delilahpulledaface.“Nosoonerthanyouhadto.”
“Iknow.ButI’m…”Sheclosedhermouth,unsurewhyshewasmakingexcusesforhim.Shedidn’tmeanto,butsheknewthatherrelationshipwithJosh,Ruby,thislittleoddballfamilyshehad,wasn’tassimpleasJoshbeingajerkandghosting.Itwasahurt-layered,terror-filled,love-for-your-kid-addledmess.
“You’rewhat?”Delilahasked.“Themom?Thewoman?Sothatmeansyouhavetogiveupyourwholelifeandhedoesn’t?”
Clairelookedather,asparkintheotherwoman’seyesthatfeltsuddenlyaddictive,likesittingbyawarmfireafterayearinafrozenwasteland.
“Maybe,”Clairesaidsoftly,hercheeksburningwiththeadmission.“Iknowit’snottherightwaytothinkaboutit,butI…well,allhedidwashavesexwithafaultycondom.I’mtheonewhogrewRubyinmyownbody.”
DelilahpursedherlipsandtiltedherheadatClaire.“Allthemorereasonyoudeservegoodthings.”
Hervoicewassosoft,sointense,itwasliketheworldstoppedspinningforasecond.ClairecouldonlystareatDelilah,hersimplewordsswellingClaire’sthroat.She’dneverbeengreatatputtingherselffirst,atgoingafterthethingsshewanted.Afterall,sheadoredherdaughter,couldn’timaginelifewithouther.Whatelsewastheretogoafter?
ButasClairestaredatDelilah,wantcurledinherbelly,sostronghermouthwateredandherchestachedwithsomeemotionshecouldn’tevenputanameto.
“Doyouwanttotalkaboutthis?”Delilahasked,breakingthespell.
Clairehuffedalaugh.“Notreally,no.”
“Thenwewon’t.”
Shedidn’tsayitlikeitwasarelief,orlikeshedidn’twanttotalkaboutitinthefirstplace.Shesaiditgently,likesheunderstoodhardthingsandhow,eventhoughtalkingaboutthemcouldbetherapeutic,thewordsthemselveswerealaborand,sometimes,onejustdidn’thavethebandwidthforthem.
ClairenoddedandmetDelilah’seyesastheotherwomantookalargebananaclipoutofherhair,wildtresseshaloingaroundherhead.Clairemeanttoofferasmileofthanks,butalaughburstoutofherinstead.
Delilahflinched.
Claireclappedahandoverhermouth,thenspokethroughherfingers.“Ohmygod,I’msosorry.It’sjust…you…your…”Shewavedherfreehandaroundherhead,indicatingDelilah’shair,whichwashuge.No,whatwasbiggerthanhuge?Gigantic.Ginormous.Hercurlshadfrizzedintheeveningair,butshemusthaveclippedituptowashherface,andnowthatitwassetfreeagain,itseemedtohaveamindofitsown.Shelookedlikeshe’dbeenelectrocuted.
Delilah’seyeslitwithrealization,butstillshesmirkedandfoldedherarmsacrossherchest,whichdrewattentiontothefactthatshewas,mostdefinitely,notwearingabra.
AfactClairedidherbesttoignore,lockinghereyesonherBrideofFrankensteinhair.
“What’swrong,Claire?”shesaid,hervoiceateasinglilt.
Anotherlaughescaped.
“DoIhavesomethingonmyface?”Delilahpattedhercheek,beforesmilingandpullingatherlocks,stretchingthemoutevenbigger.“Oh,that.Yeah,doyouhaveahairtieIcanborrow?IleftallofmineintheKaleidoscopeInn’sfloralhell,andallIhaveisthisclip.”Shehelduptheblackclip,thentosseditintohersuitcase.
Clairenodded.“Itlooksamazing,justfortherecord.”
“Sureitdoes.”
“Itdoes.It’sunique.Notlikemyboringstraighthair.Ialwayslikedyourhairwhenwewereteenagers.”
SomethingflickeredinDelilah’sexpression,butitwasgonejustasfastasitarrived.Sheclearedherthroat.“So,ahairtie?”
“Ohyeah.”Clairemotionedtoherownsuitcaseonachairinthecorner.“IknowIhavesomeinmytoiletrybag,butIthinkthere’soneortwofloatingaroundintheretoo.Ineverleavehomewithoutthem.”
“AlessonIshouldlearn,”Delilahsaid,headingtowardtheturquoise-and-navy-stripedsuitcase,andClairefeltaspikeofanxiety.Everythinginherbagwasorganized,foldedneatly.Clairewasprettysureherunderwearwastuckedawayinazipperedpocket,andshehadn’tbroughthervibrator—
Herspinesnappedstraight.
Becauseshehadn’tplannedonpackinghervibrator.Ithadn’tbeenonherlist,butthenshe’dthoughtabouthowshe’dbeatafive-starspaandvineyard,enjoyingaroomofherownandprobablytryingveryhardnottothinkaboutacertainbig-haired,blue-eyedwomanshecouldn’tforthelifeofherfigureout.
She’dtossedthethinginlastminute.
“Delilah,wait,I’llgetit—”
“Oh.Wow.”
Crap.
Delilahturnedaround,ablacksatinhairtieinonehandandClaire’sbrightpinkCaliforniaDreamingMalibuMinxvibratorintheother.
Claire’sfaceignited.Sheknewalotofpeopleusedvibrators.Hell,IrishadgiftedhertheveryonethatDelilahnowheld,ravingaboutitsabilities.IrisevenforcedthethinguponAstridandaskedoftenifitwascollectingdustinAstrid’snightstanddrawer.ButJesusChrist.Ofallthepeopletofindhersextoy,clearlywellusedifClairepackeditforanovernighttrip,itjusthadtobeDelilahGreen.
“Um…that’s…”Clairetrailedoff,unsureofhowtoplaythis.Sheknewhercheekswerebrightred,andshecouldfeelthesweatbeadingonherupperlip.
ButthenDelilahsmiledandnodded.“Oh,Iknow.I’vegotthesameone.Amazing,isn’tit?”
ThenshetossedCaliforniaDreamingbackintoClaire’ssuitcaseandpiledherhairontopofherhead,wrappingthetiearoundhermessylockswithasnapChapterFourteen
GOD,THISWOMANwasadorable.
Delilahfinishedwrappingherhair,allthewhilekeepinghereyesonClaireasherlightpinkblushburgeonedintoadeeperred.Theotherwomandidn’tsayanythingelseabouttheadmittedlyverylargebattery-operateddildoinhersuitcase,soDelilahdidn’teither.Whichwasfine,becausewatchingClairefightalaughwhenDelilahthrewthetoy
Well,itwasjustaboutthecutestfuckingthingDelilahhadeverseen.
Herstomachsuddenlyfeltalittleunsettled,fluttery,likeitdidbeforetheFitzshoworeverytimesheapproachedanagentataneventorhitsendonanemail.Shehadn’tfeltthisbelly-churningsensationoverawomansinceJax,andshewasn’tafan.But,shesupposed,Clairewasn’tjustsomewomanDelilahhadmetataneventorinabar.ShewasAstrid’sBFF,hadknownDelilahasanawkwardteenager.Itwasadifferentcontext,thatwasall.
Atleast,that’swhatDelilahtoldherselfasshetriedtocalmwhatfeltlikeamillionbeesflyingaroundinherstomachandgrabbedherdigitalcameraoutofitsbag.Herhandsneededsomethingtodoassheapproachedthebed,somethingtofocusonwhenshepulledthecoversback.
Akingmattresswaslikeanocean,butstill.Clairewasrightthere,andDelilahsuddenlyforgothowtomakeherlimbsgetintoabedlikeanormalperson.Sheslidherkneeinfirst,butthenrealizedshe’dbesittingonherlegs,soshekickedherfootoutfromunderneathher,whichmadeherverynearlytoppleoverononeelbowsincehercamerawasstillinherotherhand.
Graciously,Claireignoredtheawkwardnessandpickedupherphone,staringatthescreen,butDelilahsworeonecornerofhermouthliftedalittle.Delilahfinallygotsettledinthecoolsheetsandflickedhercameratolife.Shebeganscrollingthroughtheimagesshe’dtakensofarfromtheotherweddingevents,cringingatsomebadlightingandthengrinningathow,sometimes,thatbadlightingmadeIsabellooklikeacryptkeeper.
“Haveyougottensomegoodphotos?”Claireasked,droppingherphoneintoherlap.
Delilahkepthereyesonhercamera.“Yeah,Ithinkso.”
“CanIlookatsome?Idon’tthinkI’veeverseenaphotographofyours.”
Delilahglancedherway.Glasses,makeup-freeface,hairinapileontopofherheadwithherbangsbrushinghereyelashes.Onestrapofhertanktophadslidalittledownhershoulder,andDelilahfoughttheurgetoputitbackinplace.
Orslideitdownevenfarther.
Sheclearedherthroatandfocusedbackonherscreen.
“Sure,”shesaid,butthenthosedamnbeeswereback,theirwingsfillingherstomachtotheedges.Sheflippedbackwardtothebrunchimages,lookingforsomethingspecial,somethingbeautiful.Shewasn’tsurewhyshecaredwhatClairethoughtaboutherphotographyskills,onlyknewthatshedid.
Finally,shelandedontheperfectone.
Shehandedoverthecamera,whichClairetookcarefully,likeshewashandlingapreciousjewel—whichshesortofwasforwhatDelilahhadpaidforthething—andthenwatchedClaire’sfaceasshereactedtotheimage.
Firsthermouthparted,eyeswidening,buttheneverythingsoftened.
“Delilah,”shesaid.Thatwasall.Oneword,butitwaspartvoice,partsigh,anditwasenoughtomakeDelilah’sarmsbreakoutingoosebumps,whichshetriedtohidebycurlingthemaroundherknees.
“Ithoughtyou’dlikethatone,”shesaid.
Clairenodded,eyesstillgluedtotheblack-and-whiteimageofherandRuby,sittingsidebysideattheirtableinVivian’s.Rubywaslookingdown,herlonglashesonhercheekandthesmallestsmileliftingthecornersofhermouth,whileClairehadherarmwrappedaroundherdaughter’sshoulder,hernosepressedagainstRuby’shair.Claire,too,worealittlesmile.Delilahhadmanagedtozoominontheirfaceswhilepreservingthelight,cuttingoutmostoftheplatesandglassesinfrontofthemonthetable.
Thephotowasjustthem.
Motheranddaughter.
“Iloveit,”Clairesaid,eyesstillroamingoverthescreen.Finally,sheliftedhergazetoDelilah.“You’regood.”
Delilahlaughedandtookbackthecamera.“Yousoundsurprised.”
Claireshookherhead.“Notsurprised.Just…impressed.”
“TheGhoulofWisteriaHousehastalent,asitturnsout.”
Itwasthewrongthingtosay.Claireimmediatelystiffened,theairbetweenthemgrowingtense,butDelilahwouldn’ttakeitbackevenifshecould.Thebeeshadstilledtheirwings,andsheneededtogethercontrolback.Shehadn’tlosthershitoverawomaninfiveyears,andshedidn’tplanonstartingnow.
ButthenClairesaid,“Delilah,”andgoddamnifthatoneword,hernameonthiswoman’stongue,didn’tstirupthewholehiveagain.
Delilahwavedahandandsethercameraonthenightstand.“Weshouldprobablygetsomerest.”
Sheflickedoffthelampandburroweddownintothesheets,herbacktoClaire.Nexttoher,shecouldtelltheotherwomanhadn’tmoved.
“How…howdidyougetintoit?”Claireasked.“Photography?”
Delilahdidn’tansweratfirst.Butashereyesadjustedtothedark,moonlightdriftinginthroughthesheercurtainsandsilveringuptheroom,shefoundherselfturningover,tuckingherhandsunderhercheek,andarchingherneckupwardtoseeClaire’sface.
Clairelookeddownather,asafedistanceaway,butthensheshifted.Shesliddown,fluffingherpillowonceandthensettlingonhersidetoo,herhandsunderneathherowncheek,amirrorimageofDelilah.HermovementshadpushedheralittleclosertoDelilah,onlyaboutafootofspacebetweenthem.Theairchangedagain,thickenedwithsomethingcloseandnew.
“Youreallywanttoknow?”Delilahasked,keepinghervoicelowandquiet.Tooloudandthiswholespellmightbreak,andshehadn’tdecidedyetifshewantedittoornot.
“Iwouldn’thaveaskedifIdidn’t.”
“Oh,Idon’tknow.You’reaniceperson.Nicepeopleaskquestionssometimesjustbecausetheythinktheyshould,notbecausetheyreallygiveashit.”
Claire’sbrowspulledtogether.“Igiveashit,okay?”
Delilahknewsheshouldshutthisdown.Shewantedtosleepwiththiswoman,notbondoveroriginstoriesandchildhoodgrievances,andthiswholedayhadsentheroff-balance.BetweenAstridjustplainforgettingtobookheraroom,Claireofferingherown,andthesuddencamaraderieshefelttonightwithClaireandIris—afeelingshewasn’tsureshe’deverexperiencedwithwomenshewasn’tscrewing—herheartfeltlargerinherchest,moretender,likeasunburnthatscreamedattheslightesttouch.Thewordswereallrightthere,thehowandwhyofherlifesinceBrightFalls,andshewantedtoreleasethem.Letthemgo.Letsomeoneelsecarrythemforawhile.Oratleastknow.Ithadbeensolongsinceshetoldanyonehersecrets.Justthinkingaboutitnow,allthissolitaryknowing,suddenlymadehersotired.
Allthemorereasontoturnbackover,justsaygoodnight.ButasshelockedeyeswithClaire,whowasstaringatherlikeshereallydidgiveashit,Delilahsimplydidn’twantto.
“Itstartedinhighschool,”shesaid.Atthosefewwords,Claireseemedtorelax,sinkintothebedalittle,likeshe’dbeenholdingherbreath.AndsoDelilahkepttalking,tellingheraboutherfascinationwithstillimages,freezingmomentsintime.She’dsavedupmoneyfromdoingoddjobsforMs.Goldstein—herartteacherandtheonlyadultinherlifewhoeverseemedtogiveherasecondlook—andboughtaPolaroid,justtoseewhatitdid.Shewalkedaroundhercavernoushouse,echoesofAstrid’sandIris’sandClaire’slaughterpingingoffthewalls,andsnappedpicturesofanythingshethoughtwasinteresting.Akitchencabinetknob.Asliverofstainedglassinthelibrary.Themoldingonthefireplace.Expressionswhennooneknewshewaswatching.She’dcaughtAstrid’scoveninsomanyunflatteringposes—mouthshangingwideopen,eyessqueezedshut,tongueslollingouttolicktheedgeofadrippingDrPeppercan.
NotthatshementionedthosespecificdetailstoClairerightnow.“ItookafewpicturesofAstridtoo,justhereandthere”iswhatcameoutofhermouth,andsheleftitatthat.Butsherememberedhowshehoardedallofherphotographsofthegirlsaway,studyingthemforcluesofwhatmadethemsoacceptableandhersuchanoddduck.OtherthanalittlebitofmakeupandclothesfromNordstrom,shecouldneverfigureitout.
“Itaughtmyselfthephotographybasicsinhighschool,”shesaid.“Ms.Goldsteinhelped.Then,onceIleftBrightFalls,IknewIwantedtomakeitmylife.”
Clairenodded,eyeswideanddarkasDelilahwentontotellherhowsheworkednine-hourshiftssixdaysaweekatadinerdownonGrandStreetjusttoaffordhershittyapartment,butonherdayoff,shewouldwanderthecity,memorializingitssensuality,itspassion,itsqueerness.Allthethingsshe’dbeenmissinginherlife.Allthethingsshe’dneverhad,neverevendreamedwerepossible.Itallcametumblingoutinarushofvulnerabilityandtruth.
“Andyoustarteddoingweddings?”Claireasked,stillmiraculouslyinterested.
Delilahnodded.“Weddings,BarandBatMitzvahs,anniversaryparties,birthdayparties.AnythingIcouldget,really.Istillwaitedtables—Istilldo,actually—buteventspayprettywell,especiallyafterIgotsomereferences.I’veonlybeenreallytryingtodotheartistthingforthepastfewyears.”
“Whatdoyoumeantheartistthing?”
“Photographicart,piecesIcansell,series,gettinganagenttohelpnavigatetheartworld.It’shardtobreakintothough.Reallyhard.”
ThenhershowattheWhitneyflutteredintohermind,thereliefandexcitementassociatedwithit.ShetoldClaireaboutit,howitcouldbeherbigbreak.
“That’sgreat,”Clairesaid.“Iwish…”Buttheotherwomantrailedoff,browsloweringassheswallowed.Delilahdidn’tpressher,andsoonClairewasmovingon.
“Howdidyouknowyouwantedtomakeart?”sheasked.
Delilahhesitated.Thetruthwas…sensitive.Andshewasn’tsureshewantedtogotherewithClairetonightorever.Therewasnoreasonforhertoknow.Noneatall,otherthanthesimplefactthatDelilahwantedherto.Still,shewasn’tsurehowClairewouldreact.
Butasshehesitated,Clairescootedalittlecloserandsaid,“Comeon,Iwanttoknow.”
Soshetoldher.
“Igotmyheartbroken,”shesaid.
Claire’sbrowspoppedintoherbangs.“Youdid?”
Delilahnodded,herthroatthickening,butthewordsjustkeptcoming.“I’veonlyhadonegirlfriend.HernamewasJacqueline—Jax—andwemetataweddingIwasworking.She…shewasthemaidofhonor.”
Claire’smouthparted,andtheironyherewasn’tlostonDelilah,thefactthatshewasspillinghergutstoanothermaidofhonorshecouldn’tseemtoshutuparound.
“Wemovedintogether,datedexclusivelyfortwoyears.”
“Whathappened?”Claireasked.
Delilahtookabreath,wrappedhermindaroundthewordsshe’dneversaidtoanyone.AftersheandJaxbrokeup,therewasnooneelseinherlifetotell.Plusitwasjustembarrassingashell,thefactthatshehadn’tbeenenough.
Thewordsrushedoutanyway.
“Icaughthercheatingonme.”
“Ohgod.”
“Withherex.Whom,apparently,she’dnevergottenover.”
Clairecoveredhermouthwithherhand.“Ohgod.”
Delilahnodded.“IwasoutoftownforanotherweddingIwasshooting.Buttheweddinggotcanceled—groom’scoldfeet—soIcamehomeearlyandfoundher…well,shewasinourbedandshewasn’talone.”
Thememorywasstillfreshandbright,likeahigh-resphotograph.Jax—theonlywomanshe’deverlovedandactuallythoughtaboutmarryingsomeday,creatingthekindoffamilyDelilahalwaysdreamedaboutbutneverhad—intheapartmenttheysharedwithherheadbetweenMalloryPrescott’slegs.DelilahstillrememberedthevisionofMallory’sblondheadtossedback,hermouthopen,andheraqua-paintednailscurlingaroundDelilah’sownfuckingpillowasshecame.
“Apparently,itwasn’tthefirsttime,”Delilahsaid.“She’dbeencheatingformonths,tryingtofigureouthowtodumpme,andIjustcouldn’tseeit.”
“Jesus,”Clairesaid.
“Anyway,”Delilahsaid,desperatelywantingtogettheconversationbackontrack.“Ineededtogetoutofthecityforawhile,soIcamebacktoBrightFalls.Ithought…Idon’tknow.”Shehadn’tfeltlikebeingalone.That’swhatithadbeen,andshestupidlyimaginedthefamiliarityofBrightFalls,thefamilyshehadthere,howeveroddanddistant,mightsoothesomeneedinhershecouldn’tarticulate.Ithadn’t.Astridhadbeenbusywithherownlife,andIsabel…well,IsabelwasobviouslyveryputoutaboutfindingDelilahonherdoorstep,blamingsomeJuniorLeagueeventshewashostingforwhyDelilahjustcouldn’tpossiblystayatherownhouse.ItwasthefirsttimeDelilahhadhadtocheckintoahotelinherhometown.
Turnsout,itwasn’tthelast.
“Ijustneededachangeofscenery,”shesaid.“Broughtmycamera,walkedaroundtownhopingforsome…Idon’tknow.Inspiration,Iguess.”
“Didyoufindit?”
Delilahsmiledandpaused,becausehonestly,thiswasthepartshewasworriedabout.Notherheartbreak,thoughthatwashumiliatingenough.Butthis,herart’soriginstory.Delilahhadn’tdoneanythingwrong,butstill…itcouldcomeoffasweird,andDelilahwasalreadyweirdenoughinClaire’seyes.Butagain,somegutinstinct,someneed,pushedherforward.
“Idid,”shesaid.“Ifoundyou.”
Clairevisiblyflinched,headjerkingbackalittle.“Me?”
Delilahnoddedandtoldherhowshe’dbeenintownforaboutaweekandshewaswalkingalongtheriverbank,tryingtoworkupthecouragetogobacktoNewYork.Andthensuddenly,therewasClaire,wadingintoBrightRiveruptoherknees,fullyclothedinadove-graydresswithalaceoverlay,shiveringinthecoldMarchwind.She’dstartedscreaming.Atthesky,thewater,theevergreensontheotherbank.Delilahliftedhercameraandbegansnapping.Shegotatleastahundredshots,andClaireneversawher,nevernoticedhershiftingbehindher,lyingonthesandybanktogetdifferentangles.
BackinNewYork,sheworkedforhourseditingthephotos.Days.Anditwasfromtheseimages,Claire,beautifulandinpainintheriver,thatDelilahgottheideaforaseriesthatwoulddefineherstyle,herwholecareer.
Queerwomen,turmoil,andwater.
ShewatchedClairetakeallofthisin,lookingforsubtleshiftsinherexpression—shock,disgust,horror—butinthesilverlight,allshesawwas…awe.Alittlesadness.Claire’sbrowneyeslikebottomlessdepthsastheystayedlockedonDelilahinsilence.Shestayedsilentforsolong,infact,Delilahbegantopanic—herheart,whichhadalreadycreptintoherthroat,nowfeltlikeatiny,trappedhummingbird,wingswhirring.
“Areyou…Isthat…Imean,doesthatfreakyouout?”Delilahasked.“Ineverusedthephotos.Iwouldn’tdothat.”Andshehadn’t.She’dwantedto.Clairewasgorgeousinthem—sadanddespairingandjustfuckingangry,somethingDelilahcouldrelateto.ButnowaywasDelilahgoingtohavehersignawaiver,nowayshewasevergoingtoadmittoClairefiveyearsagothatshe’dfascinatedDelilahthatmuch,thatDelilahhadcapturedwhatmighthavebeenoneofthemostpainfulmomentsinherlife,immortalizingitforever.
Andnow,she’dadmitteditalltohersecretsubject.Thewomanwho,forallintentsandpurposes,hadbeenDelilah’smuse.
Clairejustkeptwatchingher,browsdippingalittleinthought,forwhatfeltlikeforever.
“Claire,I’m—”
“Irememberthatday,”shesaid.Thenshetookadeepbreath,letitoutslowly.“Joshhadjustleftagain.I’djustsleptwithhimagain.Andmysix-year-olddaughterwasathomewithmymother,cryinghereyesoutforherdad.Again.TheonethingI’veneverbeenabletofixforher,justlikemymomcouldneverfixitforme.”
Delilahsuckedinabreath.SheknewwhateverhaddrivenClairedowntothebanksthatdaywouldn’tbeahappystory.Ofcoursenot.Butthis,thepaininClaire’svoiceevennowasshetalkedaboutit,theimageofalittler,evenmorevulnerableRubyconfusedandhurt,itclawedatDelilah’sownheart.Andthentherewasthesleptwithhimagaincommentthatstirredupsomethingtotallydifferent—somethinghotandangry,somethingthatfeltalotlikejealousy.DelilahshoveditasideandfocusedonClaire,searchingfortherightthingtosay.
“Ruby’sluckytohaveyou”wastheonlythingshecouldthinkof.Anditwastrue.AmomlikeClaire,alwaysthinkingofherdaughter,alwaystryingtoprotecther,always,always,always.Shewaseverykid’sdream,wasn’tshe?Atleast,thatwaswhatkidslikeDelilahdreamedabout,thekidswhoknewthealternative,thevoidwherealovingparentshouldbe.
“Ican’tbelieveyouweretherethatday,”Clairesaid.
Delilahswallowedthickly.“I’msorry.Iknowitwasaprivatemoment,andI—”
ButherwordswerecutoffwhenClairepressedafingertoherlips.Soft,featherylight.
Delilahheardherselfinhalesharply,hermouthpartingasClaire’shandsliddown,pullingonherbottomlipjustalittle,herforefingersettlingonDelilah’schin.
Sheleftitthere,andDelilahcouldn’tbreathe.Couldn’tthink.Herheartbeatwaseverywhere—inherthroat,herchest,herfingertips,betweenherthighs.Theirbreathsfilledtheroom,softandshallowandshaky.Claire’sgazesearchedherown,thenflickeddowntohermouthbeforereturningtohereyes,overandover,adancethatmadeDelilahwanttolaughorcryor…
Claireshifted.Closer.ThefingeronDelilah’schinslidtoherjaw,thenClaire’swholehandskatedacrossherface,toherneck,andaroundtohernape.Delilah’seyesflutteredclosed,everyinchofherskincoveredingoosebumps.Thiswaswhatshewanted—Claire,wantingher—butshethoughtshewouldfeeltriumphant,layingoutaplanandsucceeding.Instead,herentirebodyfeltlikeitwascomingapartandknittingitselfbacktogether.
Whensheopenedhereyesagain,Clairewasinchesaway,gazesearchingherown,fingertipssoftonDelilah’sneck.
Delilahrealizedshewaswaitingforpermission,waitingforDelilahtosayshewantedthistooSheforcedherheadtomove,offeringasinglenodbeforeshebridgedthespacebetweenthemandtouchedClaire’smouthwithherown.Shekissedher,softandslow,hermouthclosingaroundClaire’sbottomlip.Theotherwomaninhaledsharply,thenseemedtoletgo,gentlypressingback.
ItwasnothinglikeDelilah’snormalfirstkisses.Usually,bythispoint,thingswerefrenzied,desperate,wildandalcohol-infused,nothingbutsensationandskin,andDelilahlovedeveryminuteofit.
Butthis.ThewayClaireexhaledintohermouth,fingerssinkingintoDelilah’shair,slidingherbodyclosersothateverypartofthemaligned,everythingslowandelectric…thiswasn’tlikeanyfirstkissDelilahhadeverhad.NotevenwithJax.
ShecuppedClaire’scheekanddeepenedthekiss,suckingonherbottomlipforamomentbeforeturningherheadforanewangle.Clairetastedlikemint,atraceofwine,andsomethingelsetotallydifferent,totallyClaire.Theotherwomanreleasedatinymoan,andthesoundshotstraighttoDelilah’scenter,madeherfeelwildevenasthetwowomencontinuedtomoveliketheywereunderwater.SheslidherhandtoClaire’sneck,thentohershoulder,glidingdownherbarearmtorestattheswellofherhip.Claireshiftedevencloser,bothhandsnowburiedinDelilah’shairandopeninghermouthmoreandlettinghertonguetanglewithDelilah’s.
ThatwasallittooktosendDelilahovertheedge.Softwasnice—beautifuleven—butgod,thiswoman.Delilahneededmore,closer,harder.Fucksoft.FuckeverythingbutClaireandthewayherbreathhitchedwhenDelilahslidalegbetweenherthighs.Nowthat—thatraspy,desperatesound—wasgoddamnbeautiful.Claire’sownhandsroameddownDelilah’sshoulderstoherhips,thendippedunderherT-shirtbeforeskatingoverthebareskinofherlowerback.
“Is…isthatokay?”ClaireaskedagainstDelilah’smouth.
“Hellyes,”Delilahsaid,thebreathynatureofherownvoicesurprisingher.“Isthis?”SheliftedClaire’stank,fingertipsghostingoverthesuppleskinofherstomach.Clairenodded,keepinghereyesopenasDelilah’shandswenthigher…thenhigherstill.DelilahcouldfeeltheimperfectionsinClaire’sskin,softridgesthatfeltlikestretchmarks,andtheyallseemedlikeheaventoher,sexyandcurvyandperfect.
Shewantedtomoveherhandhigher,feelallofher,butshewantedthistolast.Hell,shecould’vekissedClaireallnight,nothingelse,andbeentotallyhappy.Thethoughtwassostrange,sounlikeher,shepulledhermouthbackfromClaire’s,staringdownatherforafewseconds.Clairestaredback,herbodyshakyandneedy.HerlegcurledaroundDelilah’scalfandherbrowsdipped.
“Areyouokay?”sheasked.
Delilahswallowed.Shewasn’tsure.Shewas…god,shewasnervousandturnedonashellandwantednothingmorethantoeatClairefordessertrightnow,butunderthatsimmeringlayeroflustwassomethingelse,somethingshecouldn’tputafingeron.Sheshookherhead,tryingtopushitoutofhermind.She’ddonethisdozensoftimesbefore.Sheknewhowtofuckawoman.Knewhowtomakehercryout,knewhowtomakesuresheherselfhadagoodtime,knewhowtothinkofnothingbutskinandmouthsandcoming.
DelilahcrushedhermouthtoClaire’s.Tongues,hands,thighs.
Clairemether,touchfortouch,shudderingwhenDelilah’sfingersreachedthelowercurveofherbreast.Delilahpaused,butClairepressedtheirmouthsintoanotherkiss,pushedherhipsagainstDelilah’sinclearacquiescence,soDelilahkeptgoingandletherthumbsweepoverClaire’shardenednipple.
ClairerippedhermouthfromDelilah’s,herchestrisingandfallingsorapidlyDelilahwasalmostworriedshewasgoingtohyperventilate.
“Youokay?”sheasked.
Clairenodded.
Delilahgrinned,thentuggedClaire’sbottomlipbetweenherteeth,whichpulledagroanfromdeepinClaire’sthroatsofuckingsexy,Delilahhadtoreleaseherown.
This.Thiswaswhatsheunderstood.Pureanimalneed.SheknewherunderwearwassoakedandwasprettypositiveClaire’swastoo,butgod,shewantedtoknowforsure.ShesqueezedClaire’snipplegentlybeforesoothingitwithonemoresweepofherthumb,thenletherhanddriftsouthward.Claire’shipsundulatedagainsthersandherownhanddrifteddowntothetopofDelilah’sass,coveredonlybyherroyal-bluecheekies.
Delilah’sfingertipshadjustdippedunderthebandofClaire’ssleepshorts,hermouthonClaire’sneckandthemostperfectwhisperedsoundsfallingfromClaire’slips,whensomeoneknockedonthedoor.
Bothwomenfroze,humidexhalesswirlingbetweenthem.
Thatbetterhavebeenmyfuckingimagination,Delilahthought.Butthenanotherknockechoedthroughthequietroom,followedbytheworstpossiblesoundintheentireworld—herstepsister’svoice.
“Claire?Delilah?Areyouawake?”
“Ohmygod,”Clairewhispered,scramblingoutfromunderDelilahlikeshewasonfire.Shewasoutofthebed,straighteninghertanktopandfixingherhairontopofherheadbeforeDelilahhadevensatup.“Shit.”
“It’sokay,”Delilahsaid.“Takeaminute.”
“Claire?”Astridcalledagain,knockingevenharder.
“Yeah!”Claireyelled,clickingonthelamp.“Justasec!”
ShestoodtherewithherhandsonherhipswhileDelilahwatched.WhenClaire’sgazefellonher,hereyeswidened.
“Yourhair.”
Delilahliftedahandtoherlocks,feelingthecurlsClaire’sfingershadpulledloosefromthehairtie.“It’samess,huh?”
“It’ssexhair,”Clairesaid,paniclacinghervoice.“Canyoufixit?”
Delilahneverbrokeeyecontactasshefullyreleasedherhairandthenpulleditbackupintoaneat,sexlesspile.
“Claire—”
“Wecan’ttellher,”Clairesaid,twiningherfingerstogether.“Okay?”
Delilahjuststaredather.Thatsomethingelsefeelingfrombeforestartedclosinginonherthoughts.Thishadhappenedbefore.Apotentialpartnershuttingthingsdownforsomereasonoranother.Delilahalwayshandleditfine.Shithappened.Peoplewerecomplicated.Shewasdisappointed,butshegotit,andshe’dsimplygohomeandruboneout,andthatwouldbethat.
Butthis…didn’tfeellikethat.Thisfeltdifferent,ahollowfeelingexpandinginDelilah’schest,andshewantedtoscream.Clairewasjustanotherlay.Avengeancelayatthat.
ButsomethinginDelilah’sfacemust’vegivenheraway,becauseClaire’sshouldersslumpedandshetookastepclosertowhereDelilahstillsatinthebed.“It’snot…It’sjust…withSpencerandthewedding,wecan’t…She’dfreakoutandI—”
“Igetit,”Delilahsaidcalmly,butthatholeinherchestjustkeptgrowing,eatingupallhernormal.Shelookedaway,inhalingquietlyandslowlywhileshefixedthetangledbedsheetsanddrapedthemserenelyoverherlap.Whentheyweresmoothandcrisp,whenherhearthadretreatedbacktoitsrightfulspotbehindherribs,shelookedupatClaireandsmiled.“Okay,youcanletherin.”
Claireopenedhermouthtosaysomething,butbeforeshecould,Astridpoundedonthedooragain.Clairestraightenedhertanktoponemoretimebeforehurryingtowardthedoor.Astridsweptinside,eyesscanningtheroomlikeamotherlookingforateenageboyinthemiddleofthenight.
“Areyouokay?”sheasked,lookingatClaire.
“What?”Claireasked.“Me?Yeah,I’mfine.”Shewavedahandthroughtheair,madeapshnoisewithhermouth,thenrestedthatsamehandonhershoulder.
Delilahwould’vebustoutlaughingifherthroatwasn’tdoingthisweirdthick,acheything.
“Whatareyoutwodoing?”Astridasked,turninghergazeonherstepsister.
Delilahtiltedherhead,thetruthrightontheedgeofhertongue.Thiswaswhatshe’dwanted,wasn’tit?ToproveAstridwrongaboutherselfandClaire.Towin.True,sheandClairehadn’thadsex,butinsomeways,whatsheandClairehaddonewasevenmoreprofound.Moreintimate,theslowslideofmouths,fingertipsshylyghostingoverskin.ThiswasDelilah’smoment,herchance.Sure,Clairehadaskedhertokeepitbetweenthem,butwhatdidthathavetodowithDelilah,really?WhatdidshecarewhatClaireSutherlandwantedofher?
Shedidn’t.
Shecouldn’t
ButashereyesfoundClaire’s,herlashesthickandwideandpleadingaroundallthatdeepbrown,Delilahcouldn’tgetthewordsaroundthatcaverninherchest.
“Nothing,”Delilahsaid.“Justtalking.Abouttogotosleep,Ithink.”
“Yep,”Clairesaid,hereyesstilllockedonDelilah.“I’mprettybeat.”
Astridlookedbetweenthetwoofthem,frowning.“Well,goodthingIcaughtyou,then.”
“Caughtus?”Clairesaid,hercheeksflushed.
“Beforeyouwenttosleep,”Astridsaid,andDelilahnoticedClaire’sshouldersloosen.“There’saroomavailable.ForDelilah.”
Clairesquintedattheclockonthebedsidetable.“Ateleventhirty?”
“ItoldHadleyorwhateverhernamewastoletusknowanytime.Apparently,someonejustcalledinandcanceledtheirnight’sreservation.Delayedflightorsomething.”
“Oh,”Clairesaid.
Delilahcouldn’ttellwhetherClairewasrelievedordisappointed,butshewasn’tgoingtostickaroundtofindout.Sheneededtogetoutofhere.Now.
“Great,”shesaid,tossingthecoversbackandgrabbinghercameraoffthebedsidetable.Shepackeditintoitsbag,thenheadedintothebathroomtogethertoiletries.
“Wait,”Clairesaid.“Icango.Youstay.”
“Ohno,”Delilahsaid,shakingherheadasshecamebackintothebedroomandtossedherbagintohersuitcase.“Thisisyourroom.I’llgo.”Shezippeduphersuitcaseandheadedforthedoor.“Roomnumber?”
“Twotwelve,”Astridsaid,handingherakeycard.“I’llgowithyou,it’srightnextdoortomine.”
“Fabulous,”Delilahsaid,openingthedoorandhurryingdownthehall,suitcaserollingbehindher.SheheardAstridtellClairegoodnight,heardthedoorcloseandAstrid’stelltalepurposefulfootstepsoverthehardwood,butshedidn’tlookbackorslowdownuntilshewasoutsideherdoor.
“Delilah,hangon,”Astridsaid.
Delilahpressedhereyesclosedasshefumbledthekeycardintotheslot.“Whatisit?”shesaidwithoutlookingatherstepsister.
Astridslidupnexttoher,leaningagainstthewallwhileDelilahfoughttogetthedamnredlighttogogreen.“Look,I’msorry.”
Delilahpausedinherbattle.“Forwhat?”
“Fortheroomsituation.”
Delilahfinallylookedather.Herstepsisterhadherarmscrossedoverherchest,asusual,andlookedextremelyuncomfortablewiththisapology.“Areyou?”
Astridseemedtodeflate,shouldersdrooping.“Yes.Ididn’tleaveyououtonpurpose.WhenImadethereservation,Iwasn’tsureyou’dactuallyshow,okay?Iwasgoingtocallback,andthenthingsjustgotbusyandI’mnotusedto…”Shetrailedoff,butDelilahknewwhatshewasgoingtosay.Shewasn’tusedtoconsideringDelilahatall.Thatold,lonelyfeelingfromchildhoodcreptbackuponher,pilingontopofeverythingthathadjusthappenedwithClaire.
“Igetit,”Delilahsaid.“It’sfine.”
“Ijust—”
“It’sfine,”Delilahsaidagain.Hertonewassosharp,Astridflinched,butshedidn’twanttotalkaboutthisrightnow.Notwithherbreathstuckinherchestlikethis,herlegsstillwobblyfromhavingClaire’smouthonherneck.
Thedamnlightfinallyblinkedgreen.Delilahopenedherdooranddisappearedinsidebeforeeitherofthemcouldsayanotherword.ChapterFifteen
FUCK.
Fuck,fuck,fuck.
Assoonasshewasalone,Clairetoreoffherclothesandallbutthrewherselfintheshowertotrytocalmherselfdown.Sheturnedthewaterallthewaytocold,maybetofreezeoffthememoryofDelilah’smouthonhers,herhands,thewayshe’dtasted,howherneckhadsmelledlikespring,likerainandfreshgrass.
HowDelilah’sfacehadgonestillasastone,herfierygemstoneeyesdimmingtoadullblue,themomentClaireaskedhertokeepwhathadjusthappenedasecret.
Whythehellhadshedonethat?
BecauseAstridwouldhavecompletelylosthershit,that’swhy.
Onedidn’tsimplymakeoutwithone’sbestfriend’sestrangedsisterandthenannouncehappilythatitwasthesinglehottestfifteenminutesshe’deverexperienced,andthatincludedthetimesheandJoshfrustration-fuckedonherbackyardpatiotablethreeyearsagowhilehermotherhadtakenRubytoamovie.Tonight,shehadn’tevencome,Delilahhadn’tevenventuredbelowherhipbone,andClairestillfeltlikeshewasabouttoexplodejuststandinghereunderthewater.
Butthatdidn’tmatter.
Itdidn’tmatterthatthewholethinghadfeltlikesomuchmorethanjustkissingandtouching,orthatevenanhourlaterasshelayinbedwideawake,shewasstillwetterthanshe’deverbeeninherentirelife,herbodyhummingandtwitchinglikealivewire.
Noneofthatmatteredatallbecausewhathappenedtonightabsolutelywouldnothappenagain.Itcouldn’t.DelilahlivedinNewYorkCity.Shewasleavinginlessthantwoweeks,forahugeshowatamajormuseumnoless.Shedidn’tdorelationships.ClaireknewthisfromAstrid,justlikesheknewDelilahdidn’tcareaboutanyonebutherselfandneverhad.
ClairegrabbedthepillowDelilahhadbeenusingandthrewitacrosstheroom.Thenshegotoutofbedandturnedtheair-conditioningallthewaydown,hopingthecoldwoulddistractherfromrememberingthelookinDelilah’seyesasshe’dtoldheraboutJax,aboutphotographingClaireontheshoresoftheriver.AlookthatseemedliketheexactChapterSixteen
THANKTHEGODDESSforAirPods.
DelilahspenttheentiredrivebacktoBrightFallswithasapphicfantasyaudiobookblastinginherears.AfteranafternoonoftouringthevineyardandsnappingphotosofAstrid,Iris,andClairetastingallsortsoffancywinesandthenhockingthembackintowhatcanonlybedescribedasaspittoon,andtryingherbesttoignoreClairewhilemakingitseemlikeshetotallywasn’tignoringClaire,allshewantedrightnowwasherchintz-coveredcouchattheKaleidoscopeInn,someliquorshecouldactuallyswallow,andanicelongsessionwithherCaliforniaDreamingMinx.
Irissatnexttoherinthebackseat,whichDelilahwouldalsothankthegoddessforexceptIrislegitkeptwritingmessagestoheronherphone’sNotesapp,thenthrustingthethingunderDelilah’snose.
Whatnow?
Wehavetendays.
Comeon,I’msureyoucanthinkofsomethingreallydevious.
Hello?
Ifyoudon’tanswerme,I’lljustgetmoreannoying.
WhenDelilahdidnothingbutglare,Irisdidindeedgetmoreannoying.ShesnatchedDelilah’sphonerightoutofherhandsandstartedtappingatthescreenwithasmirkonherface.Delilahfumedsilently,notwantingtodrawattentiontowhateverthehellIriswasdoing.Shefinishedwithafinaljabofherforefinger,andIris’sphoneimmediatelybuzzedwithatext.
AndsodidClaire’s.
Delilahsnatchedherphoneback,herbookstillplaying,andlookedatherscreen.Hermessageswereopen,andtherewasanewgrouptextthatincludedher,Iris,andClaire,becauseofcourseIrishadjustgoneaheadandputeveryone’snumbersintoDelilah’sphone.IrishadnamedthechatOSB,whateverthehellthatmeant,andapparently,Delilah’sfirsttexttotheothertwowomenhadbeenYou’rebothqueensandIlivetoserveyou.
Claireshiftedinthefrontseat,turningslightlytolookoverhershoulderather.
Delilahquicklytappedoutatext.
DELILAH:Ihateyouboth.
IRIS:That’snotwhatIheard.
Inthefrontseat,Clairechokedandwentintoacoughingfit.Delilahfelthercheeksgored.HadClairefuckingtoldIriswhathappenedbetweenthemlastnight?No.Shewouldn’t.NotifshewassosetonAstridnotfindingout.Iriswasclearlynotagreatsecret-keeper,asevidencedbyhertextingthetwoofthemrightnowwhileAstridsatinthedriver’sseatandbabbledonandonaboutsomedesignjobshewasdoingforalawfirm.
IRIS:Youjustsaidwewerequeens.
DelilahrelaxedalittlewhileClairechuggedherwaterandmadeuh-huhsoundsatAstrid.
CLAIRE:Ris,whatareyoudoing?
IRIS:Um,texting?
DELILAH:WhatthehellisOSB?
IRIS:OperationShitBoot
DELILAH:Shitboot?
IRIS:SHIT.BOOT.
DelilahlookedatIris,halfirritatedandhalfamused.Irisjustsmiled,thenwentbacktotexting.
IRIS:What’sournextmove?
CLAIRE:IthinkwecanwaittotalkaboutthisuntilAstridisn’ttwofeetawayfromme.
IRIS:Wecould,exceptweonlyhavetendaysandlastnightdidnotgoasplanned.
DELILAH:Lastnightwentexactlyasplanned.
Claireclearedherthroat,andDelilahwantedtorollhereyes.SheopenedupathreadwithjustClaire.
NotwhatImeant.
Iknow,Clairetextedback.
IRIS:Areyoutwotextingonyourown?
CLAIRE:No.
DELILAH:Maybe.
Clairehuffedoutabreath,andDelilahcouldn’thelpbutsmile.
IRIS:Okay,nosecretconspiring.Idon’tcareifyoutwodowanttobangeachother’sbrainsout.
Delilahchokedonherownspit,whichcausedacoughingfit.ShepoundedonherchestwhileClaire’sthumbsflewoverherscreen.
CLAIRE:Ris!Forgod’ssake.
IRIS:IsaidwhatIsaid.
“Whoareyoutexting?”Astridasked,glancingatClaire’sphonewhite-knuckledbetweenherhands.
“Noone,”Clairesaid.“Josh.He’s…bringingRubyovertothehouse.”
AstridnoddedandClaireretreatedtowardthewindow,herphoneabandonedinthecupholder.
Delilahfiredoffonefinaltext.
Istillhateyouboth.
AFTERASTRIDHADdroppedoffIrisandClaire,Delilahremainedinthebackseat.
“I’mnotyourchauffeur,”shesaidasshepulledawayfromClaire’shouseonLindenAvenue.Delilahjuststaredatthewindow,takingintheCraftsmanthatlookedexactlylikesomethingClairewouldlove.Smallandcozy,withalargefrontporchandbrightwhitetrim,naturalstonebaseanddusky-blueshingledsiding.Clairewalkedupthefrontwalkwithoutlookingback,herhipsswayingunderhertightjeansinawaythatmadelastnightriseupinDelilah’smindlikeaflashflood.
Christ.
Allmorningandafternoon,shehadtriednottothinkaboutit.She’dkissedClaire,feltherupgoodandproper,andnowshecouldmoveon.Itdidn’tmatterthatAstriddidn’tknowandwouldn’tknowuntilafterthewedding—orthenon-weddingorbreakuporwhateverthefuckIriswastryingtoaccomplish—Delilahknew.AndDelilahhadgottenthroughlifebyputtingherselffirst,onlyconcerningherselfwithwhatsheknewwastrue,becauseshe’dlearnedalongtimeagothatshecouldn’tcontrolanyonebutherself.Shecouldn’tchangeanyone’smind,couldn’tmakesomeoneloveherwhohadnointerestindoingso,andcouldn’tkeepsomeonefromleavingherifthat’swhattheywantedtodo.Shecouldn’tmakeagentsseeher.Couldn’tmakeartloversbuyherpieces.
Shecouldn’tmakeClairefeelunashamedoverwhathadhappened.Andshecouldn’tchangethefactthatshewasstuckwiththewomanandherlovelyhipsforanothertendays.Allshecoulddowasmindherbusinessandtakethedamnphotos.
ExceptasAstridpulledaway,Clairepausedonherporchandturned.ShemetDelilah’seyethroughthewindow,andDelilahfeltit—thatlook—shootdownherlegs.ItwasthatsamelookClaireshotoverhershoulderatthebrunch.Interest.Intrigue.Fuck,itwaswant
“Hello?”Astridsaid.
Delilahswallowedandlookedaway,sighingheavily.“Theinniswhat?Amilefromhere?JustdriveandI’llbeoutofyourhair.”
Astridreleasedherownsigh.“IaskedyouifIcouldseesomeofthephotosyou’vetakensofar.”
“Oh.”Delilahrubbedherforehead.Shehadtogethershittogether.Itwasakiss.Areallygoodone.Agreatone,butstill,itwasjustlipsandtongues.Delilahhadkissedahundredpeople,heardahundredpeoplegaspintohermouthlikeshewastheairandthey’dbeendrowning.
Or…well,fine,shehadn’theardahundredpeoplemakethatsoundwhenshewaskissingthem,butsurely,she’dexperienceditbefore.
“Whatthehell,Delilah!”
Shejoltedinherseat.“God,sorry.”
“Whereareyou,backinNewYork?”
Delilahrubbedherhandsdownherface.“Ifonly.”
AstridpressedhermouthflatandturnedontoMainStreet,whichwasbustlingwiththepredinnercrowd.Theskywasamarbledgrayandwhite,thepromiseofrainandanearthyscentintheair.
“That’sClaire’sshop,”AstridsaidastheypassedbyRiverWildBooks.Afewcustomersmilledaroundinside,awomanwithbluehairmanningthecounter
“Mmm.”
“Youwenttherealotasakid,didn’tyou?”Astridasked.
Delilahleanedherheadagainstthebackoftheseat.“Mmm.”
“It’sdifferentnow.Claire’sturneditallmodernandbeautiful.”
“Mmm.”
AstridhuffedanirritatedbreaththatmadeDelilahsmile.ShepulledupoutsidetheKaleidoscope,andDelilahleapedoutlikethecarwasonfire.
Abath.That’swhatsheneeded.Abath,someroomservice,ahugeglassofwine.ButwhensheturnedtowavegoodbyetoAstrid,spitoutsomethingpolitelikethanksforthefreespatreatmentseventhoughyou’dratherIhadn’tbeenthereatallasevidencedbyyourthree-personreservation,herstepsisterhadroundedthecar,purseonhershoulder,eyeswidewithexpectancy.
“Um…areyoustayingheretoo?”Delilahasked,juttingathumbtowardtheinn.“Spencersnores,huh?Orwait,hemakesyousleeponthecouchwhenyou’veeatengarlicandyoujustcan’thandlethatlumpysofaanymore.”
Astrid,unfortunately,didnottakethebait.“I’dliketoseethepicturesI’mpayingafortunefor,ifyoudon’tmind.”
“YoumeanMommyDearestispayingafortunefor.”
AstridjustpursedherlipsandcontinuedtostareatDelilah.Thewomanwouldwinanationalblinkingcontest,handsdown.
“What,youdon’ttrustme?”Delilahsaid,pressingherhandtoherchest.“Iamanartiste.Avisionary.Anintrepidexplorerthroughthewastelandsoftime.Averitable—”
“I’lljustgetthekeyfromNell,”Astridsaid,brushingpastDelilahandheadingintothethree-storybrickbuilding.
“Oh,wellplayed,”Delilahsaid,followingafterher.
Onceinherroom,shetossedhersuitcaseontothebedandremovedhercamerafromitsbag.Hookingituptoherlaptoponthedesk,sheclickedaroundonthecamerauntilallthephotosshe’dtakensofarstarteduploadingintoLightroom,whichshe’dalwayspreferredoverPhotoshop.Lessflashy,butsimplewasgoodinDelilah’sopinion.Cropping,exposureandwhitebalance,contrastandcolor,vibrancyandsaturation.That’sallsheneededtoplaywith.Therealartwasintheeye,theangle,themomentshehittheshutter.
“Keepinmind,thesearen’tedited,”shesaidasAstridsatatthedeskandwatchedasimagesflippedontothescreen,pilingintoLightroomlikeadeckofcards.
Delilahfeltaflareofnerves.She’dnevershownAstridherwork.Notonce.NottheunflatteringphotosDelilahhadtakenofherandhercovenbackwhentheywereteenagers,notasingleweddingshotorportraitorablackandwhiteofapieceofgumonthesidewalk.Butnow,shewasgoingtoseealot.Weddingstuff,sure,butalsojustrandomshitDelilahsnappedwhenshewaswalkingthroughtownaftertalkingwithClaireinRiverWild,imagesshetookjustbecausetheycaughthereye,likealollipopstickinthegrassandacrackinawineglassand—
Delilah’sposturesnappedstraight.
AndClairewhenshedidn’tknowDelilahwaswatching.LotsandlotsofimagesofClairewhenshedidn’tknowDelilahwaswatching.
Well,shit.
“Um,whatdoIdo?”Astridaskedwhenanotificationpoppedupannouncingtheuploadwascomplete.
Delilahdidn’tmove,wonderingifshecouldmakesomeexcuseastowhyAstridcouldn’tseethephotosyet,buttherewasnothing.Theywererighttherealready,infrontofAstrid’seagerface,andthewomanwaslikeadogwithaveryexpensivebonewhenshewantedsomething.Nowayshewaslettinggo.
Itwasfine.DelilahhadtakencandidsofAstridandIristoo…hadn’tshe?
Sheleanedaroundherstepsisterandtappedonthefirstimage,thenshowedAstridwheretoclicktomovetothenext.AstridleanedinasthephotosofeverythingDelilahhadtakenoverthepastthreedaysbloomedontothescreen.
Delilahperchedonthesideofthebed,herstomachsuddenlyinknots,notjustoverthephotosofClaire—whichshecouldtotallyplayoffasanattemptatintentionallydrivingAstridbonkers,whichAstridwouldhavenotroublebelieving—butoverherperfectstepsisterdiggingthroughherwork,herbrain,herheart.
Jesus,Delilah,yourheart?Getadamngrip.
Soshedid.ShegrippedherthighsandstareddownatherjeanswhileAstridsilentlyclicked…andclicked.
…andclicked.
God,shewastakingforever.
“Ineedadrink,”Delilahsaid,shootingupfromthebedandremovingthecomplimentarybottleofsauvignonblancshe’dfoundintheirroomatBlueLilylastnightfromherbag.Shenearlycriedinreliefwhenshesawitwasatwistcap.FillingoneofthepapercupsstackedupbytheminiKeurigtothebrim,shegulpedthefirstthreeswallows,shudderingasithitherbloodstream.
ThenshepacedanddranksomemoreuntilshesawAstridlandonaphotoofherselfandSpencerattheWisteriaHousedinner.
Itwasagoodphoto.Blackandwhite,Spencer’sarmaroundhershoulderwhiletheysatsidebysideatthetable.Thelightwassoftandlovely,theglowofcandlesandfairylightscurlingaroundthecouplelikeablanket.Thesaturationneededsomeadjusting,thecontrast,butotherthanthat,itwastheperfectcandid.
Exceptforonething.
Thebride.
DelilahsteppedupbehindAstrid,peeringcloseratthescreen.Spencerwaslaughing,hissmilebroadandbright,eyestwinklingonsomeoneinfrontofhim.HisfingerscurledaroundAstrid’sshoulders—somemightsayprotectively,butDelilahwouldn’t.Possessivelywastherightwordhere,anditseemedlikeAstridfeltit.Herbodyinthephotographwasrigid.Notsomuchastodrawattentionduringtheactualevent,butlookingattheimagenow,frozenintime,shedidanythingbutradiatewarmthandhappiness.Hersmilewasthere,butitwasplastic,didn’treachhereyesatall.Delilahhadevenmanagedtocapturethesubtlewayherfingertipsbledwhite,eversoslightly,onherwineglass.
God,shewasgood.
Still,DelilahfeltanythingbutprideasAstridcontinuedtostareattheimage.Shefeltasinkinginherstomach.Asick,heavythud.Shetriedtoshakeitoff—afterall,Astrid’smiseryhadalwaysbeenherdelight.AndthisclearhorrorAstridwasexperiencingoverseeingherselfasaStepfordWifeinblackandwhitewouldprobablymakeIrisandClairehappy.
ButevenasDelilahthoughtit,wonderedwhythehellsheevencaredifClairewashappyornot,shealsoknewitwasn’ttrue.Clairewouldn’tbehappy.She’dbeheartbrokenforherfriend.Irismightgloatalittle,revelinbeingright—god,IrisandDelilahreallycould’vebeenfriendsinadifferentworld—butshewould’veeventuallysettleddownandsupportedAstridnomatterwhat,comeupwithaplanofaction.
ButDelilahwasn’tIris,andshesureashellwasn’tClaire.
“Astrid,”shesaid,justtoshakethewomanoutofherstupor.
Herstepsisterstartled,clearingherthroatbeforeskippingtothenextphoto.“Thesearebeautiful.”
Delilahblinkedatthecompliment.“Okay…”shesaidslowly.
“Ireallylovethedetails.Likethisone.”Shepointedtothephotoonthescreen,asharpenedimageofIsabelthatbroughtouteverywrinkletheBotoxjustcouldn’tseemtoreach.
Delilahsnortedalaugh,andAstridlookedoverhershoulder,agrinonherownface.Theywatchedeachotherforasplitsecond,somethingpassingbetweenthemthatmadeDelilah’sbreathcatch.Somethingthatfeltyoungandalmosthopeful.
Astridturnedbackaroundandclickedtothenextphoto.
OneofClaire.
JustClaire,thenightoftheWisteriadinner.Evergreenscrowdedbehindher,andthesunobscuredpartofherbody,herfaceshadowed,buttherewasnodoubtitwasalovelyphotograph.
Therewasalsonodoubtthatshewaslookingrightattheviewer.Delilahrememberedtakingthepicture,ClaireturningherheadasplitsecondbeforeDelilahhittheshutter,asmileonherfaceatcatchingtheweddingphotographerintheact.
Asmilethatmostdefinitelyreachedhereyes.
“Thisoneis…”Astridstarted,butthenclearedherthroatagain.Thenshescootedherchairbacksofast,shenearlyranoverDelilah’stoes.Shestoodupanddugherphoneoutofherbagandcheckedthescreen.“Ishouldgo.”
“Oh,didSpencersummonyou?”
Assoonasshesaidit,shewishedshehadn’t.InsteadofrollinghereyesorvolleyingasharpcommentbackatDelilahintheirperpetualbarbmatchlikeDelilahexpected,Astridlookeddown,likeshewasembarrassed,andsaidnothing.HerthroatworkedaroundahardswallowasshemotionedtowardthephotoofClairestillonthescreen.
“YoushouldputthatoneonyourInstagram,”shesaid.“Peoplewouldreallyloveit.”
“My…wait,youknowaboutmyInstagram?”
Astrid’smouthtwitched,andwhenshespoke,hervoicewassoft,tentative.“HowdoyouthinkIknewIwouldloveyourweddingphotos?”
SurpriseshotthroughDelilah’sveins.OfcourseIsabelandAstridknewDelilahworkedasaweddingphotographer.Theyknewshedidportraitsandwaitedtablesinoneofthemostexpensivecitiesintheworld.Buttheydidn’tknowaboutherart,herambitions,herdesiretobeanameamongAmericanphotographers.That’swhatherInstagramwasfor.Ashowcaseofwhatshecouldactuallydowhenshewasn’tdoingsomeoneelse’sbiddingandsnappingpicturesofcouplesmooning—orinAstrid’scase,notmooning—overeachother.Delilahhadnevertoldthemaboutanyofthat.NotthatasimpleGooglesearchwouldn’tpulluphersocialmedia,buttoevendothat,Astridwouldhavetogivehalfashittotypeinhername.
“Hangon,”Delilahsaid.“You—”
“Seeyoulater,”Astridsaid,thensweptoutthedoor,leavingDelilahwithatightfeelinginherchestthatwouldn’tgoawaynomatterhowmanypapercupsofwineshetosseddownherthroat.ChapterSeventeen
THENEXTEVENINGwasThursdayandkickedoffawholesixdayswithoutsomegodforsakenweddingevent.ClaireandRubycamehomefromthebookstoretofindIrisandDelilahsittingintheirkitchensippingonlemonLaCroix.
Clairefroze,herheartsuddenlyinherthroat.
“Hey!”Rubysaid,barrelingfartherinsidetomeetthem.
“Hey,Rubes,”Irissaid,pressingakisstothetopofherhead.Delilahsmiledatthegirl,buthereyesflickedtoClaire,whofeltherstomachlurchuptojoinherheart.
“Helpyourselftothatkeyundertheplanteranytimeyouwant,Ris,”Clairesaid.
“Ishall,”Irissaid.“Gotyourmailtoo.Lookslikeyourmomsentyouanotherpackage.”
Clairesetherbagonthecenterisland.“OhJesus,whatisitthistime?”Inhervagabondretirement,hermotherhadgottenprogressivelyintocrystalsandtarot.SheburnedsagetocleanseherspaceandtalkedaboutblockedchakraswheneversheandClairespokeonthephone.NotthatClairebegrudgedhertheinterest—shewasgladhermotherhadapassionafterhandingherbelovedRiverWildBooksovertoherdaughter’scontrol.Clairejustdidn’thavethetimeorbrainspacetoreallyunderstanditall.Lately,hermotherhadtakentosendingherthingsinthemail,everythingfromrosequartznecklacestobooksonmeditation,convincedClairesimplyneededalittlespiritualityinherlifetoseteverythingstraight.
“IwanttoseewhatGrandmasent,”Rubysaid,pickingupthepaddedenvelope.Sherippeditopenandpulledoutaboxaboutthesizeofasmallbook.Hereyesscannedthefront,readingthetext.“TheLiteraryWitchesOracle.”
“Oracle?”Irissaid,standingandtakingtheboxfromRuby.“Likefuturetelling?”
“Ihavenoidea,”Clairesaid,takingherturnwiththebox.“?‘Discoverdivinationusingthemagicofliterarygenius,’?”shereadfromtheback,whereitshowedtheimageofacardfeaturingZoraNealeHurston,nexttoanothercardwithanappleonit.Justthat.Anapple.
“HowverymagicallybookishofKatherine,”Irissaid.
Clairelaughed,peeringatZora.Underneathherimagewasthewordstory.“Thisactuallymightbesomethingwecouldstockinthebookstore.”Shesettheboxontheislandtodealwithlaterbeforeopeningtherefrigeratorandtakingoutabeer.
“Oh,thankgod,”Irissaid,holdingoutherhandforoneaswell.“Iwastryingtobegood,butthissparklingwaterisn’tcuttingit.”
ClaireputacoldcaninherhandandthenlookedatDelilah.“Youwantone?”
“I’mokay,”Delilahsaid.“Butthanks.”
“I’llhaveone,”Rubysaid,foldingherarmsoverherchestandglaringatClaire.Thishadbeenhappeningalldaylong.Theglaring.Thehuffing.Thearmfolding.AllthankstoJosh,onceagain,whotoldRubyhewantedtotakeheronacampingtripthisweekendbeforehetalkedtoClaireaboutit,whichnowmeantthatanyobjectionClairehadwouldautomaticallyturnherintothefun-sucking,hundred-year-oldworrywartmothershealwaysfeltlikeshewasaroundJosh.
AndthatwasexactlywhathappenedwhenRubyinformedheraboutthetripthismorningandClairerespondedwithaverycalm“Honey,Idon’tknow.”Shehadn’tevensaidnoyet,butClairehadstillspentherdayangrytextingwithJoshanddodgingherdaughter’sdaggerstareswhileworkingoninvoicesandredoingendcaps.
“Oh,haha,”Clairesaid,reachingouttosmoothRuby’shair.Thegirlduckedoutofherreachthough,slidinggracefullytotheothersideofthecounternexttoDelilah.Irisshotheralook,butClairewavedheroff.Shewasusedtothisbynow.Whatwasonemoreexplosivefightwithhereleven-year-old?
DelilahnudgedRuby.“Hey,wanttoshowmeyourroom?”
Ruby’seyeslitup.“Yeah!”
ThensheboltedofftowardthebackofthehousewhileDelilahgotupandadjustedherverytightgrayjeans.AsshepassedClaire,shedidn’tlookather,notevenasmile,buthershoulderbrushedagainsthers,sendingClaire’sstomachplungingtoherfeet.Shechuggedthreeswallowsofbeer.
“Jesus,whatisup?”Irissaid.
“Nothing.”
“You’reahorribleliar.”
“Whatgavemeaway?”Clairedeadpanned,knowingshelookedlikeshitandwasmakingverylittleefforttohidethefactthatshefeltlikeshittoo.She’dbarelysleptlastnight,again,thinkingaboutJoshandthenDelilahbeforeswitchingtoAstridandSpencer,thenbacktoDelilahagain.Thismorning,shehadn’tevendoneanythingwithherhairaftershowering,justpileditallontopofherhead.
“Josh?”Irisasked.
Clairenodded.“Campingtrip.Thisweekend.Asinthewoods,withbearsandravinesandrushingriverrapids.”
Irismadeayikesface.“Youcan’tjustsayno?”
“IcanifIwantmydaughtertodespiseme.”
Irissighed.“Oh,honey.Whatifyouwentalong?”
Clairehadconsideredthis,butifshewentalong,therewasaninetypercentchancesheandJoshwouldendupdoingsomethingsheregrettedafterRubywenttosleep.
Delilahflashedinhermind,softfingersonherskin,thewayshe’dpulledClaire’sbottomlipbetweenherteethand—
Sheshookherhead.“Idon’tknow.”
Irisreachedoutandsqueezedherhand.“HowaboutIorderusallsomedinner,huh?Youdon’tlooklikeyoucouldheatupaLeanCuisinerightnow,muchlesscookforyourkid.”
Clairesqueezedback.“Yeah,that’dbegood.Thanks.”
IrisclickedaroundonherphoneandwasdoneorderingpizzabeforeitevendawnedonClairetoaskherwhatsheandDelilahGreenweredoingatherhouse.
“I’vebeentextingyouallday,”Irissaid,sippingherbeer.
“Ohdamn,that’sright.Iforgottolookatthem.”ClairegotoutherphoneandopeneduptheOSBthread.TherewereseveralunreadtextsbetweenIrisandDelilahaboutaplan—mostlyIrisdemandingoneandDelilahrespondingwithnonsensicalemojislikearobotandanineties-erapager.“Sorry.IwascaughtuptextingwithJoshallday.”
Irisnodded.“Ifiguredyouwerebusy.Henceourvisit.”
“I’mamazedDelilahagreedtocome.”
“Oh,sheconsentedratherquicklywhenIsuggestedit.”
ClaireforcedherselftoignoreIris’stone,andabsolutely,onehundredpercent,nottolookatherfriendrightnow,evenwhilewhatfeltlikeahugegrinfoughttotakeoverherface.
“Tendaysleft,”Irissaid,sippingherbeer.“Andthenextweddingeventisn’tuntilthebachelorettepartytwodaysbeforetherehearsal,whichmeansweprobablywon’tseeorhearfromAstriduntilnextWednesdaywhileshespinsaroundlikearobotinheels.”
Clairegroaned.“Idon’tknowwhattodo,Iris.She’sbarelyspokentoeitherofussincethedinneratthevineyard.”
“Unlessitwasaboutweddingshit.Shebarelyshutupthewholeridehome.”
“YouknowwhatImean.Like,actuallytalktous.Itextedherthismorning—justahey,howareyou—andshedidn’tresponduntilthreeintheafternoon,andeventhen,itwasathumbs-upemoji.”
Iris’seyeswentwide.
“Yeah,”Clairesaid.“Anemoji,fromthewomanwhohastospelloutlaughoutloudinhertextsinsteadofLOL.”
“Itextedherandgotnothingback.”
“Thisisn’tgreat.”
“ThisiswhatI’msaying.”
“Wecan’tverywellgethertalkingifshewon’ttalktous.”
Theybothtookaslugofbeer,thenfellintoastressfulsilence.Claire’sthoughtsswirled,toomanythingsatonce.Asmartpersonwouldgetverydrunkrightnow,butthatwouldonlymakeherasloppy,gooeymessaroundDelilah,whichwouldimmediatelygiveherawayasasloppy,gooeymessaroundDelilah.
“So,camping,huh?”Delilahsaidasshecamebackintotheroom,thenstoppedwhenshesawClaireandIrisstaringdespondentlyattheirbeercans.“Shit,whathappened?”
“Astrid,theunfeelingicequeen,happened,”Irissaid.
DelilahpulledafaceandsettledontoabarstoolnexttoClaire,onelegpulledtoherchest.“Andthisisanewrevelation?”
Irisglared.“Forthoseofuswithhearts,yes.”
“Ris,”Clairesaid,thenglancedatDelilah.“Rubytoldyouaboutthecampingtrip?”
Delilahnodded.“BagbyHotSprings.Soundsfun.”
Clairenearlychokedonherbeer.“Hotsprings?”
“ItakeitJoshdidn’tmentionthatpart?”Irissaid.
“No,nordidmyadoringdaughter,”Clairesaid.“IguessIwastoobusyimaginingabeargnawingmykid’sfaceoffinthemiddleofthenightbecauseJoshleftthehotdogsout.Ididn’teventhinkaboutboiling-hotwater.”
Delilahwinced.“So,notsofun,then.”
“I’msureit’sablastforanyoneotherthanaman-childinchargeofourdaughter.”Clairewentbacktorubbinghertemples.Shecouldn’tdealwiththisrightnow.NotwithDelilahGreenandhertattoosandherfingersandhermouthjustsittinghereinherkitchen,asthoughtheydidn’tmakeoutliketeenagerstwonightsago.
“I’vegotit,”Irissaid,herspinegoingramrodstraightandhereyespoppingsowide,Claireworriedtheywereabouttorollontothecounter.
“Herpes?”Delilahsaid.
Irisflickedheroffwithoutskippingabeat.“Thesolution.Weallgocamping.”
Claireblinkedather.“All…allofus?”
“Allofus,”Irissaid.“You,me,GothQueenoverhere,Ruby,Josh…andAstrid.”
Delilahsplutteredhersparklingwateralloverthecounter.“Shit,sorry.”
Shestartedtogetupforapapertowel,butClaireputahandonherknee,freezingherinplace.ClairekepthereyesonIris,butshecouldfeelDelilah’swarmskinthroughherjeans.Delilahsatbackdown,andClairetoldherselftomoveherhand,butshecouldn’tseemtoconnectherfingerstoherbrain.OnlywhenIrisflickedhergazedowntoDelilah’slegwasClaireabletoslideherhandbackintoherownlap.
Nexttoher,sheheardDelilahreleaseabreath.Ormaybeshejustimaginedit.Maybeshewasalreadydrunkoffhalfabeer.
Finally,Delilahclearedherthroat.“AstridParker.Inthewoods.Sleepinginatent.”
“ThisiswhatI’msaying,”Irissaid
“Areyouhigh?”Delilahasked.“She’dnevergoforthat.Sheneedshercoldcreamsandfeatherduvets.”
“Noonecallsthemcoldcreamsanymore,”Irissaid.“Whatareyou,eightyyearsold?”
“Bothofyou,stop,”Clairesaid.
“She’llcome,”Irissaid,lookingatClaire.“Ifyoutellheryouneedher,she’llbethere.”
Claire’sshouldersslumped.“Ris.That’smanipulative.”
“Notifit’strue.YouwantRubytobeabletogocampingwithJoshwithoutsendingyoureachingforaXanaxeveryfiveminuteswhilethey’regone,right?Sotheonlysolutionistogotoo,butyoudon’twanttobewithJoshbyyourselfbecause,let’sfaceit,themanisfineandyounevermakegreatdecisionswhenhe’saround—”
“Wait,what?”
“—andsoweallgo,formoralandsexualsupport,andgetAstridtalkingmoreaboutSpencerinthemeantime.”
Irismimeddroppingamic,thengrinnedatthebothofthem.
“Sexualsupport?”Claireasked,asinkingfeelinginherstomach.
Irisreachedoutandpinchedhercheek.“LikeIsaid,you’reahorribleliar.”
Nexttoher,ClairefeltDelilahgoverystill.Herknee,whichhadbeenbrushingClaire’ship,justbarely,movedaway,andDelilahfinallygotuptogetthosepapertowelsandcleanupherspill.
Claire’scheekswarmed,bloodrushingtothesurfaceofherskin.Irisknewaboutallthetimesshe’dsleptwithJoshaftertheybrokeup.AndifIrisknew,thenAstridknew.AndnowDelilahknew,andClairewantedtoclimbunderatablewiththeemergencybottleofbourbonshehidinthecabinetabovetherefrigerator.
Irisreachedoutandsqueezedherarm.“It’sokay,honey.I’dprobablybonehimtooifIhadthechance.”
“Ris,”Clairegroaned,droppingherfaceintoherhand.Shedidn’tdarelookatDelilah.Notthatitshouldmatter.NotthatsheandDelilahwereanything.NotthattheotherwomanwouldcareatallaboutwhoClairesleptwith.
Clairesatupstraightandshookherbangsoutofhereyes.Sheneededtofocus.Becauseasmuchasshehatedtoadmitit,Iris’ssolutionwastheonlywaytoavoidawarwithRuby.Ontopofthat,everythingIrissaidwastrue—Clairedidneedherfriendsthereifshewasgoingtogoonthistrip,anditwouldn’tbelyingormanipulativetotellAstridexactlythat.IftheyallendeduptalkingabouthowSpencerwasanassholeinatailoredsuit,thensobeit.
“Okay,let’scallher,”shesaid.
Irisgrinnedandpressedherphonetoherear.“Alreadyhadhernumberpulledup.”ChapterEighteen
MIRACULOUSLY,ASTRIDAGREEDtothecampingtrip.Delilahwatcheditallunfoldwhileleaningagainstthekitchensink.Ittookthreecallsandafewtextmessagesbeforeherstepsisteransweredthephone,butIriscouldbedamneddeterminedwhenshewantedtobe,andwhenClairegotonthecall,explaininghowsheneededherfriendstheretosupporther,especiallysinceshecouldn’tbetrustedaroundJosh,Astridapparentlycavedlikeahollowed-outcreampuff.
Ican’tbetrustedaroundJosh,Astrid.YouknowIcan’t.
That’swhatClairehadsaid.Quietly,asthoughshewasloathtoadmitit,butDelilahstillheardit,loudandclear,likeachurchbellringingthroughthetownsquare.
Shehadn’tevenwantedtocometoClaire’sinthefirstplace.Atleastthat’swhatshetoldherselftheentireLyftrideoverhere.She’dbeenperfectlycontenttoreplytoallofIris’sannoying-as-helltextmessageswithrandomemojis,butthewomanhadtogoandsuggesttheymeetatClaire’storegroup,andsuddenly,aDNAstrandemojijustdidn’tfeelliketherightresponse.Thenshe’dbeentheonetocave,agreeingandboltingoutofhertoo-quietroomattheinnbeforeshecouldeventhinkthroughwhatshewasdoing.
GoingtoseeClaireagain,that’swhatshewasdoing.
Shedidn’tgivetwoshitsaboutIris’splanorAstridandSpencer.Butnow,standinginClaire’scozykitchenwithitsbutcher-blockcountersandfarmhousesink,watchingherpacearoundherlivingroom,whichwascoveredwithbooksandsoftthrowsandphotographsofRubyalloverthemantel,shecouldadmitit.
She’dwantedtoseeClaire.
EversinceAstridleftherroomyesterday,Delilahhadfeltunsettled.Shecravedsomething,somethingsweet,somethingshedidn’thavetoconstantlytryandmaneuveraround,figureout,strategizeabout.AndafterthatkisswithClaireatthevineyard…well,Delilahdidn’tfeelverycalculatingatall.
Shejustfeltfuckinglonely.
AndnowClairewastellingAstridhowsheneededhersoshewouldn’tscrewherexonacampingtrip.
Okay,maybeClairewasn’tusingthoseexactwords,buttheeffectwasthesame,andDelilahcouldn’tseemtogetridofthisburningsensationinherchest,nomatterhowmanydeepbreathsshetook.Itwasthesamekindofoilydreadshe’dfeltfiveyearsagowhenshe’dunlockedtheapartmentshe’dsharedwithJax,moansshedidn’trecognizealreadyfilteringunderthedoor.
Whichwasridiculous.She’dbeenwithJaxfortwoyears.She’dkissedClaireonce,hadn’tevensleptwithher.Itwasn’tnearlythesamething.
Still,shewenttoClaire’srefrigeratorandtookoutabeer.She’dbeendeterminednottodrink,tokeepaclearheadaroundClairesoshedidn’tdoanythingtooterriblystupid,butnow,asmemoriesofJaxandMallorymeldedwithbrand-newvisionsofClaireandJoshhumpinglikerabbitsinatentunderthestars,sheneededsomethingtocalmhernerves.
“Okay,”Clairesaid,endingthecallwithAstrid.“It’sdone.”
“YoushouldprobablytellJosh,”Irissaid.“Makesurehereservesenoughcampingspots.”
“Ohyeah,Iprobablyshould.”ShehandedIrisbackherphone,thengrabbedherownfromthecenterisland.ShelookedatDelilah,openedhermouth,butnothingcameout.Delilahheldhergazethistime.ShewantedClaireto…
Towhat?
TellherJoshmeantnothingtoher?
Invitehertoshareasleepingbag?
KickIrisoutandkisshersenseless?
Fuck.
Yes.Yes,DelilahwantedClairetodoallofthosethings.
Shelookedawayfirst,takingalongpullofherbeer.God,sheneededsomethingstronger.Sheneeded…tonotfeellikethis.Shedidn’tdorelationships.Shedidflirting.Shedidsex.Andshediditdamnwell.SomaybesheneededtodowhatshedidsowellwithClaire,andthishardknotinherstomachwoulduntangle.Perhapsitwasjustalustknot.True,she’dneverheardoforexperiencedalustknotbefore,buthell,therewasafirsttimeforeverything.
ClairetookherphoneanddriftedoffdownthehallwhileDelilahdranksomemore.Iriseyedherfromwhereshe’dlandedonthecouch.
Andkepteyeingher.
“CanIhelpyou?”Delilahasked.
Irisliftedabrow,butbeforeshecouldsayanything,thedoorbellrang.
“Thatwouldbeourpizza,”Irissaid.
“Awesome.”Delilahdidn’tbudge,eventhoughshewasclosertothedoor.Finally,Irishuffedanannoyedbreath,makingDelilahsmileandfeelabitmorelikeherself,andgotuptogetthefood.
DELILAHKNEWSHEshouldprobablyjustgobacktotheinn,butafterthepizzaarrivedandRubycameintothekitchenwithClaire,positivelybeamingfromthenewsthattheywereallgoingcampingtogether,thegirlhookedherarmthroughDelilah’sandaskedhertositnexttoherwhiletheyate.TherewasnowayDelilahcouldtellherno,notwiththosehazelpuppydogeyesandthe“tattoo”she’dapparentlyinkedontheinsideofherarmafterDelilahhadleftherroomearlier
“That’scool,”Delilahsaid,motioningtoablack-pennedrosenearRuby’swrist.Itwasactuallyaprettyamazingdrawing,thepetalsdetailed,thethornsdrippingwithdew.
“Oh,um,thanks,”RubysaidastheysatdownatoneendofClaire’sfarmhousekitchentable.Ablushspreadintohercheeks.
Claire,whowassittingacrossfromDelilahnexttoIris,smiled,butsaidnothingofherdaughtercoloringalloverherskin.Delilahwasglad,andshecouldtell,bythewayRuby’sshouldersrelaxedalittle,thatRubywastoo.
Delilahtookabiteofmushroomspinachpizza.“Doyouliketodraw?”
Rubynoddedandshruggedatthesametime,herchinduckingtoherchest.God,Delilahfeltthegirl’sawkwardnessinherbones,afamiliaracheofnotknowingwhereorhowtofit.
“Ishouldgetyoutodesignatattooforme,”shesaid.
Ruby’sheadsnappedup.“Really?”
“Yeah.You’regood.DoyouhaveanyotherdrawingsIcouldsee?”
Rubyblinkedatherthenleapedupfromthetableandsprintedtowardherroom
“Youjustmadeheryear,”Clairesaid,leaningacrossthetablealittle.
Delilahswallowedabitofpizzaandshrugged.“I’mnotplacatingher.She’sgood.”
“Iknow.Andsodoesshe.That’swhyyoumadeheryear.”
Clairesmiledather,eyessoftbehindherglasses,cheeksalittleflushed.SomethinglowinDelilah’sbellyfluttered,amotharoundalight.
“Noonewouldeversuspectyouofplacatinganyone,D,”Irissaid,stuffingawholecrustintohermouth.
DelilahflippedheroffrightbeforeRubysailedbackintotheroom,hugginganotebooktoherchest.Asshesatbackdown,shekeptthebookunderthetableandslowlyopenedit,shouldershunched.Delilahdidn’ttrytotakeitoutofherhands.Itwashers,andDelilahknewbetterthananyonehowmuchtheartyoudidasakid—whetheritbedrawingsorphotographsorsongs—feltlikespillingthecontentsofyourheartoutintotheworld.Hell,itstillfeltlikethatasagrown-up.
Sheleanedclosertothegirl,tiltingherheadtoseethedrawingsasRubyflippedthepagesinherlap.Black-and-whitesketchesfilledeachpage.Plants,flowers,teamugsandstacksofbooks,candlesandcatsandplanets.Thenthefacesstarted—Claire,Josh,Iris,Astrid,youngergirlswhomust’vebeenherfriendsfromschool,herownfaceinvariousexpressions,everythingfromsmilingtodespairingtodistorted,awholerangeofemotionsandfeelingsandthoughts.
“Thesearegreat,”Delilahsaid,hervoicelowandjustforRuby.Shenudgedhershoulderwithherown,coaxingaproudsmileoutofthegirl.
“Thankyou,”Rubysaidsoftly,thenlookedupatDelilah.“Canyouteachmeaboutphotography?”
“Sure.Whatdoyouwanttoknow?”
“Everything.Like,lightingandframingand…everything.Iloveyourphotos.”
Delilahtiltedherhead.“You’veseenmyphotos?”
Thegirl’sblushdeepened.DelilahshotaglanceatClaire,buttheotherwomanjustshrugged.
“I…um…”Rubysaid.Shelookedsuddenlyscared,morethanjustnervous.
“Hey,it’sokay,”Delilahsaid.“Photosaremeanttobeseen.”
Rubyblewoutabreath,nodded.“Well…afterAuntAstrid’sbrunch,IlookedyouuponmylaptopandIfoundyourInstagram.”
“Ah.”
“Youraccountisamazing.”
“YouhaveanInstagram?”Irisasked.
Delilahtiltedherheadather.“I’maphotographer.OfcourseIhaveone.”
ApurelyevilgrinspreadoverIris’smouth,andshepickedupherphone.
Ohgod.Delilahwasn’tashamedofherInstagramaccount.Itwasprettymuchamustforanyvisualartistthesedays.Shejustwasn’tpreparedforthewholeofBrightFallstobescrollingthroughherphotos.Someofthemwereprettyraw,andthelastpeopleshe’dconsideredwhenshepostedthemwereAstridandhercoven.JustthethoughtofsittingherewhileIrisKelly—andinevitably,ClaireSutherland—dugintoherartmadeherwanttopuke.
“Hey,youknowwhat?”shesaidtoRuby.“Thelightoutsideisperfectrightnow.Wantmetoshowyouafewtipsfortakingphotoswithaphone?”
Ruby’sshouldersslumped.“Idon’thaveaphoneyet.”
“Butyouwill,”Clairesaid,holdingherwaterglassbetweentwohands.
“When?”Rubysaid,herposturegoingstraight.
Clairelaughed.“Someday.”
“Ugh,you’retheworst.”
“Iloveyoutoo,”Clairesaid,eyesshiningatherdaughter.
“Ohmygod,”Irissaid,eyesbuggingoutonherphone.“Youhavetwohundredthousandfollowers?”
“Andthat’sourcue,”Delilahsaid,thenwavedherownphoneatRuby.“Whatdoyousay?”
“Okay,yeah,”Rubysaid,grabbinghernotebookandleadingthewaythroughthelivingroomtowardthebackporch.
“Holyshit,”DelilahheardIrissaybehindher.“Claire,lookatthis.”
Anxietyspikedinherchest,andshehurriedoutthedoor.Shewasn’tsureifthatwasagoodholyshitorabadone,buteitherway,shedidn’twanttohearwhatClairehadtosayaboutherphotosatall.
Outside,theairwascoolanddamp,thesunjuststartingtosink,creatingatwilight-lavenderglowthatwasperfectforacertaintypeofphoto.DelilahandRubywentintothebackyard,thegrassalittlelongandtheflowerbedsalittleweedy,buttherewasahammockstrungbetweentwomapletrees,astrandofcoloredlightshungalongtheporchrailingthatcould’vebeenleftoverfromChristmasorcould’vebeenaregularfixture.Eitherway,theyardwascharming.Imperfect.Itwaslived-inandhomey,thekindofbackyardDelilahrememberedfromherandherfather’shouseinSeattle,butwhichshe’dneverhadatWisteriaHouse.
“Okay,”shesaidtoRuby,onceshe’dtakenadeepbreathtocalmherstomach.“Lookaround.Seeifanythingcatchesyoureye.”
Rubyfrownedather.“Likewhat?”
“Anything.Photographyisn’tsodifferentfromdrawing.Whenyougotodoasketch,youeitherseesomethinginterestingyouwanttodraw,oryouthinkofsomethinginterestinginyourmind,right?”
Rubynodded.
“Samethingwithphotographs.Youseesomethingandyouwanttocaptureitinanewway,awayonlyyoucanseeit,andthenshowthattotheworld.”
Ruby’sfrowndeepened,butitwasmorealookofcuriosityandthoughtthanconfusion.Sheglancedaroundheryard,thenstartedwalkingthroughthegrassslowly,hernotebookstilltuckedagainstherchest.Delilahletherroam,watchingthegirlsearchthroughhertinyworld.
“This,”Rubysaid,stoppingatastonebirdbathinthecorneroftheyard.Itwasdingy,fullofstagnatedwateranddeadleaves,butrightinthecenterasinglewhiteflowerfloated.Delilahcouldn’ttellwhatfloweritwas,somesortofweedprobably,buttheeffectofalittlelifehoveringabovedeath…well,itwasstriking.
“Perfect,”Delilahsaid,smilingatRuby,thenhandedthegirlherphone,alreadyopentothecameraapp.“Let’sseewhatyougot.”
Rubytookitandsethernotebookinthegrass,herexpressionuncertain,butafterafewminutesofstaringandheadtilting,shegottowork.Ittookawhile.Thegirlwasmeticulous,careful,experimentingandthenshakingherheadsoftlywhenwhatshesawinthephotodidn’tmatchwhatshewantedinherhead.Finally,shelookedupandhandedthephonebacktoDelilah.
Scrollingthroughherimages,Delilahsmiled.“Thesearegood.Ilikeyourpointofviewhere.”SheheldoutthephonesoRubycouldseethebirdbath’sedge,theviewernearlyeyelevelwiththedirtywater,theflowertheonlythinginfocus.
“Canyoushowmehowtoeditthem?”Rubyasked.
DelilahglancedupatthehouseandsawClairestandingonthebackporch,forearmsrestingonthedeckrailinglikemaybeshe’dbeenthereforawhile.
Iriswasnowheretobeseen.
“Ishouldprobablygo,”Delilahsaid,herstomach-mothstakingflightagain.
“Whataboutonthecampingtrip?”Rubyasked.
Delilahfrowned.Shehadn’teventhoughtaboutgoingonthetrip.WhenIrishadsaidwe’llallgo,Delilahdidn’ttakeherliterally.Plus,therewasn’tanotherweddingeventuntilnextWednesday,whichmeantDelilahhadablissfulfivedaysaheadofherwithoutasingleParkerorParker-Greenlavishingherwiththeirdisappointment.ShewasofhalfamindtoflybacktoNewYorkfortheduration,excepttherewasnowayshecouldaffordtheround-tripticket.
“Oh,sweetie,Idon’tthinkI’mgoingonthat.”
Ruby’sfacefell.“What?Youhaveto!”
“Ijustthink—”
“No,youhavetogo.You’refunandIliketalkingtoyou.”
Delilahsmiled,herchestwarming.“Yourmomisfun,right?IrisandAstrid?”
Rubyrolledhereyes.“Yeah,they’reaboutasfunasabagofrocks.”
Delilahlaughedatthat,butRubywassmiling.Ontheporch,Claireleanedherelbowsontheporchrailing,thecoloredlightsilluminatingherfacewithblueandgreen.
“What’ssofunny?”shecalled.
“See?”Rubysaid,juttingherthumbtowardhermotherandloweringhervoice.“Rocks.”
Delilahnarrowedhereyesatthegirl,asmilestillonherlips.“We’llsee,okay?Aboutthecampingtrip.Buteitherway,we’llworkonyourphotosoon,okay?Ipromise.”
Ruby’sshoulderssagged,butshenodded.
ThenshesteppedforwardandwrappedherarmsaroundDelilah’smiddle.Forasecond,Delilahdidn’tmove.Shecouldn’trememberthelasttimesomeonehadhuggedher.Years.Jaxwasprobablythelastperson,andtowardtheendoftheirrelationship,itwasmoremindlessscrewingthananythingelse.Stressreliefforbothofthem.Lordknows,that’sallDelilahhaddonesince—thoughtlesstouches,desperationforskinwithoutanyrealheartbehindit.
This,though.This…embrace.Fromanalmost-teenager,noless,andeveryoneknewalmost-teenagershatedeveryone.Ittookthebreathoutofher.Literally,forafewsecondsasRubyrestedherheadagainstDelilah’schest,armstightaroundherwaist,shecouldn’tfindenoughair,hereyesstingingwithaswellofsuddentears.
ButthenshemovedherarmsaroundRuby,pressedhercheektothetopofherhair.Sheexhaledwhatfeltlikeadecade’sworthofanxiety,andacceptedthegirl’slove.ChapterNineteen
CLAIREWATCHEDINaweasRubythrewherarmsaroundDelilah.She’dcomeouthereabouttenminutesagototellherdaughterthatTess’smomhadcalledandaskedaboutasleepover,butthenshesawRubyandDelilahtalking,howtheyoungergirlpressedherfaceintotheairbetweenthem,eagerandsearchingandfascinated.RubyhadtakenDelilah’sphoneandstartedcirclingaroundtheiroldbirdbath,theoneClairehadbeenmeaningtocleanoutforagesbut,inthegrandschemeofthings,wasrelativelylowonherprioritylist.
Nowshewasgladshehadn’t.
Therewassomethingbeautifulinthatleaf-filledbath,andDelilahwashelpingRubyseeit.OrmaybeRubyhadalreadyseenitandDelilahwasjustaguide.Eitherway,Clairefeltbreathlessastheprocessunfolded,howRubybentandtwistedwiththephone,howDelilahquietlywatchedherwiththislookthatClairecouldonlydescribeaspride.
Andthen…Rubyhadhuggedher.Forthepastcoupleofyears,Rubydidn’tgiveawayheraffectioneasily.ShelovedlyinginbedatnightwithClairerightnexttoher,snugglingandtalkingwhenherbodywaslessalertandreadyforrest.Duringtheday,though,herkidwasonthego,alwaysmoving,talking,observing,wondering,andwheneverClairereachedoutforahug,RubywouldpathermotheronthebackandthendartoffliketheFlashtothenextthing.ShebarelyevenletIrisorAstridhugheranymore.
Andyet.
Clairefeltanacheinherthroat,watchingherdaughterreachoutintotheworldandhavetheworld…reachback.ShetookashudderingbreathasRubyandDelilahbrokeapart,shookherheadtoclearit,wipedthesuddenwetnessfromunderhereyes.
“Hey,Rabbit?”shecalled.
Rubyturnedandlookedathermother.“Yeah?”
“Tesscalled.Wanttospendthenight?”
“Yeah!”
Herdaughterracedtowardher,Delilahforgotten,butasshepoundeduptheporchsteps,shestoppedandturnedbacktotheotherwoman.
“Thanks,”shesaid.
Delilahsmiled.“You’rewelcome.”
ThenRubydashedinside,flip-flopsloudagainstthehardwood.Clairewatchedherdisappeararoundthecornertoherroomandthenturnedback.Delilahwasamblingacrossthegrass,herlithelimbsgraceful,likeshewasmovingoverwaterinsteadofearth.
“Where’sIris?”sheaskedassheapproachedtheporch.
“Gone.SheandGranthadamovienightplanned.”
Clairemighthaveimaginedit,butshesworeDelilah’sstepshaltedforasplitsecondatthenews.Butthenshekeptgoinguntilshewasrightnexttoheronthedeck.Claire’sstomachwasinknots,andshecouldn’tfigureoutwhy.Couldbeanynumberofthings.Josh.Thiscampingtrip.Astrid.
OrDelilah.
ItcouldbeDelilah,standingrightthereandwatchingClairewithasoftlookinhereyes,andhowClaireknewifshepressedherfacetoDelilah’sneck,she’dsmelllikerainandgrass.
ItcouldbeDelilahandthesoon-to-be-emptyhousebehindthem.ClairerealizedwithacoldwashofnervesthatsheowedTess’smotheradrink.ShewantedDelilahtostay.Shewantedtobealonewithher.Sheknewitwasstupid,knewitcouldnevergoanywhere,buteversincetheirkissatthespa—no,beforethat,waybeforethat—shecouldn’tstopthinkingaboutDelilah.Anditwasn’tjustphysicaleither.TherewassomethingaboutDelilahthatmadeClaire’sthroatache,madeherwanttospillhersecrets,madeherwanttoreachoutandswipeherthumbovertheotherwoman’scheeklikealoverwould.AroundDelilah—evenjustthinkingaboutDelilah—Clairefeltyoungandwild,unboundinawayshehadn’texperiencedsincebeforeRubywasborn.
DelilahbitherbottomlipasshegazedatClaire.
Okay,maybeinawayshe’dneverexperienced.NotevenJoshmadeherfeelthiscrazed,thisdesperatejusttobrushherfingersoverthepulseunderanotherperson’sear.
Whichwasaproblem,becauseDelilahdidn’tdoanythingbutphysical.Claireknewthis—whateverthiswas—couldonlyeverend,butshecouldn’thelpit.Shestillwantedthis.ShewantedDelilah.MaybeClairecoulddocasual.Maybeshedidn’tneeddatesandsquealingwithherfriends.Maybeshereallydidjustneedagoodlay.
Evenasshethoughtthewords,though,somethingflickeredinherchest.Sheignoredit.Shecoulddothis.Itwouldbegoodforher.Shecouldreclaimwhatwassupposedtohavebeenherwildtwentieswhileshewasbusychangingdiapersandpushingswingsatthepark.
“Wanttostayforaglassofwine?”shesaid,butattheexactsamemoment,Delilahhadalsospoken,“SoIguessIshouldgo”fallingoutofhermouthlikeabomb.
“Oh,”Clairesaid,again,atthesametimeasDelilah’sown“Oh.”
Thetwowomenlookedateachother,thenstartedlaughing.Claire’scheeksheated,andshewasthankfulforthedimlightingthatcoveredherblush.Atthesametime,shewantedtoknowifDelilahwasblushingtoo.
Probablynot.Shecouldn’timagineDelilahGreenblushingoveranyone.
“Sorry,”Clairesaid.“Doyouneedtogo?”
“Notrightaway,Iguess,”Delilahsaid.“I’lltakethatglassofwine.”
“Oh.Great.”
“Great.”
“Whiteorred?”
“Whatever.”
Clairenodded,thencontinuedtostandtherelikeadoofusasDelilahtiltedherheadather.“Right.Yeah,letmeseewhatI’vegot.”
Delilahlaughed.“Leadtheway.”
TheywalkedinsidejustasRubytoredownthehallwithherbackpack,headingforthefrontdoor.“Mom,I’mgoing!”
“Hey,hangon,Rabbit,”Clairesaid,walkingovertoher.
Rubyhaltedandenduredahugfromhermother.Clairesmiledintoherhair,pressedakisstoherhead.
“Mom.”
“Okay,okay.Havefun.I’llseeyouinthemorning.”
RubywavedatDelilahandthenboltedthroughthedoor.Clairesteppedoutsideonthefrontstoop,watchingherdaughterwalkdownthesidewalktothenavybluebungalowthreehousesdown.WhenRubywassafelyinside,shesteppedbackintoherownhouseandclosedthedoor
Thequiethitherfirst.
Thenthepopofacork,theglugofliquidintoaglass.
SheturnedtofindDelilahinherkitchen,liftingaglassofwhitewinetoherlips.
“Ifoundthisalreadyopeninthefridge,”Delilahsaid,anglingthepaleyellowcontentsfromabottleofpinotgrigiointoasecondglass.“Hopethat’sokay.”
“Totallyfine,”Clairesaid,watchingherforabeat.Delilah’sfacewasherusualcalm,butalso…therewassomethingelsethere,somethinginthewaysheinhaledaslowbreathbeforeshetookasipofherdrink,thewayhercheekspuffedout,justalittle,assheexhaledevenmoreslowly.
WasDelilah…nervous?
Thethoughtfeltlikeawarmspringrainonacoolafternoon.ItopenedupaspaceinsideClaire’schest,madeherwalkovertothekitchenislandandpickupherglass,takealonggulp.
“Doesitfeellikeallweeverdoisdrinkaroundeachother?”Delilahasked
Clairelaughed.“Yeah,alittlebit.But,youknow,wedding.”
Delilahnodded.“Wedding.”
“Anddiabolicalplans.”
“Thosetoo.”
“So…maybeweshoulddosomethingelse,then,”Clairesaid.
Delilah’seyebrowslifted,alittlesmiletiltingthecornersofhermouth.Clairefeltbloodrushintohercheeks.God,shewastheoppositeofsmooth.Shehadn’tevenmeantthat.Notthatshewasn’tthinkingaboutthat,constantlyandferventlyeversincetheirkiss,butinthismoment,allshewantedwastonotthinkatall.Notworry.Notwonder.
Notneed.
Beforeshecouldthinkthroughit,shegrabbedtheoraclecardshermotherhadjustsentandheldthemup.“Wanttotrytheseoutwithme?”
Delilahtooktheboxandlookedatthefront,whichfeaturedawomanwithdarkhairparteddownthemiddle.“Isthat…EmilyBront??”
“Verynice,youknowyourfemaleVictorianauthors.”
“MorelikeIwasforcedtosufferthroughthemduringseniorEnglish.”
Claireplacedahandonherchest,gaspingdramatically.“Suffer?”
“Suffer.”
“Okay,I’llgiveyouthatWutheringHeightsistheleastromanticbookinthehistoryofVictorianromances,butJaneEyre?”
“Isthattheonewherethedouchebaghidhiswifeawayintheatticandthenliedaboutittothegirlhewantedtobangwhowas,like,halfhisage?”
Clairewinced.“Well,whenyouputitlikethat.”
“Ididn’tputitlikethat.Bront?putitlikethat.”
“Okay,fine,yes,Victorianliteraturewasalittlemessedup.”
“PoorJane,”Delilahsaid,sippingherwine.“Shedeservedbetter.”
“Let’sseehowshe’sbeenimmortalized,shallwe?”Clairewiggledthebox.
“ShebetterdamnwellhavesomewisdombeyondstandbyyourmanisallI’msaying,”DelilahsaidasshegrabbedthewinebottleandfollowedClairetothecouch.Clairesettledintoonecorner,andshedefinitelydidnotnoticehowDelilahsatcloseenoughtoherthattheirkneestouched,eventhoughitwasafull-sizesofaandtherewasplentyofroomtospreadout.
Nope,shedidn’tnoticethatatall.
“Okay,howdoesthiswork?”Clairesaid,removingtheplasticwraparoundthebox.Insidewasasmallcoral-coloredguidebookandaheftystackofsmooth,thickcards.Therewerethirtycardsfeaturingfemalewritersandfortycardsthatdepictedwhatthecreatorscalled“witch’smaterials.”
“Haveyoueverhadareadingdone?”Delilahasked.“Tarotoranything?”
Clairetappedherchinthoughtfully.“Doesmyamateurmothercount?”
“Depends.How’dthereadinggo?”
“Ithinktrueloveandgreatwealthwerementionedmorethanonce.”
“Well,damn,let’sputthesebabiestowork,”Delilahsaid,grabbingacardfromthetopofthepile.Shefrownedatit.“It’s…aprayingmantis.”SheturnedthecardsoClairecouldseeit—indeed,againstacreambackground,wasasolitaryprayingmantis.
Clairelaughed.“Ohmygod,areyougoingtobitemyheadofflater?”
Delilah’sbrowswentupagain,thoughittookClaireasecondtorealizewhatshe’dsaid.
Prayingmantisesonlybitofftheirlovers’heads.
“Ihadn’tplannedonit,”Delilahsaid,hervoicelowandalittlegrowly.
HeatpooledintoClaire’scheeks—aswellasafewotherplaces—andsheflippedthroughtheguidebookuntilshefoundtheprayingmantis.
“Actually,”shesaidveryformally,“theprayingmantissymbolizeswit,manipulation,andfun.”
Delilahblinked.
“So…”Clairewenton,“you’regoingtouseyourunsurpassedwittomanipulatesomeoneforthehellofit.”
“Shit,Isoundlikearealpieceofwork.”
Thetwowomenstaredateachotherforasecond,allseriousness,untilClairefinallybrokeandbothofthemdissolvedintolaughter.Delilah’sshoulderbrushedhers,thescentofsummerandblueberriesswirlingbetweenthemlikeadrug.
“Idon’tthinkwe’redoingthisright,”Clairesaidwhentheyrecovered.Sheflippedtothedirections,readingallaboutshufflingandintentionsandsplittingthedeckintothreeintuitivestacks.Theywentthroughtheritual,thenClairechoseacardoffthetop.
Itwasaprayingmantis.
Bothwomenimmediatelystartedcackling.Clairelaughedsohard,tearsbloomedintohereyes.Shecouldn’trememberthelasttimeshe’dhadthismuchfun,feltthis…carefree.Prayingmantisnotwithstanding.
“Okay,okay,therehastobemorethanlover-eating,manipulativeinsectsinhere,”Delilahsaid.“Let’sdoitagain.”
Delilahwentthroughthemotionsbeforepullingwildflowers,whichsymbolizedrenewal,romance,andawakening;apeacockforsplendor,thedivine,andcraving;andGertrudeStein,whoapparentlyrepresentedperspective.
“SoI’mabutchlesbiangoddesslookingforlove,”Delilahsaid,shruggingasthoughtosayobviously
“Ohyeah,that’stheclearmessagehere,”Clairesaid,andDelilahwinkedather.
God,thatwink.
OnceClairerecoveredandhadtakenanothersipofwine,sheshuffledthecardsandpulledherown:anapple,Sappho,andavolcano.HerstomachflippedatSappho—sheknewtheancientpoetrepresentedsomethinghomoerotic.Beforeshecouldlookupwhattheappleandvolcanosymbolized,though,Delilahslippedtheguidebookfromherhands.
“Hey!”shesaid,makingtograbitback.
“Ohno.Youreadmine,Ireadyours.”
Clairepursedherlips,buttheystillmanagedtotwistintoasmile.Flirting.Thiswasflirting,wasn’tit?
“Okay,let’sseehere,”Delilahsaid,flippingthroughthebook.“Sappho…well,weallknowandloveher,don’twe?”
Clairelaughed,fightingablush.“Wedo.”
“Sherepresentsthebeloved,desire—ofcourse—andtakingflight.”
“SoitsoundslikeI’mrunningawayfromwhatIwant?”Theinterpretationflowedoutofhermouthbeforeshecouldstopit,thefirstthingthatpoppedintoherhead.
“Idon’tknow,areyou?”Delilahasked,theteasinglilttohervoicecompletelygone.
Claireclearedherthroatandpickedupboththeappleandvolcanocards,peeringatthemcarefully.“ButI’malsoveryhungryand…am…simmeringwithanger?”
Delilahflippedthroughthebook.Hereyebrowspoppedup,alittlegrinsettlingonherface.Sheflippedfromonepagetotheother,backandforth,overandover.
“Ohmygod,what?”Claireasked,reachingforthebookagain,thistimesucceededintakingitback.Shefoundtheapple.
Thesenses,hunger,and…sex.
Herbellytightened,butshedidn’tlookatDelilah,turningtothepagewiththevolcanocard.
Patience,repression,and—oh,forfuck’ssake.
Lust.
Sheblinkedatthepages.Nexttoher,Delilahwassilentlycrackingup,onehandoverherprettymouth.Clairewaitedtofeelembarrassed,evenmortified,butshedidn’t.Instead,shefeltlikesmiling,likeflirtingandplaying.Hell,liketellingthetruthandbeingunashamed.
“Okay,so,I’mextremelyhorny,”shefinallysaid,shruggingandtossingthebookintoDelilah’slap.“Sowhat?”
“Butyou’rereallypatientaboutit,”Delilahsaid,tappingthevolcanocard.
“Orincrediblyrepressed,”Clairesaid,andtheybothlaughed,pouredmorewine,andthatwasthat.
Forthenexthour,thewomenlostthemselvesinthecards.TheypulledchickensandSylviaPlath,teacupsandglovesandOctaviaButler.Theymadewildandunlikelyinterpretations—aswellasafewthatfeltsoftandgentle,likeawhisper.They’dbarelytouchedtheirmostrecentglassesofwine,butClaire’sheadwasstillperfectlyfuzzy.Shewasn’tdrunk,butshewasdefinitelysomething.Ittookherafewminutestocomeupwiththerightword.
Happy.
Shewashappy.
“So,”Delilahsaid,tappingacardfeaturingaghostagainstherknee.“You’reheadingouttomorrow?”
Clairesighed,leaningherheadagainstthebackofthecouch.“Lookslikeit.I’mnotsurewhatIristhinksisgoingtohappenonthiscampingtrip.Astridhatescamping.”
“Youdon’tsay.”
Clairegrinnedather.“Hey,shecoulddooutdoorsystuff.”
“Aslongastherewasair-conditioningandasoakertubwaitingforherafterthehike.”
“Okay,true.Butshe’llsleepinatentforme.”
Delilahtiltedherhead.“ThatIbelieve.”
Clairewatchedherforasecond.“You’recoming,right?”
“Camping?”
Shenodded.
“Idon’tthinkthat’sagoodidea.”
“Whynot?Rubywantsyouthere.”
“Astridprobablydoesn’t.It’snotaweddingevent,andthewholepointistogetAstridniceandvulnerablesosherealizesthatshe’snotinlovewithKen.”
Clairefrowned.“Ken?Hisnameis—”
“Iknow,Claire.KenasinaKendoll.”
“Oh.”Clairelaughedandrubbedherforehead.“God,sorry.I’musuallybetterwithjokesthanthis.”
“Well,you’vegotalotgoingon.WithJoshandeverything.”
Delilah’stonewassuddenlyrazor-sharp,cuttingthroughallthatprevioushappyandmakingClairefreeze.Shelookedattheotherwoman,atthecoolexpressiononherface.
Toocool.
Delilah’smouthwastightandherfingertipswerewhiteonherfullwineglass.Sheseemedtorealizequicklythatshewasalllockedup,becauseshesuddenlystood,tossingtheghostcardontothesofabeforegrabbingthewinebottleandheadingintothekitchen.
“Yourstressisunderstandable,isallI’msaying,”shesaidasshewent.
Clairegotuptoo,stackedtheoraclecardsonthecoffeetable,andfollowedher.“Delilah.”
Delilahsetthebottleandglassonthecounter,thenwavedahandlikeshehadn’tjustspitJosh’snameoutlikeshewastalkingaboutthebubonicplague
Shewas…jealous.
Holyshit,DelilahGreenwasjealousofJosh.
Claire’spulsepickedup,herbreathshortandfastinherlungs.Sheneededtofigureoutwhattodohere,andquickly.Ontheonehand,shewaspositiveDelilahwantedhertoactlikeithadneverhappened,butontheother,Delilah’sjealousymadeClairewantherevenmore,madeeverythinginherhumandpop.
ShesetherownwineasideandthenroundedtheislandsoshewasperpendicularwithDelilah.Notquitenexttoher,butcloser.Babysteps.
“Are…arewegoingtotalkabouttheothernight?”sheasked.Theperfectsegue,anddeargod,sheactuallyreallyneededtotalkabouttheothernight.
Orreplicateitimmediately.Eitherone
Delilahsighed,tuckedherhairbehindherears.Herlocksweresothick,thestrandspoppedrightbackout.Clairehadadesperateurgetoreachoverandpushherhairoutofherfaceherself.
“Weprobablyshouldn’t,”Delilahsaid.
“Whynot?”
“BecauseIdrewtheprayingmantiscardandthatcouldmeanterriblethingsforyou.”
“Well,Idreweverysinglesexcardinthedeck,apparently,”Clairesaid,laughingtotrytobringbackthelightnessbetweenthem.
Delilahdidn’tlaughthough.“Weshouldn’ttalkaboutitbecause…”Butthenshedidn’tfinishhersentence.ShejustlookedatClaire,gazesearching,flickingdowntohermouth,lingeringtherebeforemovingbacktoClaire’seyes.
“Because?”Clairesaid.
“BecauseJosh,”Delilahsaid.
“He’smyco-parent,”Clairesaid.“He’snot…We’renotlikethat.”
“Butyouhavebeen?Imean,sinceyou’vebrokenup?”
Claireblinkedbutwantedtobehonest.“Yeah.Butnotforawhile.Overtwoyearsago.”
“Butit’sstillcomplicated.”
“Whydoyoucare?”
Thequestionslippedout,spokensharplyandsoftlyatthesametime.Delilahwatchedherforasecondandthenslidaroundtheisland’scorner,closerandcloser.Claire’sbodyshiftedwithheruntiltheywerestandingrightinfrontofeachother,herlowerbackpressedagainstthequartz.
Delilahsteppedintoherspace,armsoneithersideofClaire’ships,bracedagainstthecounterandhemmingherin.Instinctively,Claire’shandswenttoDelilah’swaist,fingerscurlingthroughthecottonofhershirt.Shetuggedalittle,pullingDelilahthatmuchcloser.Theirhipsaligned,breasts,notaninchofspacebetweentheirbodies.
Delilahleanedin,herbottomlipbarelywhisperingagainstClaire’s.
“Idon’tcare,”shesaid.
AndthatwasallittookforClairetoslideahandintoDelilah’shairandclosethelastbitofdistancebetweenthem.
THISKISSWASN’Tliketheoneatthevineyard.Thatkisshadstartedslowandtentative,acrawltowardawalkingpace.
Thiskisswasastarterpistol,aleapofftheblockintoasprint.Tonguesandteeth,gaspsintoopenmouths.Clairehadneverfeltsodesperatetogetclosetosomeone.Shewantedtoclimbthiswoman,ripherclothesoff,andlickastripefromhernaveltothatprettydipinhercollarbone.SheburiedbothhandsinDelilah’scurls,tiltingherheadtogetanewangle,tonguesweepingandtasting,wineandspringrain,awhisperofmint.Delilah’shandsroamed,slidingupClaire’sarmstoherface,thenbackdownagaintoherhips.HerfingerscurledunderClaire’sshirt,skinagainstskin.Goosebumpserupted,andamoanslippedoutofClaire’smouthintoDelilah’s.
“Getuphere,”Delilahsaid,pullingClaireuptowardthecountertop.ClairejumpedwhileDelilahlifted,andimmediatelypartedherkneesassoonasherasshitquartz.DelilahslidherhandsupClaire’sjean-cladthighs,thumbsdippingintothecreaseswhereherhipjoinedherlegsastheirmouthsmetagain.Delilah’shandsmoveduptoClaire’swaistandunderhershirt,skatingacrossherribsandthenoverherbra.
Claireleanedbackjustenoughtostartunbuttoningherblouse,butDelilahstoppedher.
“Letme,”shesaid.
Clairesmiledandrestedherpalmsagainstthecoolcounter.DelilahkepthereyesonClaire’sasherfingerspoppedonebuttonandthenthenext,revealingtheblacklacebraunderneath.Clairefeltarushofgratitudethatmostofherbraswerepretty,borderingonsexy.Herunderwearwasadifferentstory,butshe’dworryaboutthatlater.Becauserightnow,Delilahwasspreadinghershirtwideopenand,asClairesatalittlebitabovehernow,theotherwomanwasintheperfectpositiontopresshermouthtoClaire’ssternum,whichshedid,flickingouthertongueforalittletaste.Atthesametime,herhandscameup,cuppingClaire’sbreastsandsweepingherthumbsoverheralreadyhardenednipples.
Clairemoanedandtippedherheadback.Sheclampedhermouthshut,tryingtoreinitin,butshe’dalwaysbeennoisyinbed,andshehadafeelingDelilahwasgoingtopullouteveryscreamthathadbeenlockedinherchestsinceherlastnon-self-inducedorgasm.
“God,yourtitsareperfect,”Delilahsaid,pullingdownabracupandsuckinganippleintoherhotmouth.
“Ohgod,”Clairesaid,tighteningherlegsaroundDelilah’ships.Shetriedtofocus.“Really?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“You…youdon’tthinkthey’retoo…?”
Delilahpaused,releasingClaire’snipple,muchtoherchagrin,andlookingupather.“Toowhat?”
Claireswallowed,herlungspumpinglikeamarathonrunner.“Just…youknow,they’vealwaysbeenbig,andI’vehadakid,sothey’renotwhattheyusedtobeand—”
Delilahrolledhernipplebetweenherthumbandforefinger,causingClairetosuckinaraggedbreath.ThenDelilahslidthestrapsdownherarms,unhookedtheback,andthrewthebradeftlyoverhershoulder.
“Perfect,”shesaidagain,massagingClaire’stitsasshekissedher,suckingherbottomlipbetweenherteeth.Delilah’sfingersstayedbusyonhernipples,squeezingandsweepinguntilClairewasliterallypantingintohermouth,herunderwearsowetshecouldfeelthedampnessonherthighs.Shepulledaway,pluckingatDelilah’sblackT-shirt.Sheneededskinonskin,sweatandfingertipsandtongues.
“Off,”shesaid.“Now.”
Delilahgrinnedupather,thenleanedbackfarenoughforClairetopullhershirtoverherhead.
ClairegroanedoutloudatthesheeryellowbralettecoveringDelilah’ssmaller,butjustasperfect,breasts.Hernipplesshowedthrough,darkpinkpeaksalreadyhardandwaitingforClaire’smouthandhands.Hertattoosweregorgeous,artunfurlingoverherskin,includingadelicatebutheavilythornedroseonhersternum.
Clairereachedout,touchingthethorns,thepetals,causingDelilahtoshiver
Suddenly,beingshirtlesswasn’tenough.Asmuchfunassexonthekitchencountersounded,shewantedspacetomove,tofeelDelilah’sthighsaroundhers,thecurveofherass,andhowwetshewasbetweenherlegs.
Ohgod,theywereactuallydoingthis.
“Youwanttomovetothebedroom?”Claireasked.
“Hellyes.”
DelilahbackedupsoClairecouldhopdown,butthenyankedherflushagainstherhips,kissingherhardasshestartedmovingthemtowardthehallway.Clairewalkedbackward,herbarebreastsrubbingagainstDelilah’sbraandcreatingadeliciousfriction.
“Idon’tknowwhereI’mgoing,”Delilahsaidagainsthermouthassheenteredthehallway.
Clairelaughedandturnedthemaroundsoshecouldlead,butdidn’tletgoofDelilah.Shecouldn’t.Ifshedid,shemightwakeup,orDelilahmightchangehermind,orhell,shemightchangehermind,andallshewantedrightnowwastonotthinkaboutanythingexceptgettingthiswomanonherback.
Clairedirectedthemintoherroom,thenkeptmovinguntilDelilah’slegshitthebed,causinghertofallbackontothemattress,laughing.
WhichwasexactlyhowClairewantedher
Sheclimbedontopofher,unbuttoningherjeansandpullingthemdownherthighs.Delilahhadonapairofhotpinklacecheekies,becauseofcourseshedid.Claire’smouthliterallywateredassherippedDelilah’spantsoffherfeetandthenglidedherhandsoverDelilah’sfirmstomach,thumbsbrushingoverthetopofherunderwear.ShestartedtopullthosedowntoowhenDelilahsatupandflippedClaireontoherback.
“Ohno.Yourturntolosethesepants,”Delilahsaid,unzippingandslidingjustasClairehaddone,revealingherplainwhitecottonundies,herdimpledthighs,andherstretchmarks.
Awaveofself-consciousnessfloodedoverher.She’dalwaysbeenfull-figured,andshe’dbeenhappytobeso,confidenteven,butthefirsttimeinbedwithsomeonenewalwayssentabriefwaveofshynessthroughher.Shewenttocoverherstomachwithherhands,butDelilahcaughtherarms,movingthemuntiltheyweresettledaboveClaire’sheadthrobbedbetweenherthighsatthelookinDelilah’seyes,likeClairewasdessertandDelilahwasstillveryhungry
Delilahshifted,slidingupherbodytokissher.“Doyouknowhowsexyyouare?”sheaskedintoClaire’smouth.
Claireletoutalittlelaugh.“Um…well…”
Delilah’stongueblazedahotpathtoherneck.“Very.Veryfuckingsexy.”
ClairefeatheredherhandsdownDelilah’sback,thenpulledherbraletteoverherhead.Bothwomenreleasedasoftmoanastheirbreaststouched.
“Justsoyouknow,”Clairesaid.“I…Ihaven’tdonethisinawhile.”
Delilahliftedherfacefromwhereshe’dbeennippingatClaire’scollarbonewithherteeth.“This?”
“Sex.”
Delilahjustsmiled,thenslidonelegbetweenClaire’s,pressingherthighintoClaire’scenter.
“Oh…mygod,”Clairesaid,grippingafistfulofherduvetcoverasaboltofpleasureshotupherspine.ShecouldfeelDelilah’sarousalonherownleg,wetandwarmeventhroughherunderwear.
“Ithinkwe’llbejustfine,”Delilahsaid,undulatingherhipsagain,causingfrictionrightwheretheybothneededit.“Fuck,”shesaidintoClaire’sneck.“Ineedtotasteyou.TellmeIcan.”
TherumbleofDelilah’svoicewentstraightbetweenClaire’slegs,andtheideaofthathotmouthclosingaroundherclit—
“God,yes,”Clairesaid,bodyrollingupward,seekingmorepressure.
Delilahpressedakisstoherthroat,thenstartedaslow,tortuousjourneydownherbody.Tongue,lips,teeth,pausingtoexploreonenipple,thentheother,beforecontinuingawetglidedownherstomach.Clairewatchedthosedarkcurlsdescend,feelingeveryscrapeofDelilah’snailsasherfingershookedthroughthetopofherunderwearandtuggedthecottondownherthighsandoffherfeet.Claire’slegsfellopen,herhipsrisingtomeetDelilahastheotherwomansettledbetweenthem.
“Goddamn,”Delilahwhispered,pressingakisstotheinsideofClaire’sthigh.“You’regorgeous.”Theotherthigh,anotherkiss.“Andverywet.”
Clairereleasedashakylaugh.Fuckyes,shewaswet.Herclitthrobbed,desperateforcontact,butDelilahseemedtobeinnohurry,brushinghermouthgentlyagainstClaire’scenter,tonguedartingoutforatasteeverywhereexceptwhereClaireneededit.WhenDelilahlickedaslowpathfromherentrancetoherclit,thenblewapuffofwarmairoverherand—holyhell—hummedagainstherskin,Clairenearlylostit
“God,Delilah.Please.”
Delilahgrinnedupather.“Pleasewhat?”
Clairegroanedinfrustration,hipsreachingfortheceiling.
“Tellmewhatyouwant,”Delilahsaid,hermouthsoclose,thatwarmbreathslidingoverClaire’sskinagain.
“Fuckme,”Clairesaid,fingerstighteningthroughDelilah’shair.“Please,fuckmewithyourmouth.”
Itturnedout,Delilahwasexcellentattakingdirections.ShehookedherarmsaroundClaire’sthighs,pullinghercloser.Thenhermouthgottowork,doingexactlywhatClairehadbeggedherfor.Shekissedandlicked,hertongueslippingintoClairelikesilk.AlowkeeningsoundrippedfromClaire’sthroat,asoundshedidn’tthinkshe’devermadebefore,butfuck,shedidn’tcare,becauseDelilah’sfingersreplacedhertongue,curlinginsideClaireandpressingagainstherwall.Delilah’smouthclosedaroundherclitandsucked,thenlicked,thensuckedagain.Claire’sthighstrembled,herhandspulledatDelilah’shairinawayshehopedwasn’ttoohard,butshecouldn’tthink,couldn’tworry,couldn’tdoanythingbutgaspandmoanasDelilah’steethandtongueandmouthlappedather,fuckedherjustlikeshe’daskeduntilshefinallybroke.HerlegstightenedaroundDelilah’shead,nailsdiggingintotheotherwoman’sscalpassheyelledobscenitiesattheceiling.
Delilahstayedwithheruntilherbodystilled,gentlingherbackdowntoearth,softpressesofhermouthtoClaire’ssensitiveskin.Finally,whenClairecouldseestraight,shepulledDelilahupherbodyandkissedher,thetasteofherselfontheotherwoman’stonguelikestrikingamatchlowinherbelly.
“Good?”Delilahasked.
Clairejustlaughedintohermouth.
“Youwereloudashell,soI’lltakethatasayes,”Delilahsaid,andClairefroze.
“Oh.Shit,I’msorry,I—”
ButDelilahcutheroffwithatugofherteethonClaire’searlobe.“Areyoukiddingme?ThatwasthesinglefuckinghottestthingI’veeverheardinmylife.”
“Really?”Clairecouldhardlybelieveit.Delilahhadsurelyheardalotofwomencomingunderneathherinhertime
ButDelilahjustnodded,tongueflickingouttotastethesweatonClaire’sneck.Herhipspulsed,seekingandneedy.Clairetuggedathercurlsagain,pullingalow,rumblingmoanfromDelilah’schest,which,okay,wasmaybethesinglehottestfuckingthingClairehadeverheardinherlife.Itmadeherfeelferal,desperate,andshewantedtomakeDelilahcomeashardasshehad.Shepawedattheotherwoman’sunderwear,whichwas,ridiculously,stillonherbody.Delilahquicklycaughton,anglingawayfromClaireandyankingthelacycottonoffwithverylittlegracebeforethrowingitintoadarkcorneroftheroom.
“Goodcall,”Clairesaid,runninghereyesoverDelilah.Theotherwomanwasshaved,nothingbutaperfectdarklandingstriptoguidetheway.ClairegrippedDelilah’shipsandnudgedherlegsapart,pullingheruntilshewassittingupandstraddlingClaire’sthighs,palmsbracedonClaire’sribs.WhenthehotslideofhercentermetClaire’smound,bothwomengroaned.
“BestfuckingdecisionIevermade,”Delilahsaid,herbreathragged.
Clairerolledherownhips,thencircledthemsoherpelvicbonehitDelilahrightwheresheneededit.Delilahgaspedandthrewherheadback,allofherundulatingforfriction.Clairefeltherowndesirebuildingupagain,acoiltighteninginherlowerbellymoreandmoreeachtimeDelilahreleasedthoselovely,breathygasps.Clairecouldn’ttakehereyesoffDelilahslidingoverherbody.Shereachedahandbetweenthem,fingersplayinginDelilah’ssoakedheat.
“Ohgod,”Delilahsaidtotheceiling.“Yeah.”
SheliftedherhipsjustenoughforClairetoslidefirstone,thentwofingersinsideher.Shewassotight,soperfect,andthebackofClaire’shandpressedintoherownclit.
Delilahleanedbackandpumpedherhips.“Fuck.Yes,”shesaid,beforeherbodyclenchedtight.Shetangledonehandinherownhair,pullingthecurlsdownoverherfaceasshecriedout,causingherbodytopressintoClaire’shandsohardandperfect,Clairecametoo,theirmoansminglingwiththesmellofsweatandsex,theirbodiesarchingandslowing,theirbreathingroughandragged.
Delilah’shandclosedaroundClaire’swristbetweenthem,removingherhandandholdingittoherchestbefore—deargod—sheopenedhermouthandlickedClaire’sfingersclean.ThefeelofDelilah’stongue,thewayhereyesclosedasifinbliss,almosthadClairereadytogoagain,butshewasexhaustedenoughtosimplyenjoytheview,marvelingatthiswomaninherbed.Shepulledherhandfree,wetfingertipslingeringonDelilah’slipsbeforesettlingonthewoman’supperthigh.Delilahcollapsedontothemattressnexttoher,andtheylaylikethatforafewminutes,legsstillentangled,theirlungs’pullsformoreoxygentheonlysoundinthequietroom.
DelilahliftedherheadandmetClaire’seyes.“Holyshit.”
“Holyshitisright,”Clairesaid.ShecurledherarmsaroundDelilah’swaist,notwantingthemomenttoend,butthensawDelilah’shair.
It.Was.Huge.Haloingaroundtheotherwoman’sface,thecurlsweretangledandfrizzyandwild,theverydefinitionofsexhair.
AnditwasjustaboutthecutestfuckingthingClairehadeverseen.
Sheletoutalonglaugh,relievedandsatedandjustplainhappy,cuppedDelilah’sface—aftershefounditbeneathallthathair—andkissedherhard.ChapterTwenty
ABUZZINGONthenightstandwokeDelilah.Sheliftedherhead,theroomunrecognizableforasplitsecondbeforetheentirenightfloodedbacktoher.
Claire.
ShewasatClaire’s.
Inherbed.
WithClairewrappedaroundherlikeapretzel,herfacepressedtoDelilah’sneckandbreathingsoft,sleepybreaths.Shewastotallyzonkedout,whichwasn’tanywonder.Bythetimethetwowomenhadfallenasleepaftermidnight,exhaustedandboneless,they’dbothcometwomoretimesandDelilahhaddiscoveredthatClairehadanextremelytalentedmouth.
Now,Delilahhadnoideawhattimeitwas,butitwasstilldarkoutside,andClaire’sphonewasmakingahellofaracketonthenightstand.
“Claire.”Sheshookhergently.
“Hmm.”Clairejustburrowedindeeper,herarmfloppingoverDelilah’swaist.
“Claire,yourphone.Hey.”Shemovedtheotherwoman’shairoutofherface,moonlightfilteringinthroughthegauzycurtainsandsilveringherskin.
Fuck,thiswomanwasgorgeous.
Bzzz.
Delilahreachedoverandgrabbedthephone,anunfamiliarnameflashingacrossthescreen.
“Claire,it’sMaria.”Whoeverthehellthatwas.
“What?”Thatgotherattention.Clairesatup,blinking,thesheetfallingdowntoherwaist.“Where?”
“Onthephone?”Delilahhandeditover,andClairescrambledoutofthebed,nakedandperfect,beforeshegrabbedherrobefromachairbythewindow.Sheslippedonherglassesandthenpressedthephonetoherear.“Maria?IsRubyokay?Ohno.Yes,putheron,absolutely.”SheturnedtofaceDelilah,worryingherthumbnailinhermouth.“Ruby?What’swrong,honey?Okay…sweetie,calmdown.Takeadeepbreathforme…Yousureyoucan’tjustgotosleepand…Okay…Yes,ofcourseyoucancomehome.TellTess’smomI’llmeetyouonthesidewalk…Okay,honey.It’llbeallright.”
Thenshehungup,sloughingoffherrobeandpullingonapairofyogapantsandatanktop.
“Everythingokay?”Delilahasked.
“Yeah,yeah,thatwasTess’smom.TessandRubyhadafight,andshewantstocomehome.Saysshecan’tsleep.”
“Oh.”
“They’vebeenarguingalotlately.”Claireshookherheadandrubbedhereyes,herhairatotalmessandfallingaroundhershoulders.“I’llberightback.”
“Sure.”
Clairepausedatthedoor.“Um…stayinhere,okay?I’llgetRubytobedfast.She’sprobablyexhausted.Just…”Shetrailedoff,hereyesuncertainasshebitherlip.
Delilahunderstoodwhatshewassaying.Pleasedon’tletmyeleven-year-oldknowwe’resharingabed.Delilahgotit,butstill,herchestsortoftightenedup,andshesuddenlyverymuchwishedshewaswearingclothes.
“Ishouldprobablyjustgo,”shesaid.Sherarelystayedovernightaftersexanyway.Whyshouldthistimebeanydifferent?Still,shecouldn’tseemtomoveherassoffthemattress.
“No,don’t,”Clairesaid.“Justgivemetenminutes,okay?”
DelilahnoddedandthenClairewasgone.Delilahheardthefrontdooropenandclose,andsheexhaledintotheemptyroom.Shereallyshouldgo.She’dhadsexwithClaire,scratchedtheitch,andnowshewasdone.Satisfied.Andshe’ddefinitelyprovenAstridcompletelyfuckingwrongwithherwholeClairewouldnevergoforyouproclamation.
Yeah,thiswasover.Clairedidn’twantherherewithRubyinthehouseanyway.Delilahshovedthecoversback,locatedherbraandunderwear,herjeans,buthershirtwasnowheretobefound,becauseitwasstillinthemiddleofthekitchenfloor.
“Shit.”
Shewenttothedoor,butbeforeshecouldopenittotryandsneakout,reclaimherclothing,andpossiblyboltoutthebackdoorlikeateenageboyrunningfromadadwithashotgun,sheheardthefrontdooropenandshutagain,Claire’sandRuby’svoicesminglingastheynearedthehall.
“I…just…she’s…so…mean…”
Rubywascrying,wordsfallingoutinstutteringbreaths.
“Honey,shh.Let’sjustgotosleep,okay?”Clairesaid.“Wecantalktomorrowandfigureitallout.Ipromise.”
“Can…canIsleepwithyou?”Rubyasked.
Delilahstiffened.Shelookedaroundtheroom,wonderingifsheneededtodiveintotheclosetorjumpoutthewindow
Thiswasridiculous.
ShewastwosecondsfromcrawlingunderthebedwhenClairespoke.
“Oh,honey,Ithinkyou’llsleepbetterinyourownbed.Butremember,we’regoingcampingtomorrow,andyoucanshareyourtentwithwhoeveryouwant,okay?”
Rubysaidsomethinginresponse,butDelilahcouldn’thearthewordsastheirvoicesfadeddownthehall.Sheslumpedbackontothemattress,herheadinherhands.Hadsheseriouslybeenabouttohideunderthebed?
Yes.Yes,sheabsolutelyhadbeen.
ThedooropenedandClaireslippedinside.“Hey.”
Delilahsighed.“Hey.”
“Sorry.She’sinbednow.Doyou—”
“Ishouldgo.”
Clairefroze,hermouthopen.ShesteppedclosertoDelilah,twistingherfingerstogether.“Yeah,Iguessyouprobablyshould.”
Exceptneitherofthemmoved,andDelilahdidn’tknowwhattosay.Sexhadnevermadethingsso…awkwardbefore.Andshesureashellhadneverbeenasecret.Attachedwomenoccasionallycameontoherinbars,onetoomanyglassesofChablisrunningthroughtheirveins,butDelilahhadastrictpolicythatsheneversleptwithanyoneelse’smonogamouspartner.Sheknewwhatitwasliketobeontheotherendofthatrawdeal,andnoorgasmwasworthinflictingthatkindofpain.
Thatoverwhelmingfeelingofnotbeingenough.
Sherubbedherforehead,thatsamefeeling—fromallheryearsinWisteriaHouseandagainfromJax—creepinguponhernow.Howthefuckhadthishappened?
“Youcanstayforafewmorehoursifyouwant,”Clairesaid.“Getsomesleep.”
“Butbegonebyfirstlight,right?”Delilahlookedupather,abittersmileonhermouth.
“Delilah.That’snotfair.”
“No,Iguessit’snot.”
“I’mcarefulaboutwhoIbringaroundRuby,that’sall.ThelastpersonIdated,sheneverevenmetRuby.Notonce.AndIdatedherforoveramonth.”
“ButI’malreadyaroundher.”
“Notlikethis.”ClairemotionedtoDelilah’stoplessstate,thebedindisarray.“Notlikesomeonewhomeans—”Shecutherselfoffandclosedhereyes.Whensheopenedthemagain,hervoicewasquiet,low.“Again,whydoyoucare?Thisisjustsex,isn’tit?”
Delilahfrownedather.She’dnevertoldClaireitwasjustsex.She’dneverhintedthatshewasonlylookingforahookup,eventhoughsheabsolutelywas.Itcouldn’tbemorethanthat.Theylivedthreethousandmilesawayfromeachother,shehadtheWhitneyandherart,andhellifDelilahwasevergoingtoputherselfinthepositionagaintobeheartbrokenbyawomanwhowasn’toverherex.Shedidn’tknowwhatJoshmeanttoClaire,buthehadtomeansomething.Hewasthefatherofherkid.Hewashot.Andhe’dalwaysbeinherlife.
“Yeah,”Delilahsaid,standingandstartingforthedoor.“Itis.”
Claireblockedherpath.“Okay,thenwhat’swrong?”
“Nothing’swrong.”
“Somethingis.Icantell.”
“Youcan’ttellshit,Claire.Youdon’tknowanythingaboutme.Youwanttostuffmeinacloset—”
“Acloset?What?”
“—andoh,IassumeI’vegottokeepallthissexasecretfromAstrid,right?Wouldn’twanttoupsetPrincessPerfect.Now,ifyou’dkindlymove,Ineedtogetmyshirtandgobacktomyfloralhellofahotelroom.”
Clairedidn’tbudge.Infact,sheseemedtodigin,browfurrowingasshereachedoutandgrabbedDelilah’sarms.
“Hey.Stopforasecond,okay?Justslowdown.”
Delilahchewedonherbottomlip,butshestopped.Herchestwastight,andpressurebuiltbehindhereyes,liketheyneededtoreleasesomething.God,shehadn’tfeltlikethisinsolong,likeshewasshrinking,likeeveryonearoundherwasmoreimportantthanshewas.Shewasjusttired.Exhaustedandtiredand,okay,maybealittleoverwhelmedbythefactthatshemayhavejusthadthegreatestsexofherlife.Onedidn’tjustwalkawayfromthegreatestsexofone’slife.
“Idon’twantyoutogo,”Clairesaid.“Okay?”
“Whynot?”
Claire’seyessearchedhers.Shesearchedback.
“BecauseIneedthis,”Clairefinallysaid,slidingherhandsdownDelilah’sarmstotanglewithherfingers.“Anditwas…fun.”
Delilahsmirked.
“AndIgetthatyou’reintocasual,”Clairewenton.“That’sfinewithme.Totallyfine.AfterAstrid’swedding,you’llgobacktoNewYorkandI’llstayhereandthat’llbethat.Butwe’reherenow.AndI…well…Iwanttoseeyouagain.”
“Youwanttofuckmeagain,youmean,”Delilahsaid,butshewassmiling.Thissheknew.Thissheunderstood.She’dhadloversshe’dseenformultipledays,evenweeks,beforeoneofthembrokeitoffforsomeamiableandpracticalreason.
PinkspilledintoClaire’scheeks.“Okay,fine.Yes.Don’tyou?”
“Wanttofuckme?”
“Delilah.”
Shelaughed,thenmovedtheirentwinedhandsaroundClaire’swaist,pullingtheotherwomancloser.Whentheirmouthstouched,shewhispered,“Yes.Iwanttofuckyouagain.”
Clairesmiledagainstthekiss.“Good.We’reagreed,then.”
“Shouldwesignsomething?”
“Likeafuck-buddypact?”
“Sure.”SheslidhermouthdownClaire’sneck,nippedatherearlobe.“Youdon’twantmespillingyourdirtylittlesecret,doyou?”
Clairestiffenedandleanedbacksotheywereeyetoeye.“Delilah.It’snotaboutyoubeingasecret.It’sjust—”
“Youdon’twantpeopletoknowaboutus.”
“Yeah.”
“Whichisasecret.”
Clairewiggledoutofherembrace.“AreyoutellingmeyouactuallywantAstridtoknow?”
Delilahthoughtaboutit,thelookofshockthatwouldfillAstrid’seyes,thepure,unadulteratedthrillofvictory.ButthenshethoughtabouthowClairewasprobablyright—Astridwouldbeupset,andwithmorethanjustDelilah.She’dbeupsetwithClaire,andthenthiswholesexthingDelilahandClaireweredoingwouldcometoanabruptend.
AndDelilahdidn’twantittoend.Forthetenmoredaysshehadtospendinthissoul-suckingtown,sheactuallyhadadistractionnow.Abeautiful,sweet,amazing-in-beddistraction.
Whowasshetolookagifthorseinthemouth?
“No,”shesaid.“No,IguessIdon’t.”
Clairerelaxed,butthennarrowedhereyesatDelilah,concerncreasingherbrow.“It’snotbecauseI’mashamedofyou.”
Delilahlaughed.“Okay.Sure.TheGhoulofWisteriaHouseisinyourbed.Nobigdeal.”
Claire’seyesflashedwithsomethingthatlookedlikehurt…evenregret.“Delilah.”
Shewavedahand.“ForgetIsaidanything.”
“Idon’twanttoforgetit.”
“Sureyoudo.”
“Hey.”Clairetookherhand,squeezedit.“I’mnotashamedofyou.ButI’mallowedtohavesomethingthat’sjustmine,aren’tI?Idon’thavetotellmybestfriendseverything.”
“Butyouusuallydo,right?”
Clairesighed.“YouandAstrid…It’scomplicated.”
Delilahjuststaredather.
“Isn’tit?”Claireasked.
Inanswer,Delilahsimplyunbuttonedherjeans,peeledthemoffherlegs,andgotbackintobed.Ifshewasgoingtotalkaboutthis,shedefinitelyneededtobelyingdown.Clairewatchedhersettleonherback,thenfollowedher,pullingthesheetoverbothofthemandproppingherheadonherelbow,eyesonDelilah’sface.
“Itdidn’tfeelcomplicated,”Delilahsaid.“Growingupwithher.Itfeltextremelysimple.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
Delilahstaredattheceiling,likeshe’ddonesomanynightsbefore,listeningtoClaireandIrisandAstridlaughinginAstrid’sroom,likeshe’ddonewhileIsabelhosteddinnerpartiesDelilahknewherstepmotherdidn’treallywanthertoattend.
“Itwassimple,”shesaidagain.“Mymotherwasgone.Myfatherdied.Isabelresentedthatshehadtoraisemealone.AstridthoughtIwastoostrangetoinclude,toosad,toomuchontheoutsideofherperfectworldtobepartofanythinginherlife.Youwerethereformostofit.Yousawit.”
There.Ittrulywassosimple.Embarrassinglyso.Sheactuallycouldn’tbelieveshe’djustsaidallthatoutloud,admittedher…unlovability.
Clairewassilentforabeat,andDelilahdidn’tdarelookather.Anachestartedinherthroat.
“Ididseeit,”Clairesaid.“Astrid…she’sahardpersontoknow.Sheholdsthingsreallyclose.IthinkIsabeljustdrilledintoherthisideaofneverlettingthemseeyousweat,youknow?Orcryorshowanykindofweakness.Vulnerabilityishardforher,butwhenshedoesletyouin,she’sloyalandstrongandwoulddoanythingforyou.That’swhoIsaw,andIguessIjust…neverunderstoodwhyyoudidn’t.”
Delilah’schesttightened.“Becauseshedidn’tletmein,Claire.Youjustsaidityourself,she’sahardpersontoknowandshedidn’tgivetwoshitsaboutmeknowingher.”
Clairefrownedbuthadnothingtosaytothat.
“Andbydefault,”Delilahsaid,“neitherdidyouorIris.”
“Delilah,”Clairesaidsoftly,leaningclosetohersothatherchinrestedonDelilah’sshoulder.Whichjustmadetheacheworse.Itmadethiswholethingtheoppositeofjustsex.“I’msorry.”
Delilahshookherhead.“Don’tsaythatjustbecausewe’rescrewing.It’scheap.”
Clairepressedevencloser.“I’mnotsayingitbecausewe’rescrewing.I’msayingitbecauseIfeelit.I’msorryIdidn’ttryharder.Icould’ve…Idon’tknow,pushedAstridtoincludeyoumore.”
“NoonepushesAstridtodoanything.”
“ThenIcould’veincludedyoumore.”
Delilahscoffed.“No,youcouldn’thave.Becauseyoudidn’twantto.”
Silencefilteredinbetweenthem,Claireleftwithnoresponseinthefaceofthetruth.Delilahwaitedfortheawkwardnessofitalltopushthemfinallyapart,forClairetosighandadmitthatmaybethiswasallabigmistake.Sheevenwaitedtofeelsomeofthatoldangerflareup,theresentmentthathadfueledherrelationshipwithanyoneinBrightFallsforovertwodecades.
Instead,shejustfeltsad,desperatetonotfeelthatwayanymore.
ClairereachedoutandslidafingerdownDelilah’scheektohermouthbeforeslidingherpalmaroundthebackofherneck.Insteadofpushingheraway,shepulledDelilahcloserandpressedherforeheadagainsthers.
“Iwanttonow,”Clairesaid,thenpressedhermouthtohers,gentleandslow.
Toogentleandslow.
Delilahhadn’tmeantfortheconversationtoturnthisdirection.It’snotlikeitmattered.Shedidn’twantorneedClaire’sapology.Shedidn’twanttohearexcusesforwhateverIsabeldidtoAstridtofuckherupproper.Delilahwasfuckedupenoughherself.SherolledoverontopofClaire,settlingbetweenherthighs,andturnedallthatgentleandslowintohardandfast.Shedidn’tleteitherofthemcomeupforairforthenexthour.
Later,astheybothlingeredinthatplacebetweenawakeandasleep,thefirsttouchesoflavenderlighttricklingthroughthewindow,ClaireentwinedherfingerswithDelilah’s.
“Comecampingwithus,”shesaidsoftly.“Rubywantsyouthere.”
Claire’seyeswerefreeofherglassesandhazywithsexandsleep.Delilahbrushedherbangsoffherforeheadwithherotherhand.
“Rubywantsmethere,huh?”shesaid.
Clairesmiled.“Yep.JustRuby.”ChapterTwenty-One
ITWASN’TONLYRubywhowantedDelilahonthecampingtrip,andtheybothknewit.Still,eveninthatintimatespacebetweentheminbed,Clairedidn’twanttoadmititoutloud.AndwhenJosh’struckpulledintoherdrivewaythenextmorningandRubysprintedoutsidetogreethim,shetoldherselfshewasonlylookingoutthewindowanddownthestreetforIrisandAstrid,whowerebothcomingseparatelyandweredueanyminute.
Delilahhadagreedtothetrip.AsshestoodinClaire’sroomatfiveo’clockthatmorning,pullingonherclothes,she’dgruntedafine,whatelsehaveIgottodowhenClaireaskedaboutitagain,butClairebarelyknewthewoman,andDelilahdidn’thavethebestreliabilitytrackrecord.Atleasttwice,sherememberedAstridgettinginahuffbecauseDelilahhadn’tshownupforaholiday,complainingaboutwastedfoodshe’dorderedorticketsshe’dprocuredtothesymphonyinPortland.Clairekepttellingherselfitwasn’tabigdealifshedidn’tcome—itwasonedayandthisthingbetweenthemwasjustsexanditwasn’tliketheyweregoingtohaveachancetoengageinabunchofjustsexwhilesurroundedbyClaire’sbestfriends,daughter,andherco-parentex-boyfriend.
Jesus.
Sherubbedhersleep-deprivedeyesasIris’sSubaruwagonpulledup.WhathadClairebeenthinking?No,itwasdefinitelybetterifDelilahdidn’tcome.MaybesheshouldevencallDelilahandtellher—
ClairegrippedthecurtaintighterasIris’spassengerdooropenedandDelilahsteppedout,cladinanotherpairofgrayjeansandaburgundytanktopthatmadeitveryclearshewasn’twearingabra.
Okay,sotheyweredoingthis.
Clairepressedahandtoherstomach,memoriesoflastnightwashingoverherlikewarmrain.ThewayDelilahhadlookedwhenshewastalkingaboutherchildhoodbeingsimple.Howlonelyshehadsounded.Howhereyes—
No.
No,shewasnotgoingtothinkaboutDelilah’seyes,forChrist’ssake.Thisthingbetweenthemwascasual.Transient.Completelycarnal,noheartsinvolvedwhatsoever.Clairetookone…two…threecleansingbreaths,thengrabbedherbackpackstuffedwithherbathingsuitandachangeofclothes,herwaterbottledanglingfromthesidebyacarabiner,andwalkedoutside.
“Morning,sunshine,”Iriscalled,butasshecamecloser,hersmiledipped.“God,youlooklikeshit.”
“Thankyou,darling,”Clairesaid.
“Surely,you’velookedinamirror,”Irissaid,cuppingClaire’schinandpeeringintoherface.
“Ijustdidn’tsleepmuchlastnight,”Clairesaid.ShemetDelilah’seyesoverIris’sshoulder,andherstomachfluttered.
“Whynot?”Irisasked.
“Just…stuffwithRuby.ShespentthenightatTess’sbutthencamehomeinthemiddleofthenight.Theyhadafight.”
There.Thatwasn’talie.Shewasn’tlyingtoherfriendsabouthavingthebestsexofherlife—severaltimes—allnightlong.Shewassimply…keepingitforherself.
Which,Clairerealized,shewoulddoevenifDelilahwasn’twhoshewas.ThisthingwithDelilahwasnew,temporary,butintense.AndClairewasagrownwoman.Shewasallowedtoholdthingsclose,keepthemtoherselfuntilshefiguredouthowtohandlethem.
“Oh,honey,I’msorry,”Irissaid.“Sheokay?”
Clairesighed.She’dtriedtotalktoRubythismorningaboutTess,butherdaughterhadrefusedtogointoit.Lookingathernow,upinJosh’struckbedandhelpinghimarrangethecampinggear,shelookedhappierthanClairehadseenherinawhile.
“Ithinkso,yeah,”shesaid.
“Okay,good,becauseweneedtofocus,”Irissaid,wavingDelilahover.“IpickedupCrankyPantsthismorning—”
“CrankyPants?”Delilahsaidwhenshereachedthem.“WhatamI,five?”
“—andit’simperativethatweshareatentwithAstrid.”
“ThatyoutwoshareatentwithAstrid,”Delilahsaid,circlingherfingeratthem.“I’msleepinginthathammockIjustsawoldwhat’shisnamethrowinhistruck.”
Claireliftedherbrow.Oldwhat’shisname?
Delilahliftedabrowrightback,andClairehadtofightasmile.
“Look,”Irissaid.“It’sgotime,allright?We’reaweekfromdoomsday,andwehaveto—”
Iriscutherselfoffwhenacarthatmostcertainlywasn’tAstrid’spulledupalongClaire’scurb.Itwassilverandsleek,itsMercedesemblemshiningunderthemorningsun.Astridsteppedoutofthepassengerside,aLouisVuittonweekenderbagonherelbow,andwalkedaroundtothedriver’sdoor.
“PleasetellmethatisthefanciestfuckingLyftinthehistoryofallLyfts,”Irissaid.
Thedriver’sdooropened,andSpencersteppedout,aviatorsunglasseslikemirrorsoverhiseyes.
“Maybehe’sjustdroppingheroff,”Clairesaid,butherpalmshadstartedtosweat.
Astridhookedherarmthroughhis,smilingastheywalkedupthedrive,anexpensive-lookingleatherduffelbagdanglingfromSpencer’shand.
“Ormaybe,”Delilahsaid,slinginganarmaroundIris’sshoulder,“Astridjustreally,reallydoesn’twanttoshareatentwithyoutwo.”
BAGBYHOTSPRINGSwaslocateddeepwithinMountHoodNationalForest.ClairesurveyedthespotJoshhadreservedforcamping,whichwasprettyperfect,shehadtoadmit.Theforestfloorwaswideandflatforthetents,evergreensandpinesrisinghighabovethemandhemmingthemin,creatingashadedareathatwascoolandquiet.Thespringsandthebathhouse,whichboastednewlyrenovatedwoodentubsforsoaking,werejustashorthikeaway,aboutaquarterofamile,andtherewereplentyoftrailstoexploreduringtheday.
Itwastheperfectgetaway.
OratleastitwouldbeifAstridwasn’tgluedtoSpencer’ssiderightnowashesetuptheirtent.She’dbarelyspokentoClaireorIrissincetheyhadarrived,takingonlyamomenttoaskwhatthehellDelilahwasdoingonthetrip,towhichClairehadfumbledaveryunsmoothresponseabouthowRubyhadtakenalikingtoherand,goodness,whocouldresistRuby’sadorablehazeleyeswhenshereallywantedsomething?Astridhadgruntedaresponse,thenpromptlyflockedtoSpencer,whowascallingoutordersfortentstakesandsomeofthesparklingroséthatIrishadimmediatelypoppedopenassoonastheyarrived.
Thereweretwomoretents—oneforJoshandRubyandone,ostensibly,forIris,Claire,andDelilah.
Clairedecidednottothinkaboutthatrightnow,howinapproximatelytwelveorsohours,shewasgoingtobestuffedinbetweenherbestfriendandthewomanshewassecretlysleepingwith.
Bothofwhomwerenowarguingoverhowtostickastakeintheground.
“Atanangle,youimbecile,”Irissaid,yankingathinmetalstickoutofthedirtandrepositioningitthroughoneoftheirtent’snylonloops.“Haven’tyoueverbeencampingbefore?”
Delilahsatbackonherbutt,wrappingherarmsaroundherknees.“Ohyeah,Isabelwasarealwildernesskindofmom,letmetellyou.ShewasalsoaGirlScouttroopleaderandcaughtfishwithherbarehands.”
Irisglaredatherforabeatbeforeshecrackedup.“God,Iwould’velovedtoseeIsabelParker-Greeneatingjerkyanddrinkingoutofatincup.”
“Theeighthwonderoftheworld.”
IrislaughedandDelilahlaughedtoo,andforsomereason,thewholescenemadeClaire’schestfeelwarmandheavy,likehoneyflowedthroughherveins.ShewatchedthemforasecondbeforeheadingovertoJoshandRuby,whowereputtinguptheirtentnexttoapileofgearJoshbroughtalongtofeedthemall—campingcookware,twocoolersfulloffood,andahugebackpackClaireknewheusedtocarryallhisspicesandnonperishables.
“How’sitgoingoverhere?”sheasked,rufflingherdaughter’shair.
“Great!”thegirlsaidassheslidathinblackpolethroughalittletubeinthenylontent,erectingitintoadome-likeshape.“Dad’steachingmeallaboutcampingstuff.”
“Yeah,likewhat?”
“Likehowtoputupatent,”Joshsaid,thenwinkedatRuby.WhenhiseyesshiftedtoClaire,shecould’veswornhissmiledippedalittle.
“Youalwaysdidlovethewoods,”shesaid.
Henoddedtightly.“Istilldo.I’dlovetoliveoutinacabinsomeday,alittlecreekinthebackyard.”
“You?”Clairesaid,surprised.Lovingthewoodswasonething;settlingdownmilesfromanyoneandanythingwasquiteanother.Shecouldn’timagineJosh,themanwhoalwaysfledhisownsmalltowntofindsomethingbetter,somethinggreater,livinglikeahermitintheCascades.
“Yeah,me,”hesaid,zippingthetent’sdoorshutwithabitmorefervorthanClairethoughtwasnecessary.“AlittleplaceoverinSothebyorWinterLake.I’vebeendoingalotofworkwithHoldenoverthereandthoseareasareprettygreat.”
“Really.”SothebyandWinterLakewereaboutthirtyminutesoutsideofBrightFalls,northandnorthwestrespectively.Theywereroughlythesizeofpinheadsandknownforfishing,quaintdowntowns,andhousesspreadoutsofarapartinthesurroundingwoodsitfeltasthoughonelivedontheirownplanet.
“Yes.Really.”Josh’svoicegreweventighter,andheshookhisheadwhileflippingtherainhoodoverthetopofthetent.
“Josh,what—”
“Rubes,canyougograbthosetowelsoutofmytruck?”hesaid.“I’mreadytohitthehotsprings.Howaboutyou?”
“Yeah!”shesaidanddashedofftowardthetruck.
Onceshewasoutofearshot,Claireturnedbacktohim.“Whatisgoingon?”
“Nothing.”Hesecuredtherainhoodandthenthrewthenow-emptytentbaginside.“I’mtakingmydaughtertothesprings.Isthatokaywithyou?”
Shejustblinkedathim,herpulsespiking.Sheknewthehotspringswerecompletelysafeforswimming.Therewasabathhouseforsoaking,buttherewasalsoanaturalpoolabouthalfamileoffthetrailwhereyoucouldspreadoutalittlemore.Still,drowningcouldhappentoanyone,anytime,anywhere.
“No,Icanseeit’snotactuallyokaywithyou,”hesaid,shakinghishead.
Shesighed.“Josh,Ijust—”
“I’mgoingtodoitanyway.You’vegotyourfriends,somedudeoverthereIdon’tevenknowinfuckingleather…Whatthehellarethose?Sneakers?”
ClaireglancedbackatSpencer,whowasindeedwearingwhatcouldonlybedescribedasthefanciestsneakersClairehadeverseen.Theyhadlacesandwhiterubberbottoms,butthetopswereasmoothbrownleather,sosoftandbuttery-looking,sheknewtheyhadtobeexpensive.
“Ithoughtyouwerefinewiththemcomingalong,”Clairesaid,turningbacktoJosh.
“Ohyeah,thisisadreamcometrue.”
“Whatdoesthatmean?”
Hegrabbedhisownbackpackfromthepicnictableandthrewitoverhisshoulder,thenhewavedattheotherfourpeopleinthecampsite.“Itmeans,whatthehellisthis,Claire?Thiswassupposedtobeatripwithmydaughter.Herandme.Onenight.Simple.NextthingIknowyou’recallingmeupandtellingmeyou’recomingalongtoo?Oh,andAstridandIris.AndnowDelilahandDoucheCanoeoverthere.”
ClaireopenedhermouthwiththesuddenurgetoverifythathecouldtellSpencerwasindeedadouchecanoefromfirstglance,butsheknewthatwouldbethewrongthingtosayatthismoment.Shetriedtofocusonwhathewasactuallyupsetabout,whichseemedtobethatsheandherfriendscrashedhiscampingtripwithRuby.
“I’mnotgoingtoapologizeforwantingtomakesuremydaughterissafe,”shesaid.Hurtflashedacrosshisface,butsherefusedtofeelguilty.Hewastheonewho’dputherinthispositioninthefirstplace,afteryearsandyearsofflakyparenting.
“Isthatreallywhatthisisabout?Safety?”
“Whatdoesthatmean?”
Hesighed,grabbingthestrapsofhispackandstaringattheground.Whenheglancedup,helookedwrecked,exhausted.
“I’mnevergoingtobegoodenough,amI?”heaskedsoftly.
Hermouthdroppedopen,butnowordscameout.Nothing.Henodded,thenwalkedofftowardRubyandwrappedhisarmaroundhershoulderastheyheadedforaclearlymarkedtrail.
Clairewatchedthemgo,waitingforherdaughtertoturnbackandatleastsmileorwavegoodbye,butshedidn’t.Panicflaredinherchest,butsheforceditdown.Joshwasgoodatthiskindofstuff,afterall.Growingup,hisparentshadtakenhimandhisbrothercampingallthetime,andClairevaguelyrememberedatriphetooktoMountRainierwithhisbestguyfriendsrightafterhighschoolgraduation.Noonediedorgotlost.Nooneevengotsodrunktheyfellintoariverandnearlydrowned.
Soyes,Rubywouldbefine.Maybeshewould’vebeenfineallalongandClairedidn’tevenneedtobehere.
Maybethat’swhatshewasactuallyafraidof.ChapterTwenty-Two
DELILAHWATCHEDCLAIREstareafterJoshandRubyforwhatfeltlikealongtime.Shewantedtodropthesleepingbagshewasholding,somemothball-smellingthingthatIrissaidbelongedtoGrant,andgoovertotheotherwomanandkissherwithinaninchofherlife,makeherforgetwhateverJoshsaidorwhathemightmeantoher.
Shedidn’t.
Shepushedherfeetintothepinestraw–coveredground,forcedherselftoignorethepanicthatlacedthroughherchestlikeafire.
Clairewasn’tJax.
AndClaireandDelilahsureashellweren’tJaxandDelilah.Theyweren’ttogether.Weren’temotionalaboutthis.Theywerefucking;thatwasit.Secretly,shemightdowelltoremember.ThefactthatDelilahfeltlikehittingsomethingrightnow—hitting,orpullingClaireoffintothewoodsandshowingherexactlywhyJoshwasn’tworthwastinganytimeon—waspurelybiological.SomethingterritorialinDelilahwasrearingitsprimitivehead.Thatwasall.
Thatwasonehundredpercentallthisslightlynauseousfeelinginherstomachwasabout.
“She’sbeenthroughitwithhim.”
Delilahblinked,turningtopullafaceatIris,whohadcomeupnexttoherandwasgazingatClaireaswell.“What?”
“JoshandClaire.Ruby.They’vebeenthroughalot.”
“Yeah,soI’veheard.”
Irisliftedabrow.“From?”
Delilahshookherhead,butthenrealizedshecouldtellthetruth.“Astrid.”
Iris’seyesnarrowed,butshenodded,thengesturedtowardClaire.“Shedeservessomethinggood.Someonegood.Someonewhoreallyseesher,youknow?”
Thisconversationwasnothelpinghernauseaorthetightfeelinginherchest
“SodoesAstrid,”Iriswenton.
“Andsodoweall.Yes,it’sallsopreciousandtouching,”Delilahsaid,rollinghereyes.
“Maybenotallofus,”Irissaid,butshewassmilingandthenslappedDelilahonthebuttwithherwaterbottle.Delilahcouldn’thelpbutlaughinrelief,thisslightlybitchyrapportshehadwithIriscomfortingandfamiliarbynow.
“Hey!”Astridcalled,glancingatthemwithanannoyedlookonherface.“Arewehikingtothespringsorwhat?SpencerandIwantsomeexercise.”
“Yeah,ladies,”Spencersaid,rubbinghispalmstogether.“Wedidn’tcomeoutheretotalkaboutlipglossandhairdye.”
“Ohdamn,”Irissaid,snappingherfingers.“Ithoughtweweregivingyouamakeover,Spence?”
Helaughed.“Notonyourlife.Andit’sSpencer.”
“Surething,Spence.”
Heopenedhismouthtosaysomethingelse,butAstridtookhishandandledhimintotheirtenttochange,shootingIrisalookoverhershoulderastheydisappearedinside.
“God,Ihatethatguy,”Irissaid.
“Why?He’ssuchapeach,”DelilahsaidasClairecameupnexttoher.Theirarmsbrushed,andDelilahfelttheimmediaterushofgoosebumpsoverherskin,Claire’smeadowyscentfillinghersenses.
ShesteppedalittleclosertoIris.Jesus,sheneededtogetagrip.
“Iguessweshouldgetreadytohike,huh?”Claireasked,foldingherarms.
“Maybethere’saravineDelilahcanpushhimdown,”Irissaid.
“Ohsure,”Delilahsaid,“makemethemurderer.”
“Youcouldmakeitlooklikeanaccident.”Irisnudgedherarm.“Liketheriver?Purebrilliance.”
“Um,incaseyoudon’trecall,Ialsowentintotheriver.I’mnottakingatumbledownaravinetobreakupawedding.I’mheretoruinsomehappiness,not,youknow,die.”
“Ruinsomehappiness?”Claireasked,browfurrowed.
Delilahsuckedherteeth.She’dnearlyforgottenwhoshewaswith.Forasecondthere,itfeltlikeshewassimplytalkingwith…friends.Bantering.Laughing.Joking.Allthingsshe’dneverreallyhadbefore,butIrisandClaireweren’treallyherfriends.TheywereAstrid’s.
“Spencer’s,”Delilahsaid,forcingasmile.
Problemwas,Delilahwasn’tevensurewhatshewasdoinganymore.AstridandIsabelhaddraggedherbacktoBrightFalls,danglingmoneyandherfather’smemoryjusttoexertsomesortofsickcontroloverher,andwhenClaireandIriswantedtogetridofSpencer,thethoughtofwitnessingtheParker-Greensfacingacanceledsocietyweddingwasjusttoodelicioustopassup.Now,though,seeingClairelookingathersosweetly,rememberingAstrid’sdevastatedexpressionasshe’dstaredattheunhappyphotoofherselfbySpencer’sside,verballysparringwithIrisinawaythatusuallyendedinlaughter—itallfeltlikesomethingsomuchmorethanatwo-weektriptotheplaceshehatedmostintheworld.
Itfeltlikethestartofsomething.
Whichcouldn’tberight.HersomethingwasinNewYorkCity.Hersomethingwashugecrowdsanddivebarsandwomenwhosenamessheonlyoccasionallyremembered.TheWhitney.Fellowartists.Potentialagentsandsalesandmakinganameforherself.
“I’mallaboutsomeSpencer-ruining,”Irissaidassheunzippedtheirtent’sdoorandtookthesleepingbagoutfromunderDelilah’sarm,tossingitthroughtheentrance.“I’mgoingtogetchanged.”
Thenshedisappeared,leavingClaireandDelilahaloneforthefirsttimesinceDelilahsneakedoutofClaire’shousethismorningwhilethefirststreaksoflightsilveredacrossthesky.
Assoonasthedoorzippedclosed,ClaireclosedherhandaroundDelilah’swristandtuggedheracrossthecampsite,behindJoshandRuby’stentandoutofview.BeforeDelilahcouldaskwhatwasgoingon,Claire’smouthwasonhers,softandwarm.HerarmssettledonDelilah’sshoulders,fingersslippingintoherhair.Delilah’shandsfoundClaire’ships,pullinghercloser.Sheopenedtoher,tongueslidingoverClaire’slikesilk,pullingthegentlestmoanfromClaire’sthroat.
God,thiswomanmadehercrazy.Shefeltwild,unhinged,likeahornyteenagerchasinghernextmake-outsession.
“I’vebeenwantingtodothatallday,”Clairesaidwhentheybrokeapart.
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
Anotherkiss.Anothersoftmoan.
“Betterbecareful,”Delilahwhisperedagainsthermouth,slidingherhandsdowntoClaire’sampleass.“I’mabouttotakeyourighthere,rightnow.”
Clairestiffenedandpulledback.
“Calmdown.Iwon’t,”Delilahsaid.
“That’snotwhatI…”Claireclosedhermouth,hereyessearchingDelilah’s.“Iwanttobealonewithyou.”
Delilahgrinned,pressedhermouthtoClaire’sneck,growlingalittleintoherskin.“Metoo.”
Clairelaughed.“Notforthat.”
Delilah’stonguetracedapathuptoherear,andClairesuckedinasharpbreath.
“Okay,notonlyforthat,”Clairesaid.“ButIwant…Iwanttotalktoo.”
Delilahpulledback,alarmtighteningherstomach.“Whatabout?Iwon’ttellanyonewhatwe’redoing.Ialreadytoldyouthat.”
“No,that’snotit.”
“Thenwhat?”
ClairesighedandpressedherforeheadagainstDelilah’sshoulder.
“Hey,”Delilahsaid,pressingakisstohertemple.“Whatisit?”
Claireliftedherheadandsmiled,butitdidn’treachhereyes.“Nothing.It’snothing.”
“It’snotnothing.Icantell.”
Claireshookherhead.“Noreally…I…”Thenherbrowslifted,justalittle.“Iwanttoseethatpicture.Theoneyoutookofmebytheriverfiveyearsago.”
Delilah’seyeswidened.Shehadafeelingthat’snotatallwhatClaireactuallywantedtotalkabout,butsheletitgo.“Really?”
Clairenoddedandherarmstightened,handsslidingdownDelilah’sback.“OfcourseIdo.YouknowIrisandIplunderedyourInstagram,right?”
HeatspilledinDelilah’scheeks.Shestillhadn’tgottenusedtotheideaofanyoneotherthantotalstrangersroamingthroughherart.
“Ihadafeeling,”shesaid.
Clairefrowned.“Isthatokay?”
“Yeah.Yeah,it’sjustweird.”
“Well,itshouldn’tbe.You’rereallytalented,Delilah.EvenIrislikesyourwork.Thewayyouuselightandyourangles.Idon’tknowanythingaboutphotography,butyourstuff…Idon’tknow.It’semotional.Angryandsadandempowered.Itmademefeelsomething.”
Likeanyartist,Delilahviewedherownworkwithadizzyingmixofself-loathingandself-aggrandizement,soClaire’swordsnestledlikeanemberdeepinherchestandstayedthere,glowingwarmandbright.
“Really?”sheasked.
“Really,”Clairewhispered.“YourpiecesattheWhitneyaregoingtobebreathtaking.”Thenshekissedhersoftly,slowly.ThatemberinDelilah’schestflared,ignitingintoafullflame.Inthatmoment,Delilahdidn’tcareaboutsecretsorJoshorAstridorthewayJaxhadpulverizedherheartorhowtheideaofshowingattheWhitneyandstillnotadvancinginhercareermadeherwanttocurlintoafetalpositionandsuckherthumb.Sheonlycaredaboutthis,Claireinherarms,whisperingthingsthatmadeDelilahfeelseenforthefirsttimein…
Shit
Maybethiswasthefirsttimeshe’deverfeltthisseen.Or,no,notthisexactmoment,buteverytinymomentwithClairesinceshe’dbeenbackinBrightFalls—talkingwithClaireatthebookstore,lyingwithherinbedatBlueLily,listeningtohertalkaboutherworriesoverJosh,tellingheraboutJax,watchinghowClaire’seyesliterallysparkledwhenshetalkedaboutRuby.Hell,evenlettingthewomanunknowinglyhitonheratStella’s.
Thenlastnight,herskin,herbody,hertouch.Justsexthatsuddenlyfeltlikeanythingbut.
Delilahleanedintothekiss,tryingtoshutdownherthoughtswithhermouth,hertongue,herhandsslidingintothebackpocketofClaire’sshorts.
Itdidn’twork.Claire,sighingintohermouth,likeshewashappy.ItallswirledinDelilah’smindlikeahurricanegatheringstrength.Shepulledback,needingair,needingspace.Needingtogetherheadbackinthiscasualsexgame.
Clairefrownedather.“Youokay?”
Delilahdidn’tsayanything.Shedidn’thaveto.Zipsechoedthroughthecampsite,followedbySpencer’sboomingvoicedirectingAstridtofilluphiswaterbottle.
“Bettergetthishappiness-ruininggoing,”Delilahsaidassheturnedaway,swallowingaroundtheinfuriatingthicknessinherthroat.ChapterTwenty-Three
SHE’DCOMEONtoostrong.Thatmustbewhatitwas.DelilahcouldtellthatwhatClairehadreallywantedtotalkaboutwasthem,whatthisthingbetweenthemwas,evenwhenthey’dalreadyestablisheditwassex,sex,andmoresex.WhyelsewouldDelilahhavepulledawayfromherlikethat,gaspingforairlikeClairewassmotheringher?Sheknewthiswasamistake.Clairecouldn’tdocasual,andnowDelilahwasfreakingoutandrealizingthatClairewasstarvedforloveandwantednothingmorethantoclimbinsideDelilahandsetupshop.
ExceptClairedidn’twantthat.
Shecouldn’t.
ThiswasDelilahGreen,herbestfriend’sstepsisterwhotookoffonherfamilytwelveyearsagoandbarelylookedback,andClaireknewtoowellwhatitwasliketolovesomeonewhocouldn’tstay.Whowouldn’tstay.
Only…afterlisteningtoDelilahtalkaboutAstridlastnight,howsheandAstridweren’tcomplicatedatall,howAstridandIsabelsimplyhadn’twantedher…somethingaboutitrangtrue.NotthatsheblamedAstridforit.She’dalreadylostherownfather,thenastepfather,andIsabelwasn’tthekindofmotherwhodoledoutloveeasily.Delilahwasstrangeasagirl,coldanddistant,butshe’dlostbothparentsbythetimeshewastenyearsold.
Wouldn’tthatmakeanyonestrangeandcoldanddistant?
Andnow,asanadult,Delilahwasanythingbut.Alittlerougharoundtheedges,sure.Prickly.ButsomethingabouthermadeClaire’sbloodhum,apartfromtheamazingsex,eveniftheywerejusttalking.Delilahwasbrilliantandfunnyandstrong,andClairewantedtowrapherselfaroundher,soakherup,helpfillthathauntedlookintheotherwoman’seyeswithsomethingsoftandgentle.
Clairerubbedhereyesunderherglasses,tryingtopressbackallofthesedamnfeelings.Shehadalwayswantedtobeoneofthosepeoplewhocouldsleepwithsomeoneandletitbejustthat—sex,feeling,skin.Sheknewitwasn’tabadthingthatshe’dneverbeenlikethat—she’dhadakidyoung,andtherehadalwaysbeentoomuchatstakeorsimplynotenoughtimeintheday,butitalwayssoundedsofun,hearingaboutIris’sexploitsinherearlytwenties.EvenAstridhadhadafewone-nightstands,andthosewereonlytheonesshe’dtoldIrisandClaireabout.
You’rejustnotwiredforcasual,andthat’sokay.
Iris’swordsfromthatnightatStella’srangthroughherskull,butsheignoredthem.Shecouldbewiredanywayshepleased,andrightnow,whatpleasedherwasDelilahinherbed.Shestraightenedherclothesandrolledhershouldersback,determinedtoplayitcoolwithDelilahfromnowon.
Sex,shetoldherself.Justthinkaboutsex.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Irisasked,frowningatherasshesteppedoutfrombehindJoshandRuby’stent.
“Oh.Um,justlookingforawaterbottleIcanuse,”shesaid,makingashowofglancingaround.“Joshusuallybringsamillion.”
“Yes,exceptyourwaterbottleiswithyourbackpack,”Irissaid,pointingtoClaire’spackleaningagainsttheirtent,apurpleNalgenehookedontooneofthestraps.
“Right,”Clairesaidandleftitatthat.Shegrabbedthebottleandtookalongpullofthenowlukewarmwater.
“Allright,let’shitit,”Spencercalled,clappinghishandsliketheywerecattle.ThenhesmackedAstridonthebuttwhenshestartedtowardthetrailhead.Hegrinnedather,thenpulledherintohisarmsandkissedher.
Clairewatched,teethgritted,asAstridkissedhimback.Butherbestfriendwasn’tsmiling.AndherarmsseemedstiffaroundSpencer’sshoulderswhilehishandsroameddownherbackside.Shewasn’tenjoyingthis,notintheleast,butthenagainAstridhadneverbeenoneforPDA.Wheremostmothersteachbasicmanners,Isabelhadhammeredproprietyintoherdaughterlikeanailthroughwood.
“Isittoomuchtoaskforalargerocktojust,Idon’tknow,fallonhishead?”Irisaskedasshetiedupherhikingboots.
“Ifonlyweweretheprayingkind,”Clairesaid.
“I’dbewillingtoconvertifitgotthatshithatoutofourlives.”
“Nowhe’sashithat?”
“He’sashit-all-types-of-clothing.Shirt.Belt.Jacket.”
“Shitshirthasaniceringtoit.”
“Itreallydoes.”
Clairelaughed,buthereyestrailedovertoDelilahwithoutherpermission.Theotherwomanwassittingonthepicnictable,scrollingthroughherphone.Claireforcedhergazeaway.
“Ready?”Astridcalled,pullingbackfromSpencer.
“Yep,”Irissaid,linkingherarmwithClaire’sandsqueezinghertightly.Togethertheywalkedovertothetrailhead,butwhentheyarrived,Delilahstillhadn’tmovedfromthepicnictable.
“Areyoucoming,Del?”Astridasked.
Delilahglancedup,aboredexpressioninhereyes.“Nah.Lookslikeitmightrain.”
“It’sthePacificNorthwest,”Spencersaid.“Italwayslookslikeitmightrain.”
“Ohmygod,you’resoright.”Delilahlookedaroundatthetrees,wide-eyed,hervoicesaccharine.“IalmostforgotwhatpartofthecountryIwasin.Thankyousomuch.”
Irissnort-laughed,butthenSpencermutteredsomethingthatsoundedsuspiciouslylikebitchunderhisbreath,andIris’ssmileturnedintoamurderousglare.ClaireheardAstridtakeadeepbreath,thenturnawayandgulpfromherwaterbottle.
“I’mgoodhere,”Delilahsaid,goingbacktoherphone.
“Areyousure?”Claireasked.Shetookastepbacktowardthecampsite,willingDelilahtolookupather.
Shedidn’t.Instead,shejustnodded,andClairefeltherstomachplungetoherfeet.IrispulledClaire’sarmtowardthetrail,andshewent,butshecouldn’tgetridofthepanicbubblingintoherchest.FirstJosh,nowDelilah.Shefeltmarooned,outofcontrol,andverymuchlikeshewasabouttoburstintosomeextremelyembarrassingtears.
Fiveminutesintothehike,shepulledherarmfreefromIris’s.“Youknowwhat?I’mgoingtogocheckonRubyatthesprings.”
“What?”Irisasked,herfacegoingpale.
“Yeah,Ijust…I’mnervous,youknow?AboutherandJoshandIjust…”Shedidn’tknowhowtosayit,thatshesimplyneededtogo,thatsheneededtocry,towrapherarmsaroundherdaughter,theonethinginherlifethatshewassureof.
“Sweetie,iseverythingokay?”Astridasked,steppingclosertoher.“Doyouwantustocomewithyou?”
Claireshookherhead.“Yougohike.Havefun.”
“Youheardher,”Spencersaid,takingAstrid’sarm.Hestartedwalkingherupthetrail,leathersneakersandall.“She’sfine.Let’sgo.”
“Claire,”Irissaid,wideninghereyeswithmeaning.“Areyouseriousrightnow?”
“I’llseeyoubackatthecampsite,okay?”shesaidbeforeIriscouldsayanythingelse.Guiltswirledinhergut,butstill,sheturnedawayfromherfriendandranbackalongthetrail.
SHEBURSTTHROUGHthetreesandintothecampsite’sclearing,breathingheavy,eyessearching.Delilahwasstillperchedontopofthepicnictable,phoneinherhand.HerheadsnappedupwhenshesawClaire,browfurrowinginwhatClairecouldonlyhopewasconcernandnotannoyance.
“Ithoughtyouweregoingtohike?”Delilahasked.
Clairetriedtocalmherselfdownassurreptitiouslyaspossibleasallthewronganswersflittedthroughherhead.
Iwantedtoseeyou.
Iwasworriedaboutyou.
Iwasworriedaboutus.
Butsheknewshecouldn’tsayanyofthosethings.Thoseweren’tcasualanswerstoDelilah’squestion.
“Idecidednotto,”Clairesaid.“I’mgoingtogotothespringsandcheckonRuby.”
There.Aperfectlybreezyresponse.Hervoicedidn’tevenshake.
Delilahnodded,andClairemovedofftowardtheirtenttochangeintoherbathingsuit.Sheduckedunderthedoorflap,zippeditclosed,thenpressedherfingerstohereyesunderherglasses.Thetearswelled,andshetriedtopushthemback.Thiswasridiculous.ShefoughtwithJoshallthetime.AndDelilahhadeveryrighttostaybackfromahike,tostaybackfromher
ButClairehadneverbeengreatwithconflict.Whenshewasyoung,herparentsfoughtnonstop,hermothercompletelymiserableformostoftheirlifeinSanFrancisco.AfterherfathertookoffandsheandhermommovedtoBrightFalls,Clairespentyearsmakingsurehermotherwasokay,makingtheirlifeassmoothaspossible,alwaysfollowingtherulesasmuchasshecould.
Thenshegotpregnant.
Eventhen,hermothersupportedher—they’dbeenalleachotherhadforsolong—andeverythingendedupokay.Wonderfuleven.ButthensheandJoshstartedarguing,twostupidkidswithhugeadultproblems,andshealwaysendedupcryingwhentheyfought,alwaysendedupfeelingpathetic.AndnowIriswasmostcertainlypissedoffatherforabandoningherwithShitTrousers,soessentially,Clairehadjustmadeeverythingworse.Still,shecouldn’thavegoneonthathikewithoutdoingwhatshewasdoingrightnow—lettingafewtearsfalltogetsomereleaseandheavingsomeshudderingbreaths.Shejustneededafewminutes,thenshe’dbefine.She’dbereadytofindherdaughter,ignorewhateverDelilahwasdoing,andfigureoutawaytomakeituptoIris.She’dbe—
Thetentdoorunzipped,andbeforeClairehadachancetowipeherfacedryoratleastpullhershirtoverherheadtohidewhatwereprobablyveryblotchycheeksandredeyes,Delilahwasduckingintothetent.
“Oh,hey,”Clairesaid.Calm.Breezy.Excepthervoicesoundedthickandwatery.Sheturnedherbacktotheotherwoman,squattingdowntounzipherpackandfindherswimsuit.
“What’swrong?”Delilahasked,hervoicesogentleitmadeClairewanttocryevenmore.Whichsheabsolutelywasnotgoingtodo.
“Nothing.”Shefoundherred-and-whitepolka-dotone-pieceandclutchedittoherchestasshestoodup.“Just…IthinkI’mallergictosomethingouthere.”
God,shewasgettinggoodatlying.
“Claire,that’sbullshit.”
Okay,apparentlynotgoodenough.
ShesighedandturnedtofaceDelilah.“Ijust…IhadafightwithJosh.It’snotabigdeal,butitthrewmeoff.”
Delilah’seyeswentsoft.Theinsideofthetentwashot,humid,despitethecoolnessintheJuneairoutside.Therewasn’tawholelotofspaceinheretobeginwith,andasDelilahtookastepcloser,Clairesworeshefelttheirbreathsmingling.
“Whatdidyoufightabout?”Delilahasked.
Claireshrugged,herchesttightagain.“Ruby.Us.Thesamethingoverandover.”
AlittledipappearedbetweenDelilah’sbrows,butshejustnodded.“WhatcanIdotohelp?”
Clairedidn’texpectthatquestion.NotfromDelilah.Anodofsympathy,sure.Ajokeabouttheuniversalawfulnessofstraightciswhitemen,perhaps.Butnotthiscaringoffer,spokenwhileherarmsslidaroundClaire’swaistandpulledhercloser.Itmadeherwanttoburyherfaceintheotherwoman’sneck,breatheinthatsmellthatwasallDelilah,sunandrainallatonce.
“I…Idon’tknow,”Clairesaid.“Comedowntothespringswithme?”
Thepleafellfromhermouthbeforeshecouldrethinkit.Itwasaperfectlyreasonableanswer,butthewayshesaidit,desperatelyandwithaslightpant,madeherwanttocurlupinalittleballagain.
ExceptDelilahdidn’tseemtomind.Shesmiled,pullingClaire’shipsflushagainsthers.WantflutteredlowinClaire’sbelly.
“Isthatall?”Delilahasked,thenhertonguedippedintoClaire’scollarbone.
“Um…well…”Clairesaid,butwhenDelilah’steethgrazedherskin,amoanslippedoutinsteadofanycoherentwords.ShedroppedherswimsuitandburiedherhandsinDelilah’scurls.
“Thathelps,huh?”theotherwomanasked.
“A…alittle.”
“Whataboutthis?”Delilah’sfingerswenttothebuttononClaire’scutoffs.Sheflickedtheclaspfree,thenworkedthezipperdownsoslowly,Clairefeltthevibrationbetweenherlegs.
“That…yeah,thatmighthelp,”shesaid.ShepressedthebackofonehandtohermouthtotryandstayquietasDelilahslippedahandinsidehershortsandpalmedheroverherunderwear,fingerspressingandexploring.
“Alreadywet,”Delilahsaid,lipsonherneck.
God,shewas.Clairefeltlikeshe’dspentthisentireweeksoakingwet,anytimeshewasaroundDelilahGreen,evenbeforetheystarted…whateverthiswas.
Delilah’sfingersworkedoverthecottonindeliciouscircles.Clairegrippedhershoulders,herlegswobbly,herhipspushingagainstDelilah’shand.
“Okay?”Delilahasked,fingersmovingnorthtoslowlyglidealongthewaistbandofClaire’sunderwear.
Clairecouldonlynodinresponse,desperateforDelilah’sskinonhers.Theotherwomandidn’tmakeherwaitlong,releasingherownquietmoanasshedippedintoClaire’swetheat.Delilahcircledthiswayandthat,exploringslowly,tortuously,beforesheslidonefingerinsideandpressedherpalmagainstClaire’sclit.
Clairegasped,tippedherheadback.Delilah’stongueflickedouttotastetheskinjustunderherearassheinsertedanothercurlingfinger,pumpingthemsoherhandrubbedrightwhereClaireneededit.
“Faster,”Clairewhispered,nailsbitingintoDelilah’sbareshoulders.Otherwordsflowedfromhermouth,thingsClairehadneversaidduringsex,completeandutterdirtytalk,butshedidn’tcarebecausethis—thiswaswhatsheneeded.Fucking,hardandfast,nothingemotionalaboutit.
ShebuckedherhipsagainstDelilah’stalentedfingers,grindingagainstherhanduntilshebroke.Herorgasmblazedthroughher,andshesaggedagainstDelilah,hercriesmuffledbytheotherwoman’sneck.DelilahkeptherhandinplaceuntilClairestoppedshuddering,andevenwhenshewasdone,Delilahtookhersweettime,fingersteasingandcaressingastheyslowlyemergedfromClaire’spants.
“Better?”Delilahasked,asmirkonhermouth.
Clairetriedtosmirkback,butshejustendeduplaughing,aspaceopeningupinherchestshecouldn’texplain.“Muchbetter.”HerhandwenttoDelilah’sjeans,morethanreadytoreturnthefavor,butDelilahstoppedher.
“Later,”shesaid.
Clairefrowned.“What?ButIwantto—”
“Iknow.”DelilahtookClaire’shandandwrappeditaroundherownwaist,pullingthemtogetherevencloser,mouthsbumpingasshespoke.“Andyouwill.Butrightnow,let’sgoswimming.YouwantedtoseeRuby,right?”
Claireexhaledagainsther.“Yeah.”
Delilahnodded.“Solet’sdoit.”
Shewenttopullback,probablytogetherownswimsuit,butClaireyankedhercloser.Shekepthereyesopenastheykissed,softandslow.Oncetheypartedandturnedawayfromeachothersotheycouldchangeintotheirswimsuitswhilekeepingtheirhandstothemselves,Clairecould’veswornshesawasparkofsomethingthatlookedalotlikehappinessinDelilah’sexpression.
“IRISISGOINGtokillme.”
ClaireglancedatDelilahastheywalkedalongthetrailtowardthesprings.Sheworeablackbikinitopthatputallofhertattoosondisplay,alongwithapairofhigh-waisteddenimshortsandherboots.Shelookedsoftandbadassallatonce,andClairecouldn’tstopstaringather.
Itwasaproblem.
“Why?”Delilahasked,herowneyesonthepinestraw.
“IleftheralonewithSpencerandAstrid,”Clairesaid.
Delilahwinced.“Yeah,she’snotgoingtothankyouforthat.NotunlessyousomehowmanagedtofurtherOperationShitBootfromafar.”
Clairegroanedbutthenstoppedabruptly,herhandflyingouttolandonDelilah’sarm.
“That’sit,”shesaid.
“What’sit?”
“OperationShitBoot.”SheturnedtoDelilah,andwhatfeltlikeaCheshirecatgrincurledhermouth.
“Whataboutit?”
Claireflappedherhandsaround.“Weneedto…Idon’tknow.Furtherit.”
Delilahliftedabrow.“Areyoutalkingaboutshenanigans?”
“Yes!”ClaireclappedherhandsonceandthenpointedatDelilah.“Exactly.Campshenanigans.”
“Likepouringhoneyalloverhissleepingbagorsomething?BecauseI’mhereforthat.”
Clairefrowned.“Well,notexactlylikethat.Imean…he’ssharingatentwithAstrid.Iwanttodrivehimnuts,nother.”
“WecouldfeedthembothasleepingpillandthenpullhisairmattressoutontothespringslikeinthatmovieTheParentTrap.”
“Ohmygod,Ilovethatmovie.”Clairetappedherchin.“Idon’tthinkhehasanairmattressthough.”
“Andthewater’snotexactlydraggingdistance,”Delilahsaid.
“Givehimsomesugarwaterforthebugs?”
“Youknowhowhehatesbugs.”
Theylaughed,butnothingthey’dmentionedfeltfeasibleor,well,mature.ButClairedidn’tcareaboutmaturityrightnow.Shecaredaboutthis.Delilahandherunderthetrees,plottingliketeenagerstohelptheirfriend.Itfeltlikesomethingmorethanjustplanningaprank—itfeltlikegettingsomethingback,somethingfunandlightandmeaningfulthattheynevergottohaveasgirls.
SomethingClairenevereventhoughttotryfor.
Butshecouldonehundredpercenttryforitnow.
“Maybeweshouldconsulttheoracle,”Clairesaid,takingDelilah’shandandlacingtheirfingerstogetherastheystartedwalkingagain.
“Ah,theall-knowing,”Delilahsaid,smiling.“NowifAstridcoulddrawtheprayingmantiscard,thatwouldbeideal.Justbitehisheadthehelloffandbedonewithit.”
Clairelaughed.“Iseriouslydoubtshe’ddrawtheapple.”
“Well,she’snotahorndoglikeyou.”
“Heynow.”Clairebumpedtheirshoulderstogether,andDelilahbumpedrightback.Theywalkedlikethatforawhile,nearlyreachingthespringsbeforeClaire’sposturesnappedstraight.
“I’vegotit,”shesaid,turningthemaroundandpullingDelilahbacktowardcampbythehand.
“Ithoughtweweregoingswimming,”Delilahasked.
“Weare,”Clairesaid,knockingapineneedle–coveredlimboutofherway.“ButfirstweneedtomakealittlestopbyJosh’scookingsupplies.”ChapterTwenty-Four
HALFANHOURlater,Delilahcouldn’tstopsmilingastheyhurriedalongthetrailtowardthesprings.HerfingerstangledwithClaire’sunderthetrees,andClairekeptreleasingtheselittlegigglesthatmadeDelilahfeellikeshewasbackinhighschool,butnotanykindofhighschoolshe’deverexperienced.Thishighschoolfeltlikebelongingandfriendshipandlaughter.Delilahdidn’tevenhavethosethingsnow,muchlessbackwhenshewasakid.
Therewereamillionfeelingscurlinginhergut,confusingandaddictive.Shewasn’tsurewhattodowiththemallotherthanignorethem,pushthemdown,andfocusonthewayClaire’spalmfeltpressedagainsthers.
ThewayClaireseemed…happy.
Itwasaheadysensation,makingabeautifulwomansmileandlaughlikethat.Soheady,infact,thatwhenthetreesclearedandthesmallnaturalpoolsparkledinfrontofthem,RubysquealingasJoshtossedherintotheair,DelilahandClairedidn’tletgoofeachother.Notatfirst.Foraseconditfeltso…normal,tobeholdinghandsinfrontofotherpeople.
ButwhenRubyresurfaced,Clairepulledherfingersfree.Delilahdeterminednottoletitbotherher,thesecrecy.Clairewasanadultwhohadakid,andDelilahknewshewasnoone’sideaofadreampartner.
Shegotit.
ButasClairewalkedawayfromherandtowardthewater,kickingoffhershoesandslidinghershortsdownherlovelythighs,Delilahwasstartingtothinkshedidn’tlikeit.
Shedidn’tlikeitonebit.
DELILAHSPENTTHErestoftheafternoonwithRuby.TheyswaminthesteamywaterwhileClairespokeinlowtoneswithJosh,Delilahpretendingshecouldn’thearthestressinClaire’svoicethewholetime.Later,whentheygotbacktocampandchangedintodryclothes,shesatwithRubyonalogandshowedherhowtoeditthebirdbathphotothegirlhadtakenthenightbefore.
“Whoa,”RubysaidasDelilahadjustedtheexposure.“That’samazing,howmuchofadifferenceitmakes.”
“Well,thetrickis,”Delilahsaid,fiddlingwiththesaturation,“makeitlooklikeyoudidn’tedititatall.Figureoutwhattodosothatthenaturallight,color,toneisallenhanced,notcompletelyaltered.Like,lookatthispartrighthere.”Delilahpointedtotheflowerfloatinginthemiddleofthedingywateronthescreen.“Whatwouldyoudotomakeitlookbetter?”
Rubyscrewedupherfaceinthought.“I’d…I’dsharpenit.”
Delilahsmiledandnudgedhershoulder.“Metoo.”ShetappedtheDetailtabandhandedthephoneovertoRuby.“Goforit.”
Thegirlplayedaroundwiththesharpeningtool,watchinghowitchangedthephoto,beforedecidingonasettingthatoutlinedthefloweralittlemoreclearlyagainstthewater.
“Whatelse?”Delilahasked.
Rubystareddownatthephone.“Thecolor.Iwantittolookkindof…faded?”
“Why?”
“Because…becauseit’ssortofasadpicture?Anoldbirdbath,asingleflower,dirtywater.It’snot…it’snotsomethingbirdsactuallyuse.It’sforgotten.”
Delilah’smouthpartedasshewatchedthegirlfrownatherphoto,herchesttightening.Butnotinabadway.InawaythatbroughtbackthatfeelingshehadwithClaireearlier,likeyearsreformingthemselves.RubysawtheworldinawaythatfeltfamiliartoDelilah,anartist’spointofview,anditcouldbealonelywaytomovethroughlife.
Anditwas…comforting.
Delilahfeltawildurgetoreachoutandtuckthegirl’sdamphairbehindherear.Shedidn’t.Instead,shejustnodded.“Yeah.Fadingthecolorwouldbereallypowerful.”
Rubylookedupather.“Really?”
“Absolutely.”ShetappedontheColortab.“Youcanadjustthetemperaturehere—likecoolerandwarmertones—andthevibrancy,whichwillleachoutthatcolorwithoutmakingitfull-onblack-and-white.”
Rubynoddedandstartedfiddlingwiththeapp.Delilahsatback,andwhenshelookedup,shesawClairewatchingthemfromthepicnictable.She’dtriedtoappeaseJoshbyofferingtohelpwiththechiliheplannedtocook,sonowshewaspoppingopencansofbeansanddumpingthemintoapotwhilehesearedsomemeatoverthefirepit.Clairehadalittlesmileonherface,hereyessoftasshewatchedRubycreate.
Delilahgotup,leavingRubytodoherthing,andsatacrossfromClaireatthetable.
“Thankyouforthat,”Clairesaid,pryingopenanothercanofblackbeans.
“Nothingtothankmefor,”Delilahsaid.“Itwasfun.She’sanamazingkid,Claire.”
Clairebeamed.“Sheis.”
“She’stalented.”
“Youthinkso?”
“Hellyes.Shedrawsreallywell,andshe’sgotagoodeye,goodinstincts.”
Clairetookadeepbreath,butthenhersmilefadedasshelookedofftowardthetrail.“Shouldwebeworriedthatthey’restillnotback?”
Delilahfrowned,pickingupClaire’sphonetolookatthetime.Thehikershadbeengoneawhile.“DidyoutextIris?”
Clairenodded.“AndAstrid.Threetimes.Butthesignal’snotgreatouthere.”
“Maybethey—”
Butshewascutoffbythesoundofvoicescomingfromthetrail.Thethreehikersappeared,allofthemscowling,andtheylooked…well,theylookedhorrible.Spencerwasfullyclothedandsoakingwet,includinghisleathersneakers,whichmadeadistinctsquelchingsoundashestompedintoview.Irishadtwigsstickingoutofherhair,andAstrid’sexpressionwasathunderstorm.
No,ahurricane.
“Uh-oh,”Clairesaid,wincing.Shestoodupandstartedtowardherfriends,butstoppedwhenSpencerflunghispackdownwithaloudlyyelled“thankfuckthat’sover”andthendisappearedintohistent.
“Whathappened?”ClaireaskedasAstridtookadeepbreathandrubbedhereyes.
“Nothing,”shesaid.“Wejustgotalittlelost.”
“Shit,”Joshsaid,standingupfromwherehewassquattingbythefire.“Areyouokay?”
“Obviously,”Astridsaid,hervoicedrippingwithdisdain.
Joshliftedhishandsasthoughsurrenderingandwentbacktocooking,mutteringsomethingunderhisbreathDelilahcouldn’tdecipher.
“Wedidn’tgetlost,”Irissaid.“Spencer,ohgreatwonderoftheoutback,gotuslost.”
“Iris,”Astridsaid,sighing.“Justdropit.”
“It’snotmyfaultyourfiancécan’tsticktoatrail,”Irissaid.“Thepathisclearlymarked,butohno,hejusthadtobeDanielBooneoutthere.”
“Hewantedtoexplore.”
“That’showpeopledieinthewoods,Astrid,whichIclearlytoldhim.”
“Well,wedidn’tdie.”
“No,wejustgotamillionbugbites,sawafuckingblackbear,andranoutofwateranhourago.Realgoodtimeexploring.”
“Whoa,whoa,yousawabear?”Claireasked.
“Itwasfaraway,”Astridsaid,rollinghereyes.“Anditdidn’tevenhearus.”
DelilahgrabbedherwaterbottleandwalkeditovertoIris,whosnatcheditoutofherhandsandgulpeditnoisily.ClaireofferedherstoAstrid,whotookitwithhereyesfocusedontheground
“TheonlygoodpartwaswhenSpencerDearesttookalittletumbleafterhedecidedhecouldneverbearealmanunlesshefordedthegreatriversoftheearth.”
“Oh,forChrist’ssake,Iris,”Astridsaid.“Hewastryingtofilluphiswaterbottle.”
“Goodwaytogetcholera,that,”Irissaid.
AstridshovedthebottlebackintoClaire’shandsandstompedofftowardhertentwithoutanotherword.
“Jesus,”Delilahsaid,fightingasmile.NothingwasmoreentertainingthananAstridParkeroffherpoisedgame.ButwhensheturnedbackaroundtoseeIrisglaringatClaireandClairewringingherhands,herjoyevaporated.
“You,”Irissaid,teethgritted.“Left.Me.”
“I’msorry,”Clairesaid.“Ithought—”
“Youleftmealonewiththem,andyouknowIcan’tkeepmymouthshutaroundthatshitloafer.”
“Whatdidyousaytohim?”Claireasked.
“Whichtime?Whenhewouldn’tshutupabouthispreciousItalianleathershoesthatheworeintothefuckingwoodsorwhenhekepttellingAstridthattherewasnoshameinusingawalkingsticksinceshewasprettyoutofshape?Or,no,wait,howaboutthetimehestartedgrillingmeaboutwhyGrantandIaren’tmarriedanddon’thaveanykids,eventhoughAstridaskedhimtodropit,andthenhestartedwaxingpoeticabouthowmyeggsweredryingup?”
“Holyshit,hesaidthat?”Claireasked.
“Hesaidthat.I’mjustgladGranthadtoworktodayandwasn’taroundtohearit.”Iris’sshouldersslumped,allherbreathleavingherlungsassherubbedherforehead.
Delilahfeltasthoughshewasmissingsomethinghere,somethingimportantandbest-friend-shaped,butshedidn’tknowhowtoask.
“Honey,I’msosorry,”Clairesaid,steppingclosetoIrisandrubbingherarms.“JoshandIfoughtandIjust—”
“Igetit,”Irissaid,hervoicesoftnow.“Butourplan,Ifear,hasgonetoshit.”
“Idon’tknow,”Delilahsaid.“Astriddidn’tlookhappy.”
“Yeah,”Irissaid.“Withme.”
Delilahtiltedherhead.“Maybealittle.ButitsoundslikeSpencerwasarealjackass.Maybeshe’spartlyfrustratedwithhimtoo.”
IrisloopedherarmthroughClaire’sandrestedherheadonherfriend’sshoulder,herangerclearlyforgotten.“Maybe.Ididfindoutthatshedidn’taskhimtocomeonthetrip.”
“Shedidn’t?”Claireasked.
“Nope.Whenwegotlost,theystartedarguingbecauseAstridwantedtoturnbackandhethoughtweshouldkeepgoing.Hesnappedatherthatthetripwasheridea,andshesnappedbackthatshehadn’taskedhimtocomeinthefirstplace.Thathejusthadtotagalongbecausehedidn’tthinkshecouldbravethewoodsbyherself.”
“Ohmygod,”Clairesaid.“Heactuallysaidthattoher?”
“Well,Astridisn’texactlyawildernessgirl,”Delilahsaid.
Irisglareather.“Notthepoint.Thepointishethinksshe’stotallyincompetent,andsheknowsit.”
“PoorAstrid,”Clairesaid.“Whatdowedo?”
“Wejustneedtotalktoher,Claire,”Irissaid.“Enoughisenough.Youandme.Tonight.”
Clairenodded,grabbingontoIris’shand.NeitherwomanlookedatDelilahortriedtoincludeherintheirBFFplan.AndthatwasjustfinewithDelilah.Totallyandabsolutelyfine.
Sheturnedawayandleftthemalonetoplanoutwhatthey’dsaytoAstrid,andshesatbackdownnexttoRubytoseewhatbeautythegirlhadcreated.
EVERYONEHADCALMEDdownbythetimetheyallsataroundthefiretoeat.DelilahsatwithRuby,whohadtakenafewmorepictureswithDelilah’sphoneandwantedtoshowherwhatshedidwiththem.Delilahwasmorethanhappytodisappearintotheworldofcolorandanglesandtoneforalittlewhile.TheselastfewdayshadbeenalotwithClaire,andhonestly,shecoulduseabreakfromallthethinkingandfeeling.JoshsatonRuby’sotherside,listeningtohisdaughtertellDelilahallabouthervisionforanimageoftheevergreensagainstthesky.Delilahkeptshootingglancesathim,watchinghimforsignsofboredomordisdain—orforsignsthathecouldn’tkeephiseyesoffhisex—buthedidn’trisetotheoccasion.Insteadheoohedandaahedoverhisdaughter’sphotographs,askingherquestionshereandthere.Mostly,though,heshutupandletRubytalk,letherhavehermoment.Delilahwouldsayshewasimpressed,butshedidn’tfeellikebeingsocharitabletowardhimquiteyet.
ClairewasbusywithIris.Theysatclosetogetheronalog,talkingandlaughing,butconstantlylookingoveratAstrid,whowaspressedagainstSpencer’ssideatthepicnictablewhileherambledonandonaboutallthebugbiteshe’dincurredonthehike.
Astridbarelyresponded,hereyesglazedoverwhilesheate.
They’dallbeeneatingforabouttenminuteswhenDelilahnoticedasuddenquiet.Spencerhadfinallyshuthismouth,andafrownpuckeredhisgoldenbrows.Shewatchedhimshiftonthebenchasthoughtryingtogetcomfortable…thenshiftagain.
Sheclearedherthroat,tryingtogetClaire’sattention,butherfacewasturnedawayassheandIristalkedinlowvoices.
Sheclearedherthroatagain,thencoughed.
“Doyouneedsomewater,Delilah?”Astridasked,hertonealreadyannoyed.
“Yes,thankyousomuch,”Delilahsaid,thensippedfromherwaterbottle.Astridrolledhereyesandwentbacktostaringatherfood,whileSpencerwasmostdecidedlystartingtosweatnexttoher.Hecouldn’tsitstill,andDelilahwatchedashetriedtoadjusthiscrotchassurreptitiouslyaspossible.
Shecoughedagain.“Phew,thischiliisspicy,”shesaidloudly.
This,finally,gotClaire’sattention.SheglancedatDelilah,whowidenedhereyesmeaningfullyandtickedherheadtowardSpencer.
“Really?”Joshsaid,frowningathisbowl.“Ibarelyaddedanycayennetoit.Turnsout,Ididn’tbringasmuchasIthoughtIdid.”
Delilahchokedonalaugh,somethinggiddyandgirlishandjustplainfunrisingupinherchest.Clairecoveredhermouthwithherhand,andIriswatchedSpencerwithamaniacalsortofgleesparklinginhereyes.ClairehadclearlytoldIrishowsheandDelilahhadborrowedJosh’scayennepepperandsprinkledagenerousamountinallfourpairsofSpencer’sblackRalphLaurenboxerbriefs,andnowthethreewomenwatchedasSpencersquirmedandsweated,wipinghisbrowwiththebackofhishand.
“Areyouallright?”Astridasked,finallynoticingherfiancé’sdiscomfort
Henodded,buthisfacewasquicklyturningred,perspirationdrippingdownhistemples.
“You’renot,”Astridsaid,alarmed.“Whatisgoingon?”
“Just…ah,fuck!”Thistimehedidn’tevenbothertryingtohidethefactthathewaspawingathiscrotch.Hescrambledoffthebench,hisbodyjoltingthiswayandthattotryandgetsomerelief.
“Whatthehell?”Joshsaid.
“Isheokay?”Rubyasked.
“Oh,he’stotallyfine,”Delilahsaid,wavingherhand,butthenSpenceryankedoffhiskhakishorts,revealinghisboxerbriefsandgrabbingathimselfindesperation.
“Whoa,dude,whoa!”Joshyelled,clappinghishandsoverRuby’seyes.
“Spencer!”Astridleapedupfromthepicnictableandpushedatherfiancé’schest,shovinghimtowardtheirtentbeforehecouldexposehimselffurther.
“Water!Ineedwater!”hescreeched.Astridgrabbedherwaterbottlefromthetableandthencontinuedtohaulhimtowardtheirtent.Oncetheyweresafelytuckedinside,hismoansandgroansandwhatthefucksechoingagainstthetrees,therestofthepartysatinstunnedsilenceforabouttensecondsbeforeIrisbrokeintoafitoflaughtersovehement,shefelloffthebackofthelogshewassittingon.
“Oh.My.God,”shesaid,stillcacklingwhilelyingontheground,herarmssplayedandherchilibowlsafelytuckedbetweenherfeet.
“Whatjusthappened?”Joshsaid.
DelilahlockedeyeswithClaire,herownlaughbubblingontohertongue.
“Well,Josh,”shesaid,“let’sjustsayweoweyousomecayennepepper.”
DELILAHCOULDN’TSLEEP.
Itwastoodamnquiet,toohotinthistent,andhermindwastoodamnbusy.Clairewasnexttoher,completelyconkedoutandsnoringsoftly,Irisonherotherside.Earlier,afteritbecameclearthatAstridandSpencerwerenotgoingtoemergefromtheirtentfortherestofthenight—andIrisstoppedlaughinglikeavillaininaDisneymovie—they’dallsettleddownaroundthefireasthesunslippedbehindtheevergreens.TheyspentthenextcoupleofhoursdrinkingthebeerJoshhadbroughtinoneofthehugecoolersandlisteningasJoshspuncampyghoststoriesforRuby,whodidn’tseemtheleastbitfreakedoutaboutagirlwhofoundaspiderbiteonhercheekafteracampingtripandthenwatchedinhermirrorathomeastheboilburstandamillionbabyspidersspilledout.
“Josh,”Clairehadsaidatthestory’sconclusion,rubbinghercheekabsently.
“What?”Hesmiled,thennudgedRuby,whocouldn’tstoplaughingandbabblingaboutwhatanamazingphotographthatwould’vemade.
“Wouldn’tit,Delilah?”sheasked.
“Ittotallywould,”shesaid,winkingatthegirl.
Claireshookherhead,buthergazekeptdriftingtowardAstrid’stent,concerncreasingherbrow.Iristoldheroverandovernottoworry,thatthey’dtalktoAstridtomorrowwhentheyallgotbacktoBrightFalls.Shenodded,butDelilahcouldalmostfeelherstressonherownshoulders,whichwasapreposterousidea.
Delilahdidn’tcareifAstridwaspissedaboutthepepper.Andshecertainlydidn’tcareifSpencerwassportingaratherlargerashonhiscrotch.Shedidn’tcarethatIrishadsatnexttohernearthefireandleanedhercheekonDelilah’sshoulder,stillhiccuppingfromlaughingsohard,andjust…stayedlikethat.Delilahkeptexpectinghertosaysomethingaboutthepepper,butshedidn’t.IrisKellysimplysatthereforagoodtenminutes,snugglingwiththeGhoulofWisteriaHousewhileshesippedherbeer.
Delilahproceededtochugherowndrink,hopingthealcoholwouldcalmherdownandgiveherthecouragetoshrugIris’sfaceaway,butitdidn’t.Ifanything,itmadehermoremaudlin,andthewordfriendskeptlightingupinherbrainlikeJunefireflies.
OncetheyallsettledintotheirtentsattheungodlyhourofninethirtyandIriswenttopeeinthewoods,Clairehadcurledtowardherinhersleepingbag,stolenakiss,andwhisperedinherearaboutsneakingofftothesoakingtubsonceIriswasasleep.
“She’simpossibletowakeuponceshe’sout,”Clairehadsaid.
Delilahhadagreed,eagerfor…something.Shefeltunsettledandanxious,somaybeanhourwithClaire’sskinunderherhandsandmouthwoulddothetrick.ButClaire,exhaustedaftergettingnexttonosleepthenightbefore,wascompletelyunconsciouswithinthirtyminutesofannouncinghermidnighthookupplan.
SonowhereDelilahwas,wideawakedespiteherownlackofsleep,staringatthetent’sroofandnearlysuffocatingwiththeheatofthreebodiesunderaJunesky.ClairemumbledsomethingandthenfloppedanarmoverDelilah’sstomach,pushingclosertoheruntilhermouthwaspressedrightupagainstDelilah’sneck.Shewasstillasleep,herlimbsheavy,butDelilahcouldn’tstoptheslowspreadofcomfortthatwounditswaythroughherveinsasshedriftedherfingersoverClaire’ssoftarm.
Finally,shesatup,herheartpumpingtoofasttosleepnow.ShewiggledoutfromunderClaire,shuckinghersleepingbagoffherbarelegs,andunzippedthetent.Coolnightairflowedin,andshesatthereonherkneesintheentranceforasecond,waitingforherhearttogobacktonormal.
Abouttwentyfeetaway,remnantsfromthefirestillglowed.Delilahcrawledfromthetent,headingtowardJosh’scoolersforanotherbeer,butfoundthemlockedtightwithacomplicatedmechanismshecouldn’thalfseeinthedarkness.
“Whatthefuck?”shesaidquietly,squattingdowntosquintatthelock.
“It’ssothebearsdon’tgetintoit.”
“JesusChrist!”Delilahtumbledbackwardontoherass,heartratedefinitelypumpingatfullspeednow.
“Nope,justme,”Astridsaidlanguidly,tippingherownbeercanatDelilahfromwhereshesatonalogbythefire.“Thoughthatwasworthittoseeyoufallonyourbuttandscreechlikealittlekid.”
“Ididnotscreechlikealittlekid,”Delilahsaid,standingupandbrushingthedirtoffhersleepshorts.
“Youdid.It’sokay.”Astridblinkedather,ablanketaroundhershoulders,hairslightlylesscoiffedthanitusuallywas,andadefiniteintoxicatedgleamtohereyes.Ofcourseitcouldjustbethefirelight,buthervoicewasalsoabitfuzzy.DelilahhadneverseenAstridParkerdrunk.Notonce,evenduringtheirteenageyearswhenshewouldwatchfromherwindowatoneinthemorningasherstepsister,Iris,andClairesneakedoutonsleepovernights,meetingboysatBryonyParkahalfmiledowntheroadfromWisteriaHouse.Astridalwayscamebackstone-coldsober.SodidClaireforthatmatter.Iris,notsomuch.
“Justliftthebottomlatchandthentwistittotheleft,”Astridsaid,motioningtowardthecooler.
Delilahwatchedherforasecondbeforesquattingbackdownandfollowingherstepsister’sdirections.Sureenough,thecoolerpoppedopen,revealingafewbeercansfloatinginaseaofwateryice.Shegrabbedoneandlockedthecooleragainbeforewalkingtowardthefire.ShesettledonalogacrossfromAstrid,farenoughawaytoindicateshewasnotheretotalk.Therewasjustnowhereelsetogo,notinthedarkofnightwithblackbearsandgodknewwhatelseroamingtheforest.
“Spencerokay?”sheasked,crackingopenthebeer.Thequestionpoppedout,untriedandimpulsive.Shewasn’tsurewhatAstridsuspectedaboutSpencer’slittle,er,problemfromearlier.Thepepperwasodorlessandwashardtoseeagainsttheblackcottonofhisboxers,especiallyinthefadingsunlight.Itwouldprobablylooklikealittlebitofdirtifonepeeredclosely.Eitherway,Delilahexpectedatleastsomebacklash,narrowedeyesandsomesnarkyretort,becausethat’showthetwoofthemhadalwaysinteracted,evenifDelilahhadsimplyaskedabouttheweather.ButAstriddidn’tdoanyofthat.Shejustsighed,tookanotherswallowofbeer,andshrugged.
Delilahwatchedher,brainautomaticallycalculatingwhattosaynexttogetunderAstrid’sskin,topissheroff,annoyher,passive-aggressivelyguiltheroveronethingoranother,allherusualmechanismsforinteractingwithherstepsister.
Shecameupwithnothing.Astridlookedsmall,losteven,shouldersroundedandpurplehalf-moonssnuggledunderhereyes.Nothingalittleconcealerwouldn’tfix,butstill.Delilahcouldn’trememberatimeshe’dseenAstridlooksodisheveled.
Herfingersitchedforhercameraorherphone,thevisionofAstridlookinglikeacharacterfromahorrormovie—atleastbyAstrid’sownstandards—almosttooheadytoresist.Shedidn’tmovethough.Afterallthesedamnedemotionsfromthelastfewdays,shefoundshedidn’thavetheclarityofmindforwicked-stepsistergamestonight.
Soshedidn’tplaythem.Shedrankherbeerandletthecoolsummerbreezeslideoverherskin.ShestaredintothefireandtriedtopretendAstridwasn’teventhere.Thisprovedimpossible,however,asintheabsenceofanybitchybanter,Delilah’smindfilledwithallthethingsthatledbacktoAstridinonewayoranother—Claire,Iris,Ruby,theweddingandthemoneyshe’dbepaidforit,eventheshowattheWhitney,whichjustremindedherhowdesperateshewastobesomething,someoneinthisworld.Someonewhomatteredandwhopeopleremembered,whopeoplewonderedaboutandsoughtout,eveniftheywerejuststrangerschasingtheemotionsherphotographsevoked.
Usually,thislineofthinkingledtoasteelyresolve—producemind-blowingpiecesfortheWhitney,workharder,thinkmorecreatively,forgemorecontactswithartistsandgalleryowners,bemore,domore,don’tstopuntilthatpiecesellsorhervisionforanotherseriescomestofruition.Now,though,Ruby’swide-eyedwonderfilledherthoughts.Thegirl’sawe,excitementovercreating.Claireslidrightintheretoo,thewayshefeltinDelilah’sarms,thesoundsshemadewhenDelilahtouchedher,thewayshedriftedtowardDelilaheveninhersleep.
Whichhadtohavebeenaccidental.Clairewasasnuggler—Delilahknewthatfromtheirfirstnighttogether—andClairehadsimplybeenfacingDelilah’sdirection.Shewould’veburrowedagainstIrishadshebeenturnedtheotherway
Wouldn’tshe?
Fuck.Delilahrubbedherforeheadandgulpedherbeer.Freshair,itseemed,wasdoingverylittletogetridofthesegoddamnfeelings
“What’swrong?”Astridasked.
Delilah’sheadsnappedup.“What?Nothing.”
Nowcamethequintessentialnarrowingofeyes.“Bullshit.”
“You’rearealconnoisseurofswearwordslately.”
“Hardtoholdtheminaroundyou.”
Delilahsmiledatheracrossthefire.“Me?Areyousureaboutthat?”
“Whywouldn’tIbe?”
“Well,you’reouthereinthecolddrinkingabeer,forgod’ssake.Whatdidyoucallitonce?Aloafofbreadinacan?”
“That’sjustafact.Haveyouseenthecarbcountonthesethings?”
“Meanwhile,”Delilahwenton,“yourPrinceCharmingissleepingunderthestarscuddledupinhisfeatherduvet.”
“Hedidn’tbringafeatherduvet.”
“Okay,fine,asilkduvet.Pointis,maybesomethingelseispullingoutallyourshitsandfucks.”
ShewaitedforAstrid’sretort,somethingsupremelybitchyandmostlikelydemeaning,butshemetDelilah’sproclamationwithnothingbutsilence.Herstepsisterswirledherbeerinthecan,eyesdowncast.Itwastheperfectsituation,really,tokeepannoyingher,pokingatherlikeasleepingbear.Maybeitwastheliquidbread,butinstead,DelilahfoundherselfsuddenlywonderingwhatClairewouldsayordointhissituation.Itwasastrangethought.Evenstranger,sheactuallyknewwhatClairewouldsayanddo.She’dbesweet.She’dbecomforting.She’dputAstrid’shappinessbeforeherown.She’dcare
AndthathadneverbeenhowDelilahandAstridoperated.
“Doyourememberwhenmymotherhadthesextalkwithus?”Astridasked.
“Ohgod.”Thatwasdefinitelynotwhatshewasexpecting.“Whywouldyoubringupsuchahorriblememory?”
AtinysmileghostedacrossAstrid’smouth.“Wewere,what?Twelve?”
“AndalreadyknewaboutsexfromBrightFalls’sineptsexeducationcurriculum.Thankgodforthecheapromancenovelsourbabysitteralwaysseemedtoleavestuckinthecouchcushions,isallI’msaying.”
Astridlaughed.“Ohmygod.Ijustrememberthatonewherethecourtesanorwhoeverlikedtotieherlovertothequeen’sthrone.”
“AndthenmakehimcallherYourMajesty?Ifthatdidn’tteachusallweneededtoknow,Idon’tknowwhatwould.”
“Mom’sversionwasalittledifferent.”
Delilahsatupstraight,holdingherbeercanlikeateacupandstickingoutherpinkie.“Now,dears,”shesaidwithanaffectedBritishaccentthatsoundednothinglikeIsabelParker-Green,“besureyoualwaysusethelittlegirl’sroomafterbeingintimate,andforgoodness’sake,don’tlethimtalkyouintogettingontop.”
Astridlaughedloudly,thenclappedahandoverhermouth.“Shedidnotsaythatlastpart.”
“Shewasthinkingit.Trustme.”
Astrid’ssmilefaded.“Yeah,sheprobablywas.”Thenhervoicetookonaghostlyquality,eyesglazingover.“?‘It’snotalwayspleasant,butitmakesyourhusbandhappy,soIcountittimewellspent.’?”
“What?”
“That’swhatshesaid.”HergazemetDelilah’s.“Youdon’trememberthatpart?”
“Notverbatim,”Delilahsaid.“Plus,bytwelveyearsold,Ialreadyhadagoodfeelingthatthewordhusbandwouldneverapplytome,soIprobablyjustzonedoutwhenevershewentdownthatroad.”
Astridnodded.“Shesaidit.AndI’veneverforgottenit.”
“Wait,wait,wait,”Delilahsaid,standingupandmovingtoalognexttoherstepsister.“Shereallysaidthat?Inthosewords?”
Anothernod.
“Youknowhowdisturbingthisisconsideringshewasmarriedtomyfather,right?”
AstridwincedbutsmiledatDelilah,somethinglikecamaraderiebloomingbetweenthem.Delilahfeltsuddenlyyoungandhopeful,whichwasjustsilly.Shewasn’tthatyounganymore,andshe’dneverassociatedAstridwithhopebyanystretchoftheimagination.
“Sorry,”Astridsaid.“Yeah,that’sweird,but…Ican’tstopthinkingaboutitforsomereason.”
“SoSpencer’sterribleinbed.Isthatwhatthisisabout?”
Astridgroaned.“No,he’s—”
“Becauseyouknowthat’sbullshitright?Thatawomanhastohavesexwithherman—oranypartner—tokeepthemhappy?”
“Iknow.It’snotabouttheactualsex;it’sthespiritbehindwhatshesaid.LikeIhaveto…”Shetrailedoff,staringoutintothespaceinfrontofher.Firelightdancedinherwideeyes,andDelilahsworeshesawatinyswelloftears,butAstridblinkeditawaybeforeshecouldbesure.
“Likeyouhavetowhat?”Delilahaskedsoftly.
Astridlookeddown,trailedherfingeralongthebeercan’srim.“Sayyes.Allthetime,nomatterwhat.Becalmandpoisedandcontrolledandjustsayyes.”
Theysatinsilenceforafewseconds,Astrid’sconfessionhoveringbetweenthem.Delilahthoughtbacktotheirchildhood,theirteenyears,alltheattentionIsabellavisheduponAstridwithhergradesandtrack,hermonthlytripstothesalon,balanceddietsandFrenchlessons,debateteaminhighschoolandearlyadmissionandabachelor’sdegreeinbusiness.AllthethingsIsabelhadneverbotheredtopushforDelilah.Well,thatwasn’tstrictlytrue.Isabelhadhoundedheraboutherhomework,madesuresheateadecentdinnereverynight,butregardingeverythingelse,rightdowntoDelilah’swildhairanddisdainforanythingresemblingasport,Isabelletherbe.SheacceptedDelilah’srefusalssoeasily,liketheywereareliefandshecouldfocusherattentionwhereitreallymattered,onherperfectAstrid,whoneverputupafussaboutslippingintoasatingownandparadingaroundafundraiserlikeaprincess.
Astridwasright.Sheneversaidno.ButDelilahhadalwaysassumedshe’dneverwantedto.
“Astrid—”Delilahstarted,butherstepsistercutheroffwhenshestoodupabruptly.
“Youdon’tcareaboutanyofthis,”Astridsaid,wavingherhandandofferingDelilahaplastickysmile.ShewrappedtheblanketmoretightlyaroundhershouldersandsweptofftowardhertentbeforeDelilahcouldsayanythingelseChapterTwenty-Five
CLAIREDIDN’TTALKtoAstridorDelilahforthenexttwodays.
Saturdaymorningatthecampsitehadbeenquiet,allofthemexceptJoshandRubyeitherhungoverorsleep-deprivedor,inDelilah’scase,stillzonkedoutinthetentbythetimetheywereallreadytopackup.AstridandSpencerleftbeforeJoshhadevenfinishedmakingbreakfastoverthefire,givingClaireandIriszerochancestotalktoher,andthenDelilahslepttheentiredrivebacktotown.
NowitwasMondayeveningandClairefeltlikeshewascomingoutofherskin.SheandIrishadtextedalotovertheweekend,butitwasmostlyabouthowneitherofthemcouldgetintouchwithAstrid.Clairewould’vedrivenovertoAstrid’shouseandconfrontedherthere,butbothsheandIrishadbeenswampedwithworkattheirrespectiveshops,makingupforthetimeoffthey’dtakenforthespaandtheimpromptucampingtrip.Plus,shedidn’twanttoambushherbestfriend.Itwastimetobehonestabouttheirworries,yes,butsheandIrisagreedthattheystillhadtoapproachthewholesituationgingerly,particularlynowthatAstridwasclearlyavoidingthemandwouldn’tmakeiteasy.
Allofthatstressmighthavebeenmanageable—afterall,she’dbeenworriedaboutAstrideversinceherbestfriendgotengaged—butnowtherewasDelilah,whohaddefinitelynottextedorcalledorcomebythestoresincetheygotbackfromBagbySprings.Granted,Clairehadn’tcalledortextedhereither.Callingortextinghadadecidedlydatingtonetoit,andtheydefinitelyweren’tdating.Andsincetheyweren’tdating,reachingoutinanyformseemedmorelikeabootycall,whichdidn’tfeelrightatall.
Nothingfeltright.
Sheknewthiswaswhatcasuallookedlike,andshetoldherselfoverandoveragainthatshewasfinewithit.ShetoldherselfshewasfinewithitwhenRubyaskedifDelilahcouldcomeoverforpizzaonSaturdaynightandshehadtosayno.ShetoldherselfshewasfinewithitwhensherolledoverinherbedonSundayandcouldstillsmellDelilahonherpillow.ShetoldherselfshewasfinewithitasshescrolledthroughDelilah’sInstagramonMondayeveningwhileshelayonhercouchandtheraincamedowninsheetsoutside,ignoringhowtheacheinherchestbloomedbiggerandbrighterwitheachbeautifulimage.
ShewasfeelingparticularlybroodyasshelookedataphotographofagorgeousBlackwomaninaformaltulle-skirteddressstandingbarefootinthewateryrushofaNewYorkCityfirehydrant,agraffitiedstonewallbehindher.Thehydrant’sredpoppedagainstthewoman’sneutralclothes,thegrayandmutedbluesandgreensofthewall,thewaterdropletsthatlookedlikebitsofcrystalsuspendedinmidair.
Itwasalovelyphotograph.Wallworthy.Galleryworthy,even.
She’djusttappedonanewbreathtakingimage,reallysettlingintoherself-pity,whenthedoorbellrang.Sheshovedoffhercocoonofblankets,cursingJoshforbeingearlyforonceinhislife.HewastakingRubyandTesstoamovietonight,followedbyasleepoverathisapartment,andwasn’tduetoarriveforanotherfifteenminutes.Shepulledupthestraponhertanktopthatkeptslippingdownherarm,butdidn’tevenbothertofixherhair,whichshe’dputupintoamessybunontopofherheadonceshegothomefromthebookstorebuthadnowslowlygivenwaytogravity.
“Ruby,yourdad’shere!”shecalleddownthehallasshereachedthedoor.
“Ohmygod,he’searly!”
“Youhearthat?”shesaidasshewrenchedthedooropen.“You’veofficiallyshockedyour—”
Sheblinkedintotherainatthepersonstandingonherporchunderapinkumbrellawithrufflesaroundtheedges.ApersonwhowasmostlydefinitelynotJosh.
“I’veshockedmywhat?”Delilahsaid
“Um.Noone.IthoughtyouwereJosh.”
“Sorrytodisappoint.”
“No!”ClaireyelleditloudenoughthatDelilahstartledalittle.Sheforcedherselftocalmdown,playitcool.“Sorry.No,I’mnotdisappointed.Justsurprised.”
Delilahnodded,andthentheystaredateachotherforafewseconds,duringwhichClairebecameacutelyawarethatshewasinapairofdirtysweatpants,atanktopwithanoldmustardstainintheareaofherleftboob,andherhairlookedlikeawasp’snest.Shehadonsomemakeup,butwithaneveningofself-indulgentbroodinganddrinkingboxedwineaheadofher,shehadn’tbotheredtofreshenupaftergettinghomefromthebookstore.
“So,canIcomein?”Delilahasked.“ItooksomephotostodaythatI’dlovetoshowRuby.”
Claire’sstomachfluttered,butshebackedup.“Yeah,sorry,comein.ThoughRuby’sabouttoheadoutwith—”
“Well,hello,ladies.”Joshjoggedupthefrontwalkintightjeans,aplaingrayT-shirtdappledwithrainwaterclingingtohischestandarms.“Lovelyevening,isn’tit?”
“Hey,”Clairesaid.“Ruby’salmostready.”
“Cool.Hey,Delilah.”
“Hey.”
“Niceumbrella.”
Delilahglancedup,asthoughsheforgotwhatthethinglookedlike.“It’stheonlyonetheKaleidoscopeInnhadtoloanme.”
“HowveryStrawberryShortcakeofthem,”Joshsaid.“Whatareyoutwouptotonight?”
“Nothing,”Clairesaid.
“Nothingatall,”Delilahsaid.
Joshfrowned,hiseyesflittingbetweenthetwoofthem.Clairecouldalmosthearhismindwhirring,andshejustwantedhimoutofhere.Luckily,Rubycameboundingdownthehallattheexactrightmoment,kissingClaireonthecheekandsayinghellotoDelilahbeforelaunchingherselfintoJosh’sarms.ThentheyweregoneinaflurryofRuby’sgreenraincoatandduffelbagandJosh’spromisetohaveherbacktomorrowmorningbyten.
ClairewatchedasherdaughtergotintothebackseatofJosh’struckandbuckledup.Sheleftthedooropenevenafterthey’dpulledawayanddrivenoutofsight.
“Sorry,”shesaid.“Ruby’sstayingwithherdadtonight.”
“SoIgathered,”Delilahsaid.
“Doyou…Imean…Wouldyou…”
Shecouldn’tgetthewordsoutthough.ShewantedDelilahtostay,butshedidn’twanttheotherwomantothinkClairejustwantedhertostayforsex.Thenagain,they’dalreadyestablishedthattheywerejustscrewing,sosurely,Clairecouldjustaskhertostaywithoutfear.Delilahwastheonewho’dshownuponherdoorstep,forgod’ssake
Still,Clairecouldn’thelpbutwantsomethingmorerightnow.Dinner.Amovie.Maybejustsplittingabottleofwineoutonhercoveredporch,listeningtotherainandtalking.
Butthatwasridiculous.
Thatwas…impossible.
“DoIwanttowhat?”Delilahasked,takingastepcloser.
Claireshookherhead.“Nevermind.Ijust—”
ButthenDelilahclosedherumbrellaandsetitoutsideonthestoopandsteppedinside.ShepushedClaire’sfrontdoorclosedbeforecrowdingintoherspace,handsonClaire’shipsandhermouthbumpingupagainstClaire’sbottomlipasshespoke.
“Imissedyou,”shesaid.
Clairecouldn’tbreathe.Didn’tdare.“Youdid?”
Delilahnoddedandthenshekissedher—once,twice,softandsweetthatinnowayindicatedshewasexpectingtofallintobedimmediately.Infact,thiskiss,well,itfeltlikeDelilahexpected…somethingmoreChapterTwenty-Six
DELILAHKISSEDCLAIRE,thenburiedherfaceintheotherwoman’sneckwhilewrappingherarmsaroundherwaist.Sheinhaledhermeadowyscent,theslightesttangofsweatjustunderneath,andfeltherownheartslowdownforthefirsttimeintwodays.
She’dtried.
She’dtriedreallyhardtostayawayfromClaireeversinceIrisdroppedheroffattheKaleidoscopeInnonSaturdayafternoon.Notexts.Nocalls.Anddefinitelynogoddamnimpromptustopsbyherhouse.Sheknewsheneededabreakfromallthefeelingsthiswomanstirredupinsideher.She’dspentthetimetakingphotographsaroundtown,goingthroughheronlineportfoliofortheWhitneyshow,hangingoutatStella’slastnightuntilclosetomidnight,butBrightFallswasn’ttheeasiesttownforhertobealonein.Itwasquietandstill,andwhiletherewasacertaincharmintheintrospectionitinspired,Delilahhadneverbeenverygoodatsoul-searching.
Infact,she’dstaunchlyavoideditforthepasttwelveyears.
Soitwasnosurprisethatbythismorning,shewasgoingoutofhermind.Shecouldn’tstopthinkingaboutAstridandtheirconversationbythefire.Herentirechildhoodkeptrollingoutfromwhereshe’dkeptithiddenforsolong,thewaysshe’dneatlywrappedupAstrid’scoldnessanddisinterestunraveling.
Butmaybeevenworsethanallthisincessantthinkingwasthiswant.ThispulltowardClairewasgettingabsurd.Anditwasn’tonlyaboutsleepingwithheragain.Delilahsimplywantedtoseeher,talktoher.Kisshergorgeousmouth,sure,butevenjuststandingrighthereinherfoyerfeltlikedivingintoacoollakeafterawalkthroughthedesert.
“Areyouokay?”Claireasked,settlingherarmsaroundDelilah’sshoulders,handsdriftingintoherhair.
Delilahnodded,facestillpressedtoherneck.Butthetruthwas,shewasn’tsure.Shedidn’tfeelokay.Shefeltsmallanddesperate,alittlekidinneedofahug.
“Tellmewhat’swrong,”Clairesaid.
Delilahfinallyliftedherhead.“IsaidIwasfine.”
Clairetiltedherhead.“AndIcallbullshit.”
“Youdo?”
“Yeah,Ido.”
Delilahfeltasmallsmileworkitswayontohermouth.ThatClaireSutherlandcouldtellwhenshewasbullshittingher—andwhat’smore,seemedtoactuallycare—suddenlyfeltlikeasmallmiracle.
“Let’sgodosomething,”Delilahsaid,pullingClairecloser,handsslidingdownherbackside.Shekissedher,justonce.
“Like…goout?”
“Yeah.”Kiss.“Likegoout.”Kiss.
Clairelaughed.“Where?”
Delilahgrinned,anideaspringingintoherhead.SheknewClairewantedtokeeptheirrelationshipunderwrapsfornow.Ifsheletherself,Delilahcouldgetverymoodyaboutthewholethingagain,butshejustwantedtohavefuntonight.
Shewantedtotakethewomanshelikedoutonadate,plainandsimple.
“Aplace,”shesaid,kissingClaireonemoretime,“whereIcanholdyourhand.”
“ROLLERSKATING?”
Clairelaughed,herhandsflyingtohermouthasDelilahpulledClaire’sPriusintotheSparklesparkinglot.TherollerrinkwasinGraydon,atownabouttwenty-fiveminuteseastofBrightFalls,sotherewasverylittlechanceofanyonetheyknewseeingthem.Delilahrememberedacoupleofbirthdaypartiesherewhenshewasinelementaryschool,beforeherfatherdiedandbirthdaypartieswereathingshedidlikeanormalkid.
“Rollerskating,”shesaid,gettingoutofthecarandflippingupherruffledumbrella,thenjoggingaroundtothepassengersidetoopenClaire’sdoorforher.
Claireraisedhereyebrowsatherasshesteppedout,therainandtheneonlightsfromtherink’ssignagereflectedinherglasses.AfterDelilahhadsuggestedgoingout,she’dchangedintoapairofjeansandaslouchyoff-the-shoulderT-shirt,andbrushedouthermessyhair,whichnowflowedaroundhershouldersinsoftwaves.
“Thankyou,”shesaid.
“LettherecordstatethatI’mgallantasshit,”Delilahsaid.
Clairelaughed.“Ifeelverywooed.”
ThenDelilahslippedherfingersbetweenClaire’sandtheyraninsidewhiletheraincontinuedtopourdown,liketwoteenagersonafirstdate.That’salittlehowDelilahfeltaswell—giddyandjust…happy.Itwasastrangething,tofeelsomethingyouhadn’tfeltinalongtime.Itmadeherrealizehowmuchshe’dmissedit,howimportantthesensationwas.Foryears,she’dbeengettingby,mistakingphysicalclosenesswithsomeoneforanightasactualhappiness.ButholdingClaire’shandrightnow,sneakingglancesatherandwatchingClairelightupinresponse,thiswassomethingaltogetherdifferent.
Delilahpaidandtheygottheirskates,storingtheirshoesinlittlecubbiesalongthecarpetedfloor.Theshinywoodenrinkglimmeredunderadiscoball,coloredlightsflashed,andeightiesmusicmovedalltheskatersalongasthoughonariver.
“Ihaven’tdonethisinforever,”Clairesaid,laughingasshesteppedontotherink.
“Meeither,”Delilahsaid,stillholdingontoClaire’shand,whichturnedouttobeamistake.BecausewhenClairewobbled,sodidDelilah.Andwhenthewobblingturnedintofull-onflailing,bothwomenwentdowninaflourishofswearwordsandatangleoflimbs.
“Ow,”Clairesaid,rubbingherassastweensandteenagersflewpastthemandlaughed.
“God,it’shighschoolalloveragain,”Delilahsaid,butshewassmiling.Shemanagedtogettoherknees,thenherfeet,pullingClaireupwithher.“Okay,let’stakethisslowly.”
“Goodidea.”
Andsotheydid.DelilahheldClaire’shand,andtheypushedthemselvesalongthefloor,pickingupspeedafteronetimearoundtherink.Itwasabitlikeridingabike,musclememorykickingin,andsoontheywereflyingoverthelacqueredwood,air-conditionedwindintheirhairwhileWhitneyHoustonsangaboutfeelingtheheatwithsomebody.Skatingwassosimple,evensilly,butasClairesqueezedDelilah’sfingers,laughedwhenDelilahtriedtoskatebackwardandlandedonherbuttagain,kissedherquicklyafterhelpingherup,Delilahcouldn’tthinkofatimeshe’deverfeltlikethis.
NotwithJax.Notwithanyone.
Inthebackofhermind,Delilahknewthiswasn’tagoodthing.SheknewthiswholedealwithClairewasbasedonthefactthatitwouldend.Sheknew,andyet,shecouldn’tstopherselffrompressinghermouthtoClaire’stempleastheystoodinlineforsodaandpizza.Shecouldn’tstophersmilefromcrinklinguphereyeswhenClairetuckedanerrantcurlbehindDelilah’sear.Shecouldn’tstopherselffromimaginingawholelife,sodifferentfromtheoneshe’dalreadymadeforherselfhundredsofmilesaway.
THEYDIDN’TTALKtheentiredrivebacktoBrightFalls.Theydidn’ttalkwhentheypulledintoClaire’sdriveway,orwhenDelilahflippedupherridiculousumbrellaandputherarmaroundClaire’sshoulders,shieldingherfromtherainastheyranupthefrontwalk.
Theydidn’ttalkasClaireunlockedherdoorandletthemintothedarkhouse,bothoftheirshirtsspottedwithwater.Clairedidn’tturnonanylightsorofferDelilahadrink.ShesimplytookDelilah’shandandledhertothebedroom.There,Claireundressedher,slowlyandwiththisseriouslookonherfacethatmadeDelilah’sthroatgothick.Claire’sfingersshook,andDelilahgrabbedherhand,pressedhermouthtoClaire’spalm.Claireinhaledaraggedbreath,butstill,neitherwomanspoke.Theroomwasdark,theonlysoundtheirbreathing,cottonslidingoverskinandpuddlingontheground.
ClairepushedonDelilah’ssternum,directinghertoliebackonthebed.AsDelilahobeyed,shekepttryingtothinkofsomethingtosay,tolaughabout,butnoneofthisfeltfunny.Itdidn’tfeeldesperateorlikeadistractionorsomethingtheybothneededtorelievesomestress.Itdidn’tfeellikeaspilloverofpent-uplust.
Itfeltlikeitwasonpurpose.
ClairepressedhermouthtoDelilah’s,theirtonguestouchinginaslow,silkydance.They’dstayedlikethatforawhile,justmakingoutsoftandeasy.WhenClairebegantoglidesouth,pressingkissestoDelilah’sneck,betweenherbreasts,justbelowhernavel,Delilahwatchedher,handstrailingoveranypartofClaire’sskinshecouldreach.Needthrummedthroughherbody,notjustbetweenherthighs,buteverywhere.Hergut,themiddleofherchest.Itknockedthewindoutofher,andDelilahneverwantedthistoend.
“Wait,”shesaidwhenClairepartedherlegsandstartedtosettlebetweenthem.ShepulledonClaire’sarms,guidingClaire’sbodynorthagainuntiltheywereface-to-face.“Iwanttoseeyou.”
ClairepressedherforeheadtoDelilah’s,kissedherslowly,thenadjustedherbodysotheirlegswereentwinedlikepretzels,thighspressingagainsteachother’scenters.
Delilahgaspedatthecontact.Thewetslideoftheotherwoman’sskinagainstherswasalmosttoomuchtobear.Itwashotandintimate,wildandsafeallatonce.Delilahrolledherhips,andClairerolledback,adancethatpulledamoanfromDelilah’sthroat.ClairereleasedasortofanimalsoundasDelilahgrippedherass,guidingherupand
Theyhadallnight.
Clairearchedherback,liftinghertorsoupalittlesothatherthighpressedevenharderrightwhereDelilahneededit.ShefeltherorgasmbuildingasClaireincreasedhermovements,ranherthumboverDelilah’stightnipple.Still,neitherwomanhurried.EvenasDelilah’sphysicalneedforreleasereachedadesperatepitch,herveinsfelthoneyed.Delilahwaswrong.Shewasn’tfuckingClaire.Theyweren’tfuckingatall.Thiswassomethingelsealtogether,thoughshewasn’tsurewhat.AllsheknewwasthatasClaire’sbodyrespondedtohertouch,theotherwoman’sbreathquickening,hercenterpushingagainstDelilah’sforrelief,theirgazesneverlefteachother.
Andwhentheybothcame,Clairebitingherswollenlowerlip,alowgroanrumblinginherchest,shekepthereyesopenandonDelilahtheentiretime.
ItwasthemostgorgeousthingDelilahhadeverseen.
Shedidn’tuntangleherselffromClaire.Instead,sheunfoldedthequiltattheendofthebedandpulleditovertheirheads,cocooningtheminside.Shewasn’treadyfortheoutsideworldyet.Shewantedthistolast.Theyhadallnight,sure,butonenightdidn’tfeellikeenough.Shedidn’twantthesuntorise,moreweddingdrama,theendofhertwoweeksinBrightFallsloomingupaheadlikeamountainshewasn’tsurehowtoclimb.Shejustwantedthis.ClairecurledherarmsroundDelilah’swaistandpulledherclose,nospaceatallbetweentheirheatedskin.Theirlegstangled,Delilah’sheadtuckedunderClaire’schin,herfingerstrailingacrossClaire’sback.
“Doyoudothisalot?”Claireaskedafterawhile,twirlingoneofDelilah’snow-frizzycurlsbetweenherfingers.
Delilahliftedherheadtolookather.“Dowhat?”
Clairesmiled.“Wineanddineyourdates.”
“Youcallthiswininganddining?”
Clairelaughed.“Imean…therollerskatingandthen…Idon’tknow…this.”Clairewavedahand,indicatingtheircurled-togetherstatus,which,ifitwereanyoneotherthanher,Delilahwoulddefinitelycategorizeascuddling.
Thetruthwas,no,shedidn’tdothisalot.Shedidn’tdate.Shehookedup.Shedidn’tliepeacefullyaftersexandcuddle.Sherolledoverandfellasleepuntiltwoa.m.,whensheusuallyjoltedawaketryingtorememberwhereshewasbeforeshecollectedherclothesandwenthome.Shesureashellhadnevertakenawomanrollerskatingbefore.She’dnevereventakenapartnertodinner.NotsinceJax.
DelilahwatchedClairewatchingher.Shecouldn’tbesurewhatClairewasthinkinghere,butthisthingbetweenthemwasn’tjustcasualanymore.Delilahwassureofit.Andwhatwasmore,Delilahdidn’twantthistobeonlythat,justkissesandcoming.Shewanted…this.Rollerskatingandamazingsexandthispeacefulsortoftalkingandnottalking,cuddlingandquestionsandaplacetobelong.
Apersontobelongto.
Shehadnoideawhattosayorhowthiswouldwork.Ifitcouldwork,ifClaireevenwantedittowork.Butfornow,sheframedClaire’sfaceinherhandsandpressedasoftkisstohermouth.
“No,”shewhispered.“I’veneverdonethisbeforeinmywholelife.”
Claireseemedtodeflate,relaxingagainstherasshekissedherback,andtheydidn’ttalkagainfortherestofthenight.ChapterTwenty-Seven
TWODAYSLATER,Clairestillfeltlikeshewasdriftingthroughadream.Itwasn’talwaysapleasantdream.Sometimes,itfeltmoreakintoanightmare,lacedwithpanicandheavybreathingasshewonderedhowthehellshewasgoingtogetthroughthis—whateversheandDelilahweredoing—withoutabrokenheart.
Butthereweredecidedlydreamymomentstoo,rememberinghowDelilahhadkissedher,touchedher,howshe’dheldherhandwhiletheyflewovertheglossywoodoftheskatingrink,laughingandeyessparklingunderthediscoball.NeverinamillionyearswouldClairethinkshe’dgorollerskatingwithDelilahGreen,shareahugesliceofgreasypizzaandaCokeslushy,thenmakeloveinClaire’sbedliketheworldwasending.
Becausethat’swhatithadfeltlike.
Makinglove.
Notsexanddefinitelynotfucking.
SinceMondaynight,DelilahandClairehadspenteverypossiblemomenttogether.DelilahhadleftthenextmorningbeforeRubycamehome,butthenshecamebythebookstoreafterlunch,armedwithacamerarollofphotosforherandRubytosiftthroughandedittogether,thetwoofthemsittingonthebeanbagchairsinthekids’sectionwhileClaireworked.ThenClairemadebeefstroganoffandthethreeofthematedinnertogetheratClaire’skitchentable,anditallfeltsonormalandright,Clairehadtoexcuseherselftogothebathroominthemiddleofthemeal,splashingwateronherfaceandforcingasuddensurgeoftearsbackintohereyes.
NowitwasWednesdayafternoon,andClairehadn’tseenDelilahsincethenightbefore.They’dwatchedamoviewithRubyafterdinner,kissedalittleafterRubywenttosleep,butthatwasit.Clairewasn’tsupercomfortablewithdeliberatesleepoverswithRubyinthehouse,soDelilahhadgonebacktotheinn,andClairewenttobedaloneandshehatedit.Sheproceededtospendarestlessnight,herbrainworkingthroughamilliondifferentwaystotellDelilahthatshewantedher.
Shenevercameupwithanythingverygood.
“Ruby,weneedtogo!”Clairecalleddownthehall.ShewasdroppingherdaughteratTess’shouseforthenightsosheandIriscouldtakeAstridoutinPortlandforasmall,staidbacheloretteparty.Delilahwascomingtoo—atleastClairehopedshewas—andIrisandClairehadalreadydecidedtotalktoAstridaboutSpencertonight.
Whichwasawholeothersetofproblems
“Mom,Ican’tgetintouchwithDad,”Rubysaidasshecamedownthehallwithherbag,herbrand-newphoneinherhand.ClairehadfinallycavedaboutRubyhavingaphone,andJoshhadtakenheroutyesterdaymorningandgottenonesetupforher.ClairehadtoadmitthatknowingshecouldcontactRubyanytimesheneededto,particularlywhenherdaughterwasoutwithJosh,decreasedherstresslevelalittle.Alltheparentalcontrolssmartphonescamewiththesedaysdecreaseditalot.
“Whatdoyoumean?”Claireasked,slingingherbagoverhershoulder.
“Itextedhimlikefourtimestoday,andhehasn’tanswered.”
“Hmm.”Clairetookoutherownphoneandwaveditintheair.“Sendmeatextandmakesureit’sgoingthrough.”
Rubytappedatherscreen.Asecondlater,Claire’sphonepingedwiththemessage.
“See?”Rubysaid.
“Okay,well,”Clairesaid,“I’msurehe’sfine.Orhisphone’sdead.He’snotthebestatkeepingitcharged.”
Rubynodded,butherbrowpuckeredwithworry.Clairefeltapinchofpanic.ThiswasexactlyhowJoshskippedtownthelasttime,twoyearsago.Onedayhewashere,andthenexthewasgone.Afewdaysafterhisdisappearingact,hetextedClairehisstandardapology—I’msorry,Ineedsometime,tellRubyIloveher,I’llbeback,blahblahblah.
Now,lookingatRuby,Claireknewherdaughterwasroamingthroughthesamememories.
“It’llbefine,”Clairesaid,swipingherthumboverRuby’scheek.“I’msurehe’sjustbusy.Hehaswork,youknow.”Theliefeltwrongonhertongue,butwhatcouldshesay?Shecouldn’tstandtocrushherdaughter’shopesjustyet.SheknewJoshwouldwantthebenefitofthedoubt,knewhe’dbeentrying,andhonestly,he’dbeendoingprettyamazingthislastweek.Ifhereallyhaddisappearedagain,Clairewasn’treadytofacewhatthatmeantfortheirdaughtereither.
“OHSHIT,”IRISsaidasshepulledintothedrivewayofAstrid’ssmallbutimmaculateCraftsman.Clairesatinthepassengerseatandpressedherfaceagainstthewindow.TheyweresupposedtopickupAstridandthenswingbytheinntogetDelilahbeforeheadingdowntoPortland,butabachelorettepartyseemedlikethefurthestthingfromAstrid’smindrightnow.
Shewasstandingonherfrontporch,Spencernexttoherwithhishandsonhiships,andshewasscreaming.
Andthrowingclothesontothelawn.
Men’sclothes.
AndseveralpairsoffancyItalianleathershoes.
“Whatisgoingon?”Claireasked.
“Itdoesn’tlookgood,whateveritis,”Irissaid.
Clairegrippedherfriend’shandacrossthecenterconsole,herheartsqueezing.ShewantedtoflingthedooropenandruntoAstrid,helphersomehow,butthisseemedlikeaprettypersonalmomentbetweenherandSpencer,andClairewasn’tsurewhattodo.
Irispressedabutton,andthedriver’swindowrolleddownaboutfourinches.Astrid’svoicefilteredintothecar.
“…can’tbelieveyouthoughtthatwasokay.It’snot.Itneverwillbe.”Anothershoeshotontothelawn.
“Willyoucalmthefuckdown?”Spencersaid.“You’rehysterical.”
Astrid’sexpressionwentnuclear.“Hysterical?This”—shewavedherhandaroundherface—“isaperfectlyreasonableandlogicalreactiontowhatyoudid.”
Clairesuckedinabreath.“Whatdidhedo?”
“Whothehellknowswithhim?”Irissaid.
“Shouldweleave?”Claireasked.“Thisfeelsintrusive.Likewe’respyingonher.”
Irisshookherheadandopenedhermouth,butbeforeshecouldanswer,Spenceryelledagain,allthewhilecollectinghisclothes.
“Ididthatforyou.Forus.Youneedtogetoutofthistownandeveryoneinit.”
“That’snot—”
“Yourmother?Totalnightmare.You’relikearagdollaroundher.Andyourfriendsarefuckingmiscreants.”
Iris’sposturesnappedstraight.“Damnrightweare,youshitsock.”
“Don’tyoudaretalkaboutmyfriends,”Astridsaid.
“Ididyouafavor,buyingthathouseinSeattle,”Spencerwenton.“You’recontenttobenothinginBrightFalls,Astrid.I’mjusttryingtogetyoutoseethat.”
“Holyshit,”Irissaid.
“He…boughtahouseinSeattle?”Claireasked.Herstomachsplashedtoherfeet,Spencer’sproclamationsrollingthroughherlikeabulldozer.“Ithoughttheyweren’tleavingforanotheryear.”
“Bythelooksofit,IthinkAstridthoughtthesamething,”Irissaid.
Astriddidn’tsayanything.Shejustpickedupapin-stripedsuitjacketandlauncheditontothegrass.
“That’sArmani!”Spencershrieked,joggingdownthestepsandcollectingthegarment.
“Thatdoesn’tbelonginmyhouseanymore,”Astridsaid,pointingathim.“Andneitherdoyou.EnjoyyournewhouseinSeattle.”
“Whatareyougoingtodo,cancelourwholewedding?Ourwholelife?”Spencersaid,spreadinghisarms.“We’regettingmarriedinthreedays.Youwouldn’tdare.”
Astrid’sfacesobered,andherchinstartedtowobble.Claireopenedthecardoor,readytointervene,butAstriddidn’tgiveherachance.Shesimplyturnedonherheelandwentinside,slammingherfrontdoorbehindher.
Spencerstaredafterherforasecond,thensnatchedupthelastofhisclothesandthunderedtowardhisshinyMercedes,whichwasparkedonthecurb.HeglancedatClaireandIrisinthecar,flickedthemoffoverapileofdressshirtsliketheclassyguyhewas,thengotinhissedananddroveaway.
ThetwowomensatinsilenceforasecondbeforeIrisfinallyspoke.
“Ithink…Ithinktheyjustbrokeup?”shesaid.
Claireblewoutabreath.“Ithinktheydid.”
“That’swhatwewanted.”
Clairenodded,butshefeltterrible.Notguilty—Spencerdughisowngrave,nodoubtaboutit—butitwashardseeingafriendhurting.Plus…
“Isabel’sgoingtokillher,”shesaid.
“Yeah,”Irissaidwithasigh.“Ithinkshejustmight.”
“Noreasonforhertodiealone,then,”Clairesaid.
Irissqueezedherhandandsmiledather.“Oneforall,bitches.”
Theygotoutofthecarandstartedupthesidewalk,Claire’sheartpoundingtheentiretime.Irisrangthebellbutthenpushedthefrontdooropenandsteppedinside.Astrid’shouse,asalways,wasavisionofmoderndesignandstyle.Coolgraywalls,ecrusofasfilledwiththrowpillowsinvariousshadesofblue,distressedwoodenconsoletables,whitequartzcountertops,andstainlesssteelappliances.Thelivingarea,kitchen,anddiningroomwereonehugespace,andwindowslinedtheentirebackwall,revealingasmallpatioandaviewoftheriverinthedistance.
“Astrid?”Clairecalled.“Honey?”
Noanswer.SheglancedatIrisbeforetheybothheadedforthehallthatledtothebedrooms.
Insideherroom,Astridsatonherqueen-sizebedfacingthewindow,herbacktothedoor.Eveninglightstreamedinthroughtheglass,turningallthegraysintheroomtolavender.
“Sweetie?”Irissaid,walkinginsideslowly.“We’rehere.”
Astriddidn’tmove.Hershoulderswererounded,herpostureveryun-Astrid-like.
“Honey?”Clairesaid.ShemovedaroundIrissoshecouldsitnexttoAstrid.Thebeddipped,andherfriend’sshoulderpressedintohers.ShemovedherarmandwrappeditaroundAstrid,holdinghertight.Irissettledonherotherside.
Astridwasn’tcrying,buthereyeslookedalittleredrimmedasshestaredvacantlyoutthewindow.ClairecaughtIris’sgazeoverAstrid’sblondhead,awhatdowedo?lookpassingbetweenthem.Theydidn’tknow.Finally,Iris’sarmcamearoundAstrid’sshoulderaswell,sothatthethreeofthemwerelockedtogether,justlikethey’dalwaysbeen.
Astridtookadeepbreath.Sheopenedhermouthafewtimes,butittookseveraltriesbeforesheactuallyspoke.
“Idon’tlovehim.”
IrisandClairewidenedtheireyesateachother.
“AndIshouldlovethepersonI’mgoingtomarry,”Astridwentonwithoutlookingateitheroneofthem.“Shouldn’tI?”
“Yes,”Clairesaidsoftly.IrissmoothedahanddownAstrid’shair.
“Ishouldtrusthim,beexcitedaboutmarryinghim.”
“Alsoyes,”Irissaid.
“AndIdon’t.I’mnot.”
ClaireleanedherheadagainstAstrid’s.
“Heboughtahouse,”Astridsaid.“Anentirehousewithouttellingme.Askingme.Hejust…didit,likeIdidn’tevenexist.”
“Well,that’sashittythingtodo,”Irissaid.
“Doyou…doyourememberwhenmymothersignedmeupfortenniswhenIwasthirteen?”
ClairecaughtIris’seyeagain,boththeirmouthspressedflat.Ofcoursetheyremembered.Astridhatedtennis.Shealwayshad,eversincehergymteacherhaddoneaunitonitinfourthgradeandaballhithersquareinthenose.ButIsabeldidn’tthinktrack—whichhadbeenAstrid’spreferredsportsincemiddleschool—wasaveryladylikeactivity.Itwasn’t…poshenough.Soshe’dsignedherupfortennisattheBrightRiverClub,privatelessons,crispwhitepleatedskirts,thewholenineyards.
AndAstriddiditforayearbeforeitwasclearshewasterrible.Onlythen,whenIsabel’sreputationforhavingaclumsy-on-the-courtdaughterwasontheline,didsherelentandletAstridreturntotrackandcrosscountry.
“Yeah,”Clairesaid.“Weremember.”
Astridsighed.“SheneveraskedmeifIwantedtoplay.Nevereventhoughtaboutaskingme,ifIhadtoguess.”
Clairerubbedcirclesonherback.
“SheneveraskedmeaboutFrenchlessonsorwhatcolordressIwantedtoweartoallofherevents.NeveraskedmewhatkindofcakeIwantedformybirthday.Shejustalwaysboughtangelfood.”
“God,Ialwayshatedyourbirthdaycakes,”Irissaid.
“Iris,”Clairehissed,butAstridjustlaughed.
“No,she’sright,”Astridsaid.“Angelfoodcakeistheworst.Butitwaswhatmymotherwanted,justlikeeverythingelse,liketakingoverLindyWestbrook’sbusiness,like—”
“Whoa,wait,what?”Irisasked.“IthoughttakingoverforLindywaswhatyouwanted?”
Astridsighed,wavingahand.“Mypointis,shedoesn’task.Nooneeverfuckingasks,andSpencerneveraskedmeeither.”
Claire’sheartachedforherfriend.ShetuckedapieceofblondhairbehindAstrid’sear.“Aboutthehouse?”
Astridshrugged.“Aboutthehouse.AboutmovingtoSeattleatall.HejustassumedI’dsayyes,becauseIalwayssayyes.Don’tI?”
Theysatsilentlyforabit,Clairetotallyunsurehowtoanswerthat.BecauseAstridwasn’twrong.
“Idon’twanttogotoSeattle,”Astridfinallysaid.
“Thendon’t,”Irissaid.“Youdon’thaveto.”
“I…Idon’tknowhow…”TearsfinallywelledinAstrid’seyes,spillingdownhercheekssoquickly,itwasasthoughthey’dbeenwaitingforyearstobesetloose.“Idon’tknowhowtosayno.Idon’tknowhowtodoit.”
“We’llhelpyou,”Clairesaid.“We’lldowhateveryouneedustodo.”
“I’mawesomeatsayingno,”Irissaid.
Astridcrackedasmile,butitfadedquickly,andshewipedhereyes.“God,mymother.She—”
“Willgetoverit,”Irissaid.“Thisisyourlife,nothers.”
“Jesus,whatamess,”Astridsaid,thenherposturewentramrodstraight.“There’ssomuchtodo.Ineedtocallthecaterers.Andtheflorist.God,Delilah.Ineedto—”
“Stop,”Clairesaid,pullingherfriendcloser.HerheartflippedatDelilah’sname,butsheignoredit.“We’vegottime.Rightnow,just…justsitherewithus,okay?”
“Or,”Irissaid,“ifyouwantedtogetsomepracticeinsayingno,youcantellustogofuckourselvesrightnowandwe’llgetgoingonthesephonecallsstat.”
Astridlaughed,thenshookherhead.“No.No,takingaminuteisgood,Ithink.”
“See?”Irissaid.“Youjustsaidnotometellingyouthatyoucouldsayno.Anexpertalready.”
Astridlaughedagain,thenfloppedbackontothebed,herarmssplayedaboveherhead.Averyun-Astrid-likemotion,anditmadeClairesmile.Shelaybacktoo,followedbyIris,andthethreefriendshookedtheirarmstogether,relievedtearsrunningdownalloftheircheeksandsplashingintothethousand–threadcountduvet.ChapterTwenty-Eight
DELILAHWASWAITINGoutsidetheKaleidoscopeInn,somethinglikeworrycoalescinginherchestathowlateClairewasinpickingherupandthethreeunansweredtextsDelilahhadsenther,whenherphonerang.Alreadygrippingthedeviceinhersweatypalm,sheslidherfingeracrossthescreen,relieffillingherupatthesightofClaire’sname.
“Hey,”shesaid,pressingthephonetoherear.“Areyouokay?”
“Hi,”Clairesaid.“Yeah,I’mfine.”
“Whereareyou?”
“We’re…well,we’reheadingovertoWisteriaHouse.”
“What?”Delilahfrowned,hitchedhercamerabaghigheronhershoulder.“Why?”
“Theybrokeup.AstridandSpencer.Aboutthirtyminutesago.”
“Oh.”Delilahsaggedagainsttheinn’sexteriorbrickwall.“Holyshit.”
“Yeah.Apparently,heboughtahouseinSeattlewithouttellingher,showingherpictures,anything.”
“Andthatwasthestraw,huh?”
“Iguessso.”
Delilahnodded,eventhoughClairecouldn’tseeher.Shewaitedtofeelrelieved,happy,even.Thiswaswhatshe’dwanted,whatthey’dallwanted,thoughIrisandClairehaddifferentmotivationsfromher.ForDelilah,shecouldgobacktoNewYorknow,getreadyforhershowattheWhitney.Fifteengrandricher,too.Perhercontract,shestillgotpaidintheeventofacancellation,andIsabelwouldforkoverthemoneywithoutablink.HerstepmotherwouldbetoobusylosinghershitonAstridanyway,thecalled-offsocietyweddingofherperfectdaughterandabonafidegoldenboythestuffofIsabelParker-Green’snightmares,nodoubt.
Delilahwasdone.
Free.
Sheneverhadtosetfootinthistownagainifshedidn’twantto.
Sowhywasherbackgluedtothisredbrickwalllikeitwastheonlythingholdingherup?
“Whathappensnow?”Delilahsaid,hervoiceembarrassinglysmall.Sheclearedherthroat,likealittlebitofphlegmwastheonlyreasonforthenear-whisper.
“IrisandIaregoingwithAstridtotalktoIsabel,”Clairesaid.
“Yeah.Sure.Astridwilldefinitelyneedhelpwiththatone.”
“Wethoughtsotoo.”
Asilencepressedbetweenthem,andDelilahhatedit.Ifthiswasgoingtoend,bestenditquickly,likeabeheading.Painlessandfast.
“Okay,”shesaid.“IguessI’ll—”
“Comewithus,”Clairesaid.
Delilahblinked,thenpushedofffromthewall.“What?”
“Comewithus,”Clairesaidagain.
“Astriddoesn’twantmethere.”
“YouknowhowIsabelis.Maybeyoucouldhelp.”
Delilahlaughed,abright,bittersound.“Isabeldefinitelydoesn’twantmethere.”
“Well,Iwantyouthere.”
Delilahclosedhereyes.“Claire.”
“Please.Justcome,okay?Iwanttoseeyou.AndAstrid’syourfamily.Theonlyoneyouhave,right?”
“Youknowit’smorecomplicatedthanthat.”
“Iknow.Anddon’tyouwishitwasn’t?”
Delilahfrowned,atalossforwhattosaytothat.Sure,shewishedherrelationshipwithAstridandIsabelwassimpler.AndonceshewentbacktoNewYork,itwouldbe,nearlynonexistent,justlikeitalwayswasbetweenvisits.Butevenasshethoughtthis,somethingelsenudgedatthebackofhermind.Adifferentwish.Onewherefamilymeantmorethanawkwardencountersandavoidedtextmessages.Onewherefriendsmeantmorethananacquaintanceoracolleagueoraone-nightstand.Onewherehomemeantmorethanafifth-floorwalk-upandIKEAfurniture.
Butitwastoolateforthat.
Wasn’tit?
“Please,”Clairesaidagain,andgoddammit,Delilahdidn’twanttosaynotoher.Andifshewasbeinghonest,shedidn’twanttoleavewithoutseeingClaireonemoretime.
“Fine,”Delilahsaid.“Butmeetmeoutside,okay?Idon’t—”
“Wanttowalkinalone.Iknow.”
Delilah’seyesfeltsuddenlywet.SheendedthecallbeforeClairecouldhearthetearsinhervoice.
CLAIREWASN’TTHEREtomeether,thoughIris’scarwasinthedriveway.Still,DelilahstoodfrozenasherLyftdroveaway.Sheshouldjustturnaround,gobacktotheinn,andbookherflighthome.Shedidn’tbelonghere,andsheneverwould.
Andyet.
DelilahhadtakenhertimegettingtoWisteriaHouse.She’dgottenacoffeeatWakeUp,thenwalkedslowlythroughdowntownuntilshewassureClairewouldalreadybeatWisteria.
ShehadstoppedinfrontofRiverWildBooks,gazedthroughthewindowatallthecolorfulspines,thebarewallsClairecouldn’tdecidehowtofill.Brianne,Claire’smanager,wavedatDelilahfrombehindthecounter,abrightsmileonherface.Delilahwavedback,foundherselfsmilingtoo,whichjustmadealltheconfusingfeelingsgatheringin
Now,standinginfrontofherhome,shecouldn’tmakeherselfturnaway.Forthefirsttimesinceherfatherdied,shewantedtogoinside.
WhatthehellhadClaireSutherlanddonetoher?
Thiswasn’tokay.Sheneededtoleavenow.WhatdidshecareifAstridwasupset,ifIsabel’sperfectfairy-taleweddingwasdissolvingbehindherparlordoors?
Shedidn’t.DelilahGreendidn’tcare.Becausethey’dneveroncecaredabouther.
Sheslumpedagainstthedoor,pressedherforeheadtothethickinlaidglass.Notcaringwasfuckingexhausting.
Beforeshecouldstopherself,shetwistedthethickbrassdoorhandleandsteppedinside,lavenderandbleachassaultinghersenseslikealways.Itwascool,nearlycold,andjustasshesuspected,theparlordoorstoherleftwereclosed,voicesmurmuringbehindthem.Once,theroomwasherfather’soffice,filledwithsquashyleathercouchesandahugeoakdeskDelilahusedtocurlupunderwithabookwhileherdadworked.Now,theroomlookedlikesomethingoutofVersailles,setteesandchaiseloungesandfaintingcouchesarrangedjustso.Shewalkeduptothedoors,placedapalmagainstthewood.
“…anyideahowembarrassingthiswillbe?”Isabelwassaying.
“Embarrassingforwho,Mother?”Astridsaid,hervoicethickandwatery-sounding.Delilahhadneverheardhervoicesoundlikethat.“Foryouorforme?”
“Forthebothofus,”Isabelsaid,hervoicecompletelycalm.Shedidn’tscreamoryell.SheneverhadinallthetimeDelilahhadknownher,butChrist,thatwomancouldspitoutaninvectivelikenooneelse,hertonealwaysmeasuredandcold,which,honestly,madeeverythingworse.Morethanoncegrowingup,Delilahhadtriedtorileherstepmotherintoafrenzy,ifonlysoDelilahwouldn’tbetheonlyonelosinghershit.
“Well,I’msorry,”Astridsaid.“Butforonce,justonce,Ineedyouto—”
Astrid’svoicecutoff,silencefilingthespace.Delilahpressedherearagainstthedoor.Shethoughtsheheard“It’sokay”inClaire’ssoothingtone,butitwassoquietshecouldn’tbesure.Therewassomesniffling,someshushing.
“Ohforgod’ssake,Astrid,”Isabelsaid.“Stopcrying.Ifthisisupsettingyousomuch,callyourfiancéandfixit.”
“He’snotupsettingme,Mom,youare,”Astridsaid.
“Ibegyourpardon?”Isabelsaid,hervoicelikeaknife.
“Justonce,please,”Astridsaid,“putmefirst.”
“Ihavedonenothingbutputyoufirstyourentirelife,younglady.”
“No.Youhaven’t.You’veputyourimagefirst.Yourmoney.Yoursocialstanding.AndI’mtired,Mom.I’mtired.Delilah’stired.”
Delilahjoltedatthesoundofhername.Herheartthrummed,adrenalinefloodinghersystemhotandthencold.
“Don’tyoudaretalktomeaboutthatgirl,”Isabelsaid.“Shemadeitveryclearalongtimeagohowshefeelsaboutthisfamily.YouthinkIdon’tknowshepushedpoorSpencerintotheriver?AndthatdebacleatVivian’s,mygod.She’slikeabarnanimal.Idon’tknowwhereIwentwrongwithher.”
“Mom,stop.”
“Ifyouaskme,thisisherfault,”Isabelsaid.“YouwereperfectlyhappymarryingSpencerbeforeshecamebacktotown.Iwarnedyoushe’djuststiruptrouble,butno,youjusthadtohaveyoursisteratyourwedding,didn’tyou?”
Delilahfrowned,blinkingatthedoorandtryingtoprocesswhatshe’djustheard.Evenafteralltheseyears,Isabel’sindifferencetowardherstillstung.Shewisheditdidn’t,toldherselfitdidn’tmatter,butshecouldn’thelpit.Somechildish,desperateneedforlovealwaysroseupinsideherwhenitcametoIsabel.Shesaidshedidn’tcare,butthetruthwas,Isabelwastheonlymothershe’deverknown,andthewomanhatedher.Orworse,feltnothingtowardher.
Isabeldidn’tloveDelilahGreen,andsheneverwould.
Andshehadn’twantedDelilahatAstrid’swedding.Shehadn’thiredherasthephotographer.Shehadn’tguiltedDelilahintocoming,indicatingherfatherwould’vewantedherthere.Shehadn’tofferedheraridiculousamountofmoneysheknewDelilahneeded.
Astridhaddoneallthat.
Astridhadwantedherhere.
Delilahshookherheadandstumbledbackfromthedoor.Shedidn’twanttohearanymore.Shecouldn’t.Herchesttightenedandhereyesstung.Sheturnedtowardthefrontdoor,readytoflee,butshedidn’twantthateither.
ShewantedClaire.
SheevenwantedIris.
Withoutthinking,sheletmusclememorytakeover.Herfeetmovedhertotherightandtookherupthevaststaircase,handslidingalongtheoakbannisterlikeithaddonesomanytimesbefore.Upstairs,shestoppedinthedoorwaytoheroldroom,buttherewasnothingforhertorememberthere.Allofherthingsweregone,shippedtoNewYorkamonthaftershe’dleftBrightFallsateighteen,whenitwascleartoIsabelshewasn’tcomingback.Heroldspacewasaguestroomnow,whitelinenswithgray-bluepiping,blandpaintingsofriversandwaterfallsonthewall,sheerwhitecurtainsframingthewindow.
Shemovedontothenextroom.Thesecondsheopenedthedoor,shefeltlikeshewaswalkingintoamuseumofherpast.Astrid’scavernousroomlookedexactlythesameasithadwhentheywereteens.AllofAstrid’sfavoritebookswerestillontheshelves,herduvetthesamedelicatelavenderandyellowswirls,herwhite-woodvanitystillsportingthatCinderellajewelryboxshe’dgottenwhenshewaseight,theoneDelilahsecretlycovetedbutcouldneverfigureouthowtoaskfor.
Theonlythingdifferentwasthefewplastictubsonthefloorfilledwithvariouschildhooditems,notebooksandoldschoolfolders,awardribbonsandmedalsfromallofAstrid’saccomplishments,movieticketstubsandyellowingprogramsfromthePortlandballet,stuffthathadbeensittinginAstrid’scloset,forgotten,sinceshewenttocollege
Delilahsteppedfartherintheroomandsatonthebed.Growingup,shehadn’tspentatonofhoursinhere.SheandAstridwereneverthosekindsofsisters,ofcourse.Still,thereweretimeswhenshe’ddarkenedthedoorwayandAstridhadwavedherinsidetoborrowabookorwatchamovieonthelittleTVthatsatonAstrid’sdresser,particularlywhenIsabelwashostingoneofherpartiesandtheywerebothdressedinrufflesandlace,tiredofputtingonashowandreadytosimplybeyounggirlsagain.
Long-suppressedmemoriescurledthroughher,fuzzyasthoughshewaswakingupfromadream.Shepeeredinsideoneofthetubs,whichwasfilledwithleather-boundbooks.Astrid’sjournals.Herstepsisterwasalwaysscribblinginthesebooksgrowingup.Delilahneveraskedwhatshewrote,butshewassureifsheopenedthemuprightnow,she’dseeanentryforeverysingledayofAstrid’slife.Delilahwonderedifshestillkeptajournal,whatshe’dwritefortoday,tomorrow.
Sheliftedthetopbookfromthetub.Itwasdarkbrownleather,embossedwithflowersandvinestwiningoverthecover.Flippingitopen,Astridhadwrittenhernameonthefirstpage—AstridIsabellaParker—alongwiththerelevantdates,thefirstofwhichplacedthestartofthisjournalaboutthreemonthsafterDelilah’sfatherdiedwhenthegirlsweretenyearsold.
Delilahfannedthepagesthroughherfingers,thepapercrinklingfromageanddisuse.Astrid’sneatscrawl,alwaysindarkblueink,blurredthroughhervision.Shehadnointentionofreadingthejournal.ThiswasAstrid’s,filledwithherprivatethoughts,andevenDelilahGreenwouldn’tcrossthatline.Butthen,asthelettersrolledby,hereyessnaggedonacertainword.
Delilah
Herthumbcaughtinthemiddle,andsheopenedthebookonherlap,flippingafewpagesandscanningforhernameagain.
Itwaseverywhere.
Notoneverypage,butonalotofthem.Sheblinkeddownatthewriting,knowingsheshouldclosethebookandwalkoutoftheroomrightnow,butsomethingkeptherthere.Somethingchildishandcurious,alittlegirllookingforsomethingtoeasethisknotinherchest.
Or,maybe,topulltheknoteventighter.
Sheswallowed,tookabreath,andstartedreadingonapagewherehernameappearedseveraltimes.
September25th
IwenttoDelilah’sroomtonight,thinkingmaybeshe’dwanttodoourhomeworktogetherorwatchTV,butwhenIknockedonherdoor,shedidn’tanswer.Andthen,whenIpeekedinside,shewasjustlyingonherbed,staringattheceiling,whichseemsprettyboringtome,butthenshe’salwaysstaringatstuff.IguessIdon’tblameher.She’ssad.Iknowsheis,justlikeMomisandIamtoo.Idon’tknowhowtohelpanyonethough.WhenIaskedherifshewantedtowatchamovie,shejustrolledoveronherbedandfacedthewindow.Shedoesn’twantmyhelp.
October3rd
Theleavesarestartingtochangeandit’smyfavoritetimeofyear.IwantedDelilahtocometoGentry’spumpkinfarmwithClaireandIrisandmetoday,butInevergotthechancetoaskher.WhenClaireandIrisgothere,DelilahhadbeeninthelivingroomwatchingTV,butassoonasthedoorbellrang,shedisappeared.Shewasn’tinherroomwhenIwentlookingforher.Irissaysshe’salittleweird,whichIguessistrue.Idon’tknowwhattosayabouthertomyfriends,soIdon’tsaymuchofanything.It’skindofembarrassingthatmystepsisterdoesn’tseemtoreallylikemeatall.Shedoesn’tlikeMomeither,thoughIguessMom’snottheeasiestpersontolike.EvenwhenAndrewwasalive,Delilahwasprettyquiet,butshewasn’tlikethis.Idon’tknowwhattodo.
Delilahsetthebookinherlap,lungspumpinghard,hermemoryreachingback,back,backforthistime,meremonthsafterherfather’sdeathmadeheranorphan.SherememberedAstridaskinghertowatchTVordohomeworktogethereverynowandthen,butthis…this…longingthatseemedtofillAstrid’swriting,theworryandwonderandevenhurt.
Thatwasnew.
Thatwas…impossible.Astridneverfeltlikethis.SheneveractuallywantedDelilahtobeapartofherfamily.AfterDelilah’sfatherdied,Delilahwasjustaburden,anorphan,astrangegirlmessingupAstridandIsabel’sperfectlife.
Wasn’tshe?
Sheflippedforwardafewpages,landingonanentrydatedthatnextspringwhentheywereeleven.
March19th
ClaireandIrisspentthenightlastnight.I’msogladthey’remyfriends.Irisissofunny,andClaireisprobablythesweetestpersonI’veevermet.Idon’tknowwhatI’ddowithoutthem,especiallywithDelilahstillignoringmemostofthetime.Claireaskedmeaboutherlastnightwhileweweremakingcookies,aboutwhyDelilahneverhangsoutwithusortalkstome.Myfacegotkindofhot,andIdidn’tknowwhattosay.
Mysisterhatesme?
Mysisterwishesshehadadifferentfamily?
Itwaswaytooembarrassingtoadmit,evenifitwastrue.SoIjustshruggedandsaidDelilahwasaweirdoandthatshejustlikedbeingbyherself
IrisnoddedandcalledDelilahasuperweirdo.Clairejustfrownedandwentbacktomixingthedough,andwedidn’tsayanythingelseaboutDelilah,butIknewmyfacewasstillreallyred,becauseitfeltwarmforthenexthour.Mychesthurttoo,likeitalwaysdoeswhenIdosomethingIknowisn’tright,likeIcan’tbreathetherightwayorsomething.
Delilahslammedthebookshutandtosseditontothebednexther.Thenshedivedintothetubatherfeet,searchingforanotherjournal.Herhandswereshakingbecausenoneofthiswasright.Itcouldn’tberight.
Shegrabbedahunter-greenjournalafewbooksdowninthestack.Openingit,shefoundthedate,placingitwhensheandAstridwereinhighschool,agesfifteentosixteen.Aquickscanofthefirstpagesfilledherwithrelief—hernamedidn’tlitterthewriting—untilshegottothemiddle,whereDelilahseemedtoappeareveryotherword.
January11th
Isweartogod,Ihatemymother.SometimesIfeellikeIcan’ttalk,can’tthinkformyselfatall.I’mjustadoll,programmedonlytosay“yes,Mom”and“okay,Mom”and“whateveryouwant,Mom.”I’msosickofit.Sometimes,IthinkDelilahhadtherightidea—justbeatotalbitchtoeveryone,andeventually,they’llleaveyoualone.Imean,Momasksheraboutherschoolworkandmakessureshewon’tdoanythingtosullythegreatParker-Greenhousehold,dragginghertoafewfundraisershereandthere,butforthemostpart,Momleavesheralone.
Whycan’tsheleavemealone?
IwonderallthetimewhatDelilahthinksaboutthehorrorshowthatismymomandme.She’sprobablyrelievedshedoesn’thavetodealwithit.Notthatshe’dtellmeifshewas.Ifwe’renotatschoolorforcedtothedinnertablebyMom,Delilah’sinherroom,readingordoingIdon’tevenknowwhat.AnytimeItrytogethertocomeout,shebarelyacknowledgesmyquestionswithagrunt.Likelastweek,Iaskedherifshewantedtocomewithmetothebookstore.Ifiguredthiswouldgetherattention.ShelovesRiverWildBooks.It’stheonlyplaceshegoestointown.ClairealwaystellsmewhensheseesDelilahthere,whichisatleastafewtimesaweekafterschool.ButwhenIaskedhertogo?Itwasaflat-out“Nothanks.”EvenwhenIaskedherwhynot,shejustshruggedandmumbledsomethingabouthowshewasjustthereyesterday,likethat’severstoppedherbefore.Logicalconclusion—shejustdoesn’twanttogowithme.
Which,fine,whatever.IlearnedalongtimeagothatnothingIeverdidwouldbeenoughforDelilah.Idon’tneedasisteranyway.
Delilahdroppedthebookintoherlap,thebluelettersblurringandswirlinginhervision.Herchestfelttighterthaniteverhadbefore.Shehadtogetoutofhere.Sheneededout,rightnow.
Standing,sheletthejournalfallfromherlapandontothefloor.Sherushedtothedoor,butbeforeshecouldmakeherwaythroughit,Claireappeared,herwideeyessofteningwhenshespottedDelilah.
“Thereyouare,”shesaid.“I’msosorryIwasn’ttheretomeetyou.Iwaswatchingoutthewindow,butthenIsabel—”Shefroze,herexpressionshiftingbackintoworry,evenalarmasshepeeredatDelilah.“Youokay?”
Delilahnodded,triedtosmile,triedtodoanythingthatfeltlikeherselfbeforeshewalkedintothishouse.No,beforethat.BeforeshecamebacktoBrightFalls.
“Bullshit.”Clairesaidthewordsosoftly,sosweetly,eventhoughitwasaswear,Delilahfeltherselfcrumple.Hermouthtwistedandhereyesburnedandshedidn’tknowwhattosayorhowtothinkaboutanythinganymore,notAstrid,notherself,notherentirechildhood.
“Hey,”Clairesaid,reachingoutandtakingDelilah’shand.“What’sgoingon?”
Delilahshookherhead,butherfingersgrippedClaire’s.Sheswallowedoverandover.Therewaswaytoomuchspitinhermouth.Maybesheneededtothrowup.Shewassuddenlydizzy,hercorethrownoff-balance.
Clairereadherlikeabook,leadinghertothebedandguidinghertositdown.SherubbedslowcirclesonDelilah’sback,andDelilahinhaled,thenletherairoutslowly.
“Whathappened?”Claireasked,fingertipstrailingdownDelilah’sneck.
Delilaheyedthejournalonthefloor,thenbenttopickitup.“Doyou…WhatwasIlikebackwhenwewerekids?Doyouremember?”
Clairefrowned.Clearly,thiswasnotthequestionshewasexpecting.“Um,yeah,Iremember.”
“And?”
ClaireslidherhanddownDelilah’sback.“Youwerequiet.Sad.You…didn’tseemlikeyou…”Sherubbedherforeheadwithherfreehand.“Idon’tknow.”
“Justsayit.”
Clairesighed.“Youdidn’tseemlikeyoucaredmuchaboutanything.Aboutanyonehere.Makingfriendsorgettingtoknowpeople.Butyouwerejustdifferent,andIdon’tthinkanyoneknewhowto—”
“AndAstrid?HowwasIwithher?”
Clairewinced.“Whatisthisabout?”
Delilahranherhandoverthejournals.“Ijust…Haveyoueverwonderedifyougotitallwrong?”
“Gotwhatwrong?”
“Idon’tknow.Somethingbig.Likemaybeyoujustmissedallthesigns,oryoudidn’tknowhowtointerpretthem.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
Delilahshookherhead.“Idon’tknow.Idon’tknowwhatImean.”Shethoughtaboutthosefirstmonthsafterherfatherdied,howaloneshe’dfelt,howabandoned.Isabelwasnursingherowngrief,Astridtoomostlikely,sotherewasnoonetohelpten-year-oldDelilahthroughthenight,noonetoholdherhandorwrapherupintheirarmsortellheritwasgoingtobeokay.Sherememberedfeelinginvisible,lost,likemaybeherbodywasn’tevenreal.BythetimeIsabelgotittogetherenoughtobeapresenceinthehouse,Delilahwasalreadygone.Inhermind,anyway.Sheknewshewasn’twanted.SheknewIsabelneverplannedonraisingakidwhowasn’tevenherownblood.Astrangekid,atthat.
AndAstrid…HadshetriedwithDelilah?DidsheactuallywantasisterandDelilahsimplydidn’tknowhowtobeone?Howtobeanythingtoanyoneasalittlegirlwho’djustlosttheonlypersonwho’devermadeherfeelwanted?
“It’sokay,”Clairesaid,pressingherlipstoDelilah’stemple.“Whateverthisis,it’sokay.Justtalktome.”
Delilahturnedtofaceher,searchingClaire’sbrowneyes.Allofthatlonelinessfromchildhood,allofthosefeelingsofbeingunwanted,aburden,somethingtobetolerated,shedidn’tfeelanyofthatwhenshelookedatClaire.
Shefelttheopposite.
ShehadfromthatveryfirstnightinStella’s,beforeClaireevenknewwhoshewasandDelilahturnedthewholethingintoahilariousjoke,atwistylittlerevengescheme.Eventhen,somethingpulledhertothiswoman,andshedidn’twanttomissit.
Shedidn’twanttomisinterpretorignoreorshutdown.
Beforeshecouldthinkthroughitfurther,sheleanedforwardandpressedhermouthtoClaire’s.Theotherwomangaspedinsurprise,butthenrelaxed,cuppingDelilah’sfaceinherhands,herlipspartingtoletDelilahin.Thekisswasslowanddesperateatthesametime,exactlywhatDelilahneeded.Sheletthejournalfalltotheflooragain,wrappingherarmsaroundClaire’swaist.Theyfellbackontothepillows,tangledlikeaknot.Delilahdidn’twanttocomeupforairtotalk,knowingClairewouldlistenandunderstandandaccepther.Rightnow,shejustwantedtofeelClaire’sbodypushingagainsthers,herfingertipsdriftingdownDelilah’scheeklikeshewassomethingprecious.
“Hey,”Clairesaidagainsthermouth,framingDelilah’sfaceandpullingthemapartalittle.“Delilah,I…”Shepaused,doubtflickeringinhereyes.
“What?”Delilahasked,bottomlipbumpingagainsthers.Shedidn’tlikethatdoubt.Shewantedtoexciseitlikeatumor.“Youwhat?Tellme.”
ClaireranherthumboverDelilah’sbrow.“I…Idon’twantyoutoleave.”
Delilahpulledbackalittlefarther.“What?”
“Idon’twantyoutoleave.Idon’twantthistobecasualorjustsexorwhateverweagreeditwouldbe.Ihatecasual.Casualsucks.Idon’tseehowanyonedoesit.”
“Claire,I—”
“IknowyouliveinNewYorkandyouneedtobethereandIneedtobehere,butIdon’tcare.Wecanfiguresomethingout,can’twe?WecantellAstridaboutus.Iristoo.Ijust…Ithink,Idon’twant—”
DelilahpressedherfingertoClaire’smouth,cuttingheroff.Shestaredattheotherwoman,tryingtoparsethisfeelinginherchest,butitonlytookasecondforhertofigureitout.
Relief.
Alittlesparkoffearthatfeltprettynormalforsomethingthisbig.
Happiness.
Beforerightnow,whenwasthelasttimeshefeltreallyandtrulyhappy?Shecouldn’tremember.GettingtheemailabouttheshowattheWhitney,maybe,butthatwasdifferent.Thatwas…success.Thiswasblood-warming,bone-settling,brain-fogginghappiness
Butshecouldn’tputanyofthatintowords,notyet,soshepulledClairecloser,slidherhandupherbackandaroundhernape,thumbswirlingoverhersoftskinasshekissedher,pouringeverythingshedidn’tknowhowtosayintoeverytouch,everypressofherbodyagainstClaire’s.
Yes.Kiss.Yes.Kiss.Yes.Kiss.
ClairelaughedagainsthermouthandwrappedonelegaroundDelilah’ships.DelilahslippedherhandsunderClaire’sshirt,feelinghersoftskin,completelyforgettingwheretheywere,whytheywerethere.Thismomentwasallthatmattered,allshecaredabout,and—
“Whatthehellisthis?”
Forasplitsecond,thevoice,theangrytone,thewordsfeltlikeadream.LikeamovieleftonaTVnoonewaswatching.ButthenClairesuckedinabreath,scrambledawayfromDelilah,andDelilahfoundherselfaloneonthebedasatear-streakedAstridParkerstaredintoherchildhoodbedroom,hermouthhangingopeninshock.ChapterTwenty-Nine
CLAIRE’SHEARTBEATWASeverywhere,fingertipsfizzingwithtoomuchoxygen.Forasecond,nothingfeltreal—herpleaforDelilahtostay,herdecisiontotellherbestfriendthatshewasmaybe,possibly,mostlikelyinlovewithherestrangedstepsister,andnowthis.
Astrid,gapingather,hurtandangerradiatingthroughherbody.Irisstoodbehindher,anohshitsortofexpressiononherface.
“Astrid,”Clairesaid.“I—”
“Don’t,”Astridsaid,holdingupashakinghand.
Clairesighedandstoodup.Hershirtwastwisted,butshedefinitelydidn’twanttocallattentiontoherrumpledclothinginthemoment.“Honey,letmeexplain.”
“Explainwhat?”Astridsaid.Shedidn’tshriekorscream.Clairealmostwishedshewould.Instead,hertonewasquiet,exhausted.Sad.“Thatyou’re,what?Screwingmysisteranddidn’tevenbothertotellme?”
“No,Astrid,I—”
“Soyou’renotscrewingher?”
Claireblinkedatherbestfriend,shamewarmingherface.
Astridnodded.“That’swhatIthought.”
“Sweetie,maybelethertalk,”Irissaid,squeezingAstrid’sshoulder.
Astridwhirledaround.“Youknewaboutthis?”
“No,shedidn’t,”Clairesaid,butIrisjustshruggedandsaid,“Isuspected.”
“Whatthehellishappening?”Astridsaid.“Whatelseareyoutwokeepingfromme?Oh,wait,IalreadyknowyouhateSpencer.”
“Wedon’thatehim,”Irissaid.“Wejustdon’tlikehimforyou.Youdeservebetterthanhim.We’vebeenwantingtotalktoyouaboutitall,butwedidn’tknowhow.Andthroughtheweek,ClaireandDelilahandIthoughtifwecouldjustgetyoutothinkaboutwhat—”
“Holdon,”Astridsaid,liftingatremblingfingerintotheair.“YouandClaireandDelilah?”
Iris’smouthhungopen,thensheclosedhereyes.Thiswasadisaster.Nothingwasgoingright.Clairedidn’tknowhowtoexplainanything,herwordsatangleonhertongue.
“Shewaswithusallthetime,”Clairefinallymanagedtosay.“Andshe…well…shewas…”
“Iwasgoodatmakingamessofthings,”Delilahsaidquietly.
Astridlookedlikeshewasgoingtothrowup.Shestaredatallthreeoftheminturn,buthergazefinallysettledonDelilah.“Ican’tbelievethis.Twenty-twoyearswe’vebeensisters.Twenty-twoyearsofyourdistanceandyourIdon’tgiveashitaboutanyonebutmyselfattitude.”
“Astrid,”Clairesaid,alarmspreadingthroughherasDelilah’sfacepaled.“Hangonasec.”
ButAstridignoredher.“Twenty-twoyearsofwonderingwhatthehellwaswrongwithme,whatIdid,whyyouwouldn’tgivemeachance,why—”
“WhyIwouldn’tgiveyouachance?”Delilahsaid,standingup.“Fromthesecondmyfatherdied,yourmothermadeitveryclearwhatIwasinthisfamily.Award.Agirlwithoutahome.Anorphan.Someoneshewouldfeedandclotheandthatwasit.Notafamilymember.Notadaughter.”
“That’sMother,”Astridsaid,thenslappedherownchestsohardClaireflinched.“Whataboutme?”
Delilahliftedherchin,almostdefiant,butClairenoticedaslighttrembleofherlowerlip,thewaysheclenchedherjawtosteadyit.
Astridshookherhead.“Ishould’veneverinvitedyouhere.”
“Whydidyou?”
“Becauseyou’remygoddamnsister!AndIwantedyouatmywedding.Ithought…Idon’tknowwhatIthought,butIcertainlydidn’texpectthis.Momwasright;youdon’tcareaboutus.Youdon’tcareaboutme,youdon’t—”
“Younevergavemeachanceto,”Delilahsaid.
“IgaveyouachancethesecondIhiredyouforthiswedding!IgaveyouachanceeveryholidayyounevercamehomeandeverytimeIstoppedbyyourroomgrowingup,everytimewehaddinner,everytime—”
“SonowI’msupposedtobeamindreader?Youignoredmefortheentiretyofhighschool.Middleschool.YouignoredmeeverytimeClaireandIriscameovertothehouse,makingsureIfeltlikeanoutsidereverystepoftheway.”
Astridblinkedather,tearsfallingsilentlyontohercheeks.Whenshespoke,hervoicewasfragile,shattered.“Youignoredmefirst.”
Delilahpursedherlips,turnedherheadaway,hereyesglisteningjustalittle.Clairewantedtocurlherintoherarms.ShewantedtotakeAstrid’shand,getthemtocalmdownandtalk,butshedidn’tmove.Shedidn’tdare.Thisbarbed-wireconnectionbetweenAstridandDelilahwassomuchsharperthanshe’deverimagined.Therewassomuchhurthere,somuchanger,andshedidn’tknowhowtohelpeitheroneofthem.
“Ididn’tknowIwasignoringyou,”Delilahfinallysaid,hervoicesosoft,Clairealmostdidn’thearit.“Ithought…Ithoughtthat’swhatyouwanted.”
Astridshookherhead,liftingherhandsandlettingthemflopbacktohersides.“Soyoucomebacktotown,conspirebehindmybackwiththeonlypeopleinmylifeIreallylove,stealmybestfriend,justtowhat?Getbackatme?”
Delilahrubbedherforehead,butshestayedsilent.
“Oh,”Astridsaid.“Iforgot.That’sexactlywhatyoudid.Youeventoldmeyouweregoingtodoit.Didn’tyou?”
Delilah’shanddropped.“What?Astrid,ClaireandI—”
“Letmeguess.Itjusthappened.”
“Yeah.Itdid.”
“I’msure.Shecameafteryou,right?Shewantedyou.You’reirresistible.Youhadnothingtodowithit.”
“Ididn’tsaythat.”
Astridsniffed.“Soyoudidn’tbetmeyoucouldgetintoClaire’spantsbeforethewedding?”
IttookClaireafewsecondstorealizewhatAstridhadsaid,thewordssettlingaroundtheroomlikeasuddensnowshowerinApril—quietandcoldandshocking.
ClaireturnedtolookatDelilah.“You…youdidwhat?”
Delilahpressedhereyesclosed.“That’snotwhathappened.”
“Hangon,hangon,”Irissaid.“DelilahbetyoushecouldsleepwithClaire?”
“Themorningofthebrunch,”Astridsaid,gesturingatClaire.“Shesaidyouwerelookingwell,andItoldhertostaythehellawayfromyouandshejustgrinned.Likeitwasajoke.Thenshebetmeshecouldgetyouinherbedintwoweeks’time.”
“Andyoutookit?”Irissaid,hermouthgaping.
“No!Itoldhertogofuckherself.”
“That’snotwhathappened,”Delilahsaidagain,buthervoicesoundedfrail,unsure.
“Soyoudidn’ttrytosleepwithClairejusttogetundermyskin?”Astridasked.
“You’retwistingitaround,”Delilahsaid.
“AmI?”
“Wait,”Irissaid,steppingfartherintotheroom.“Thiscan’tberight.Whatarewemissing?”ShefrownedatDelilah,hurtfurrowingherbrow.
Andstill,Delilahsaidnothing.Nothingindefense.Noexplanation.Shejuststoodthere,herarmscrossed,hereyesonthefloor,teethworryingatherbottomliplikeshewastryingtothinkofwhattosay.Butifsheevenhadtothink,hadtoworry,then…
Clairecouldn’tprocessthis.Sheturnedtolookatthewomanshe’djustbeggedtobemorewithher.Thewomanshecouldn’tstopthinkingabout,couldn’timaginelettinggobacktoNewYorkwithoutaplantobeineachother’slives.SheknewDelilahwasrougharoundtheedges.SheknewDelilahwasbrashandbrazen,andsheactuallylovedallthatabouther.Plus,underneathallthat,Delilahwas…Shewassoft.Andgentleandconsiderateandbrave.Shewasreal.Ithadallfeltsoreal.
Itwasreal.
Wasn’tit?
Butnow,thetruthofhowunfeasibletheirwholerelationshipwassettledonClaire’sshoulders.
ClairehadaskedDelilahtostay.Totry.Tofigureitouttogether.
AndDelilah…hadn’tsaidyes.She’dkissedClaire,touchedhersogentlyandtenderlyitmadeClaire’sthroattightenjustrememberingit,butshehadn’tsaidyes.Becauseshecouldn’t.Moreover,shedidn’twantto.Delilahwasalwaysgoingtoleave,justlikeJosh,justlikeClaire’sfather.Regardlessofhowthisstarted,nomatterwhatshefeltforDelilahorwhatshehadhopedmighthappen,shecouldn’tgiveherhearttosomeoneelsejusttohavethemdisappearonheragain.
Whateverthiswasbetweenthem—sex,more,nothing—itwasover.
BecauseDelilahGreenwouldneverstayinBrightFallsforClaireSutherland.
“Claire,”Delilahsaid.“Please,canwe—”
ButClaireheldupherhand,cuttingDelilahoff.Delilahflinchedlikeshe’dbeenslapped,andthat’swhatitfeltliketoClairetoo—herpalmsmarting,fingersshaking,adrenalinerushingthroughherveins.
Finally,Delilahnoddedonce,herjawtight,andwalkedtowardthehallway.
“Goaheadandwalkaway,”Astridsaidquietly.“It’swhatyoudobest.”
Delilahpausedinthedoorway,hershouldersuparoundherears.Clairewantedtoscream,no,no,no,thiswasn’tright,butitwas.Itwas,becauseDelilahdidn’tturnaround,shedidn’tstay,shedidn’tpush.
Shejustleft.ChapterThirty
JOSHWASGONE.
Clairehadtoadmititnow.
Ithadbeentwodayssinceshe’dheardfromhim.
Ithadbeentwodayssincealotofthings.
TwodayssinceAstridcalledoffherwedding,sinceshe’dwalkedinonDelilahandClaire.TwodayssinceDelilahleftBrightFalls.TwodayssinceAstridhadspokentoClaireatall.
Irishadbeenthereluctantgo-between,textingClairewiththingsshecoulddotohelpAstridcancelthewedding.SinceWednesday,Clairehadholedupinsideherhouse,tellinghermanagerBrianneshewassickwhile,really,shelayonhercouchdrinkinglemonLaCroixuntilsheswitchedovertowinearoundfivep.m.eachday,makingphonecallstoweddingguestsandvendorsorwhoeverIriscommandedviatext.
Clairehadn’ttalkedtoIriseither.Atleastnotinperson.AfterDelilahhadwalkedoutofAstrid’sroom,ClairehadtriedtotalktoAstrid,tellheraboutherwholethoughtprocesssincethingsstartedupwithDelilah,butAstridhadn’twantedtohearit.Andshewasright—thiswasn’tthetimeforClairetomakeexcuses,nomatterhowjustifiedClairefeltinherdecisions.Astridhadjustcalledoffherwedding.Shewasheartbroken…thoughClairedidn’tthinkherheartbreakwasoverSpencer.NotaftereverythingthathadpassedbetweenAstridandDelilah.
SoClaire’sphonebecameanendlessstreamofcold,imperativetexts,allofthemvoidofanypersonalquestions.
Calltheflorist.
Emailedyoualistofgueststocall.
CanceltheGraydonStringQuartet.Here’stheirnumber.
She’ddoneitallwithathumbs-upemojiandtimelyexecution,completingwhatevertaskshecouldtohelpAstridtakecareofthismess…amessshe’dwanted,amessshe’dplannedforwithIrisandDelilah.Shedidn’thaveajustificationforthat,forwhysheneverfeltcomfortablebeinghonestwithAstridaboutherfeelingstowardSpencer,whyshealwaysshrankawayfromconfrontation.
Now,asshetextedJoshforthemillionthtimewithnoresponse,lefthimyetanothervoicemail,shewantedafight.Shewantedtopushhisstupidbroadshouldersandscreaminhisface.Wordsscrambledinherbrain,everythingshewouldsaytohim,everythingthatwascloudingintoherchestlikeastorm.
Iknewyouwoulddothis,Iwasright,youalwaysleave,everyonealwaysleaves.
Shecalledhimagain,butitwentstraighttohisvoicemail,justlikeithadeverytimeshe’dtriedtocontacthiminthepasttwodays.Rubywasbesideherself.She’dbeencallingandtextingherfathernonstoptoo,andhewouldn’tanswer.Yesterday,ClairehadusedthekeyJoshhadgivenherafewweeksagotoletherselfintohisapartment,justtocheckthingsoutandmakesurehewasn’tlyingonthefloorwithafatalheadwoundorsomething.Inside,mosteverythinglookedlikeitwasinitsplace,buthistruckwasgone,aswerehistoiletriesandthebigduffelbaghealwaystookwithhimwhenheskippedtown.
Now,asClairefinishedatensecalltotheBradfordsinPortland,fieldingamillionincrediblyintrusivequestionsaboutAstrid’ssanity,shesatuponhercouchandrubbedherforehead.Downthehall,Rubywasshutinsideherroom,sadmusicfilteringfromunderthedoor.Clairefeltlikeapieceofclothstretchedthin,frayingattheedges.Shecouldn’twatchherdaughtergothroughthisagain.
Shecouldn’tgothroughthisagain.
Shepickedupherphoneandopenedhertextmessages,herthumbhoveringoverherthreadwithDelilahforthehundredthtimesincetheotherwomanleft.Shewantedtotalktoher.ShewantedtotellheraboutJosh,tobeghertocomeback,butshecouldn’t.Shewouldn’t.Delilahwasalreadygone,backwhereshebelonged,andClaire…well.
Maybeitwasn’tonlyJoshshecouldn’tstandtoseewalkawayagain.
Andthat’sallthatwouldhappenifshereachedouttoDelilahrightnow,ifanythinghappenedatall.
Delilahdoesn’tcare.
Clairesaidittoherself,overandoverandover,ignoringthesparkofdoubtinthebackofhermind.Itwasn’tdoubtanyway.Itwashurt,lust,maybeevenalittlelonging,butitwasn’tdoubt.
SheswitchedtohermessageswithIrisandfinallyswallowedherpride.
Canwetalk?Please?
Shehitsendandheldherbreath,butthosethreelittlebouncingellipsesappearedimmediately,Iris’sresponsebuzzingthroughsoonafter.
I’malreadyonmywayover.
TENMINUTESLATER,Claireopenedherdoorandsuckedinasurprisedbreath.Iriswasthereinagreensundress,herredhairlongandflowingaroundherbareshoulders,butshewasn’talone.
AstridstoodnexttoheronClaire’sfrontstoop,herarmsfoldedandhersunglasseshidinghereyes.Hermouthlookedtight,butClairedidn’tevencare.Shewashere,andClairehadneverfeltsorelievedinherlife.
Shemust’vesaggedagainstthedoorframe,ormaybethedarkcirclessheknewsnuggledunderhereyesgaveawayhercurrentmentalstate,buteitherway,Irissteppedforwardandgulpedherintoherarms.Clairefellintoher,tearssuddenlycloggingherthroat.
“Joshisanhonoraryshitboot,”Irissaid,smoothingcirclesonClaire’sback.
Clairepulledback.“Howdidyouknow?”Shehadn’tmentionedhisvanishingacttoeitherofthem—itneverfeltliketherighttimetodropthatbombviatext.
“Yougaveyourdaughteraphoneandourphonenumbers,”Astridsaid,removinghersunglasses.“She’seleven;textingisherlife.”
Claireexhaled.“Ohgod.I’msosorry.Igaveheryournumbersforemergencies,andI—”
“Honey,”Irissaid,takingClaire’sarms.“It’sokay.We’repartofRuby’sfamily.Ofcoursewewanthertotextuswhensheneedsto.”
ClaireflickedhereyestoAstrid,whogaveheratersenod,whichwasenoughforClaire.
Theycameinside,andClaireopenedupafreshbottleofrosé.ThethreewomensettledonClaire’scouch,which,overthepasttwodays,hadbecomeanestofblankets,books,glassesofwater,andbagsofchips.
“You’rereallysetupforthelonghaulhere,”Irissaidasshetuckedherselfintoacorner.
Clairelaughed.“YouknowIburrowwhenI’mdepressed.”
“Idoknow,”Irissaid,winkingatheroverherglass.
Astridwasontheotherendofthecouch,Claireinthemiddle,andherfriendhadyettosmileorrelaxhershoulders.Clairesearchedforwhattosay,howtomakethisright,butshewasn’tsureanythingwouldhelp.
“Astrid,I’msorry,”shesaid,makingsuretolookherfriendintheeyes,becauseifnothingelse,ClaireowedAstridthismuch.Astridmethergazebutsaidnothing.“IknowthingsarecomplicatedwithyouandDelilah.Whenthingsstartedupbetweenus,I…well,itwascasual.Itwasjust…”Sheforcedthewordsout,nomatterhowuntruetheyfelt.Itwashowitallstarted,andthatwasatleasttrue.“Itwasjustsex,andIknewitwastemporary.Ididn’tfeellikeIneededtotelleitherofyouaboutahookupthatwouldjustend.AndIdidn’twanttostressyououtormakethingsharderforyouwiththeweddingcomingup.”
Astridtiltedherhead.“Isthatreallywhyyoudidn’ttellme?”
Clairefrowned.Nexttoher,Irisclearedherthroat.“I…well…Whatdoyoumean?”
Astridsighedandlookeddownatherlap.NowthatClairepeeredcloseratherfriend,Astridlookeddeeplyexhausted.Nomakeup,whichwasunheardofforAstridParker,andherhairlookedabitdull,likeithadn’tbeenwashedinafewdays.What’smore,shewasdressedinblackyogapantsandanoldgrayT-shirtthatsaidBrightFallsHighSchoolTrack
“WhatImeanis…”AstridturnedtofaceClaire,tuckingherlegsunderneathher.“I’vebeenthinkingalotthepastfewdays.Soul-searching,Iguessyoucouldcallit.”
“Oh,youcoulddefinitelycallitsoul-searching,”Irissaid.
Astridshotheralook,butatinysmileliftedonecornerofhermouth.“Okay,I’vebeendoingsomesoul-searching,andIrealize…I’mnotalwaystheeasiestpersontotalkto.”
Clairefrowned.“Astrid,honey—”
“No,letmefinish.”
“Yes,letherfinish,”Irissaid.
“Wouldyoushutup?”Astridsaid,buttherewasnovenominhervoice.
Irispresentedherpalmsinsurrender.
“I’mnotalwaystheeasiestpersontotalkto,”Astridwenton.“I’mdemandingandinflexibleandI’venever…I’veneversharedcertainthingswiththetwoofyou.Alotofcertainthings.”
ClairereachedoutandtookAstrid’shand,relievedwhenAstriddidn’tpullback.“Likewhat?”
“Like…”Astridsighed.“LikehowIfeltaboutDelilah.Imean,reallyfeltwhenweweregrowingup.HowIwantedhertobemysister,butwhenshedidn’tseemtowantthesamething,Ijustshutheroutandhow…howharditwas.Howharditstillis,becauseitmakesmefeel…”
Sheswallowed,pressedhereyesclosed.
“ItmakesmefeelunwantedandlikeI’mnotenough,andtalkingaboutitjustmademefeellikethatevenmore.”
“That’salotoffeels,”Irissaid.
“AndyouknowhowIhatethose,”Astridsaid,smilingwithouthumor.
“Sweetie,”Clairesaidsoftly,butAstridshookherheadandpressedonward.
“WhenIfoundoutaboutyouandher,Ijust…Ifreakedoutbecause,honestly,Ithought,Whyher?WhyClaireandnotme?”
“IthinkitshouldbeclarifiedherethatAstridisnottalkingaboutyoushagginghersister,”Irissaid,tippingherwineglassatthem.
“Jesus,Iris,”Astridsaid.
“What?Itneededtobestated.”
AstridfocusedonClaire,squeezingherhand.“Ijustmeanthatyouclearlyhadsomethingwithher.Shemeantsomethingtoyou,andyoumeantsomethingtoher,Icouldtell.AndI…Ididn’tunderstandwhyIcouldnevermeansomethingtoher.Notromantically,ofcourse,butjust…assomethingAsanything.We’dbeenthroughalottogether,hadlostparentstogether,andIwantedtosharethatwithher.I’dalwayswantedtosharethatwithher,becauseshewastheonlyoneIcouldshareitwith,andwhensheconstantlyshutmedown,itjustfelt…”
“Horrible,”Clairefinishedforher.
Astridnodded.“ButIdon’tthinkit’sentirelyDelilah’sfault.TherewasalotaboutherexperienceIdidn’tunderstandeither.ThingsIdidn’twanttoseeortrytounderstand.Andwhenshepushedmeaway,Irespondedinkind,andthenwejustsortoffedoffeachotherlikethat.”
Clairenodded,herthroatsuddenlytight.“I’mstillsorrythatIhurtyou.”
Astridreleasedabreathandsmiledather.“Thankyou.”
“WhataboutSpencer?”Claireasked.
Astridclosedhereyesforasecond.“Yeah.Spencer.Ithinkhewasjustaneasywayoutforme.”
“Hewasashitboot,”Irissaid.
“Nothelping,”Clairesaid,butAstridlaughed.
“No,Irisisright.Hewasatotalshitboot.”
“Andashitbelt,ashitsock,ashitshirt,ashit—”
“Yes,wegetit,Ris,”Clairesaid,thenturnedbacktoAstrid.“Iwishyouwould’veletusinabouthim.”
“Iknow.I’msorry.I’vebeenthinkingalotaboutthattoo.HemademylifelookhowIwastaughtitshouldlook.Itwaseasytojustgiveintohim,knowingitmadeeveryoneelsearoundmehappy.”
“Noteveryone,”Irissaid.
“Iknow,”Astridsaid.“ButhewaseverythingmymotheralwaystoldmeIwanted,sowhenhecamealong,Imademyselfwanthim,becausewhatthehelldidIreallywantifitwasn’thim?Inthebackofmymind,Iknewhewouldn’tmakemehappy,andIknewyoutwoknewthatfromthebeginning,whichwaswhyInevertalkedabouthim,hardlyeverbroughthimaround.Ididn’twanttohearit,thathewaswrong,thatIwaswrong.”
“I’msorryweheldbacktoo,”Clairesaid.“Weshould’vejusttalkedtoyouhonestlyfromthebeginning.”
“Ididn’tmakeiteasy,”Astridsaid
“No,yousureashelldidn’t,”Irissaid.
Astridrolledhereyes.“Ris,youandIalreadyhadthisconversation,socanyoushutyourpiehole?”
“Fine,fine,”Irissaid,“butreally,IjustspokeuptohearAstridParkersaypiehole.”
Thethreewomenalllaughed,andthenAstridpulledClaireintoherarms.Theysatlikethatforalongtime,Clairerevelinginthefamiliarityofherbestfriend’sembrace,herchinrestingonAstrid’sbonyshoulder.
“Whew,okay,nowthatthat’soverwith,”Irissaid,clappingoncewhentheothertwowomenpulledaway,“whatarewegoingtodoaboutyourlittleproblem?”
ShewaslookingatClaireasshespoke,andClairefeltherselfdeflate.
“Idon’tknow,”shesaid.“Rubyisdevastated,andJoshis—”
“Notthathonoraryshitboot,”Irissaid,holdingupahand.“Becausehonestly,JoshisgonnaJosh,andwe’vegotyouandRuby,andwealwayswill.”
Clairefrowned.“Thenwhatareyoutalkingabout?”
Irisglancedattheceiling,hermouthmovingasthoughwhisperingaprayertothegodsforhelp,beforelevelingClairewithwideeyes.“Delilah,mydarling,lovesickbestfriend.DelilahGreen.”
Claireshookherhead.“Nothing.There’snothingtodoabouther.”
IrisandAstrideyedeachotheroverClaire’shead.
“What?”shesaid.“There’snot.AndI’mnotlovesick.I’mjust…”Shelookedaroundathermelancholynest,allthesignsofadevastatingbreakuplitteringherlivingroom.“Itdoesn’tmatter.Delilah’sgone.”
“Oh,honey,”Irissaid.“Ifyouthinkthatwomanisn’tcompletelyinlovewithyou,you’reevenmorecluelessthanIthought.”
“What?”Clairesaid.“No.She’snot.Itwasjustsex.”
“Claire,youdon’tdojustsex,”Astridsaidsoftly.“Andyouneverhave.”
“Butshedoes.Shemadeabet,”Clairesaid,ignoringAstrid’sobservation.“Shemadeabetthatshecouldsleepwithme,yousaidsoyourself,and—”
“Noonewho’sonlyouttopissofftheirstepsisterlooksatsomeonethey’realreadysleepingwiththewayDelilahlookedatyou,”Irissaid.“Onthecampingtrip?Atthevineyard?Hell,evenatVivian’s,shecouldn’ttakehereyesoffyou.”
Claireshookherhead.“No.No,shedoesn’tcareaboutme.Sheleft.”
Astridsighed.“Sheleftbecauseshedoesn’tthinkanyoneherewantedhertostay.”
“Itoldher,”Clairesaid,tearsfinallywellingupandspillingover.“Itoldhertostay.”
Neitherofherbestfriendssaidanythingafterthat.Whatwastheretosay?Delilahwasgone;itdidn’tmatterwhatClairefeltforher,orwhatshemighthavefeltforClaire.NewYorkmightaswellhavebeenauniverseaway.
Claireknockedbacktherestofherwine,butbeforeshecouldgetuptooffereveryoneanotherround,herphoneexplodedinaflurryoftextmessages.
AllofthemfromJosh.
HeyI’mheadingoutoftownforafewdays.I’llbebackonFriday,Ipromise.
Whatthehell?Whatareallthesetextsfromyou?Didn’tyougetmytext?
Shit,youdidn’t.Ithasoneofthoselittleredexclamationpointsnexttoit.Shit!
Ruby’stextedmeamilliontimes.Ididn’tgetthemuntilnow.
Claire,I’msorry.
I’monmywaytoyourhouserightnow.
I’mthirtyminutesout.
I’mpullingontoyourstreet.
Rubywon’tanswerherphone.Isitdead?
Shit,shit,shit.
I’mhere.
Claireleapedup,eyeswideonherphone.“Ohmygod.”
“What?”Irissaid,standingtoo.“IsitDelilah?”
“It’sJosh.He’shere.”SherushedtowardthefrontdoorandflungitopenjustintimetoseeJoshboltingoutofhistruck,doorhangingopenashejoggedupthesidewalk.
“Claire,”hesaid,eyeswidewithpanic.“I’msorry,I—”
Butbeforehecouldgetanythingelseout,IrisflewpastClaire,herredhairflowingbehindherlikeflames,andpunchedJoshsquareintheface.
BLOODSPURTEDEVERYWHERE.
“Shit!”heyelled,hishandsflyingtohisnose.“Iris,whatthehell?”
“Nocountryforoldshitboots,”Irissaid,pointingapalefingerinhisface.
Heflinchedback,handsstillcoveringhiswound.Bloodseepedthroughhisfingersanddownhisarms.Itwaslikesomethingoutofahorrorshow,andittookClaireasecondtoregisterwhatthehellhadactuallyhappenedandwhattoaddressfirst.
Finally,thebloodthatwasstartingtodapplehersidewalktookprecedence,aidedbyAstridhandingheranoldtowelshekeptunderthekitchensinkforjustthesekindsofstainingmesses.
ClairepressedthetoweltoJosh’snose,whichheusedtomopupmostofthemess,thenkeptagainsthisfacetopreventanymorespillage.
“Whatisgoingon?”sheaskedwhenhewasmoreorlessstable.
“Irithpunthedmeinthefuckingnothe,that’thwhat’thgoingon,”hesaid,hiss’sthickenedbytheinjury.
“AndI’ddoitagain,”Irissaid.
“Abouttimesomebodydidit,”Astridsaid.
Heglaredatthebothofthem,butthenhisexpressionfellwhenhelookedatClaire.Heshookhishead.“Ididn’tleave.Notthistime—ItoldyouIwouldn’t.”
“Butyoudid,”Clairesaid.“You’vebeengonefortwodayswithoutanyexplanation,andonceagain,I’vegotadevastateddaughterIcanbarelygettocomeoutofherroom.”
Hiseyes—asthatwasallClairecouldsee—tightenedasthoughinpain.Thenhedroppedthetowel,andthethreewomensuckedinabreath.Hisfacewassmearedwithnow-dryingblood,hisnosealreadyswelling,thespaceunderhiseyesdarkenedandhintingatthebruisesthatwouldsoonform.
“Thatbad,huh?”hesaid.
“Itsuitsyou,”Irissaid.
Claireshotheralookbutcouldn’thelpbutsmile.SheknewherfriendswerejustassickofJosh’smindgames,hisunreliability,asshewas.Andshewasdonelettinghimgetawaywithit.
“Youcan’tkeepdoingthis,”shesaid.IrisandAstridbothcameupnexttoher,eachfriendtakingoneofherhands.“Infact,thiswasyourlastchance.I’mfinished.Rubycan’ttakethis,Josh.Ican’ttakethis.It’snotfair,andIdon’tunderstandwhyyou—”
“IbuiltahouseinWinterLake,”hesaid.
Sheblinkedathim.WinterLakewasaboutthirtyminutesnorthwestofBrightFalls.Itwastiny,heavilywooded,andhadadowntownthesizeofabutton.
“Youdidwhat?”sheasked.
“That’swhereIwent.I’vebeenworkingonafewprojectstherethesepastmonths,andoneofthem…well,it’smine.IhadtogofinishallthepaperworkonWednesday,thenspentThursdaygettingsomethingssetupinside.WhenIwasgettingreadytoleaveonWednesday,myphonewasdead.IchargeditupinmytruckandsentyouatextassoonasIcould,butWinterLakehasshitreception—I’mgoingtohavetochangecarrierswhenImoveouttherepermanently—andIdidn’trealizethetextdidn’tgothroughuntilIwasonmywaybacktodayandallthesetextsstartedrushinginassoonasIhitI-5.Iwould’vecalledRubywhileIwasgone,butlikeIsaid,nosignal,andIdon’thavemyWi-Fisetupyet.”
Shestaredathim,herfriends’handsstillinhers.Theystoodbyquietly,lettinghertakethelead.
“Whydidn’tyoujusttellmewhatyouweredoing?”sheasked.“Beforeyouleft?Allyouhadtodowastalktome,tellmewhatwasgoingon.Hell,leavemeastickynoteonmydoor!”
Hesighed.“Wouldyouhavebelievedme?IfItoldyoutwomonthsagothatIwasbuildingahouseinWinterLake?”
Shepressedhermouthflat,heranswerclear.
“That’swhyIdidn’ttellyouanyofthis,”hesaid.“Iwanteditdone.Iknowmywordsarecheap,Claire.IwantedtoshowyouthatIwasseriousthistime.”
Hestaredatherwithhisblackeningeyes,neverlookingaway.
“YoureallybuiltahouseinWinterLake?”sheasked.
Hegrinned.“Ireallydid.And,ifit’sokay,I’dliketotakeyouandRubytoseeit.”
“Dad!”
Rubyappearedinthefrontdoorway,hereyeswideandhersmileinfectiousassherantowardhimandthrewherarmsaroundJosh’sneck.Heliftedherup,heldherclosewhileherfeetdangledofftheground,hissorenosepressedintoherhair.
“Whathappenedtoyourface?”Rubyaskedwhenheputherbackdown.
Hewavedahand.“NothingIdidn’tdeserve.”
“AuntIrisfinallypunchedyou,huh?”shesaid.
“I’mgladtoseemyworkisnotedandappreciated,”Irissaid.
Joshrolledhiseyes,buthewassmiling.Theyallwere,andClairecouldn’tseemtostop.Shewassorelieved,sopleasantlyshocked,shedidn’tknowwhattodowithherselfwhileJoshexplainedtoRubywhathadhappenedwithhisphoneandallaboutWinterLake.
AfterafewtighthugsandatearygoodbyeonClaire’spart—alongwithplanstospendalloftomorrowtogethergettingdrunkandeatingchocolateonthedaythatwould’vebeenAstrid’swedding—AstridandIrisleft.Fortherestoftoday,ClaireknewsheneededtotakesometimeforherdaughterandJosh.
AfterJoshcleanedthedriedbloodoffhisfaceinthebathroom,ClaireandRubypiledintohistruck,andtheydroveouttoWinterLake.Itwasaprettyshorttrip—aquickstintonInterstate5,followedbyalotofwindingbackroadsflankedbyleafywoods.TheypassedthroughWinterLake’sdowntown,atwo-blockaffaircompletewithzerostreetlights,onecoffeeshop,twohardwarestores,andanamazingold-fashionedmovietheatercalledtheAndromeda.Despitethatgem,theareamadeBrightFallslooklikeaboomingmetropolis.Finally,abouttenminutesoutsideofdowntown,theywounddownanarrowroadwithlittlehousesspacedatleastahalfmileapart,untilJoshpulledintothedriveofalogcabinthatbelongedonapostcard.Itwasbiggerthansheexpected,withanA-frameroof,awidefrontporch,sidingthecolorofgoodwhiskey,andastonechimneythatroseintothesky.Evergreensandpinessurroundedtheproperty,andClairecouldseeatinysliceofsilverbehindthehouse—WinterLake.
“Josh,”shesaid,hervoicebreathy.“Thisis…thisis…”
“Amazing!”Rubysaid.“It’samazing!”Thentheirdaughterflungopenherdoorandranupthefrontwalktotheporch,peeringthroughthewindowsbeforethrowingherselfintooneoftherockers.
“Itreallyis,”Clairesaid,smilingatJosh.“Ican’tbelieveyoudidthis.”
Hewinkedather.“Waituntilyouseetheinside.”
Theyclimbedoutofthetruck,andJoshunlockedthefrontdoor.Insidewas…well,ittookClaire’sbreathaway.Theentirebackwallwascompletelymadeofwindows,lettinginthesinkingsunandfillingthehousewithanamber-lavenderglow.Thekitchen,livingroom,anddiningroomwereallonebigspace,withthesamepine-knottedlogwallsastheexteriorpairedwithmodernappliancesanddesign.Thekitchenwasbrightandrusticatthesametime,withcream-coloredcabinetsinterspersedbetweenthewhiskeywalls,anislandthatfeaturedafarmhousesinkandlotsofworkspace,andbutcher-blockcounters.Soft,darkbrownleathercouchesfilledthelivingroom,alongwithasquashyhunter-greenarmchairthatlookedbigenoughtofittwoadults.Throwpillowsinnavyandgreenfilledthespace,andtheartworkonthewallsshowcasedlakesandriversandforestsinthesamecolors.Ablack-and-whitephotographofRubysatonthemantel,alongwithaphotoofthethreeofthem—Claire,Josh,andRuby—backwhenRubywasaroundnine.
“CanIseemyroom?”Rubyasked.“Please,canI?”
“Youbet,kiddo,”Joshsaid,grinning.“Ileftitprettyblank,becauseIwantyoutopickoutallyourownstuff,okay?Maybewecandothattomorrow?”
HeeyedClaireandshenodded.ThenRubytookoffdownthehalloffthelivingroom.
“CanIhavetheroomwiththehugebedandthebigbathroom?”shecalled.
“Notachance,”Joshcalledback,laughing.
“Ugh,fine,”Rubysaid,butClairecouldtellshewasteasing.
Clairecontinuedtotourthespaceslowly,takinginallthelittledetails.Itwasbeautiful.Therewasnootherwordforit.AndwhenJoshaskedshylywhatshethought,shetoldhimso.
Hebeamed.“Comehere.Iwanttoshowyoutheviewfromthebackdeck.”Hetookherhandandledheroutside.Thedeckwassimple,justtwoAdirondackchairsandatablebetweenthem,buttheview…
“Wow,”shesaid,restingherforearmsontherailingandwatchingthesunasitspungoldoverthesurfaceofWinterLake.
“Prettygreatlocation,huh?”hesaidashecameupnexttoher.
“I’llsay.”Sheturnedtohim,nudgedhisshoulderwithhers.“Ican’tbelieveyoudidthis.”
Heshrugged,eyessoftlynarrowedontheviewfromhisveryownporch.Thenhedugintohisbackpocketandtookouthiswallet,extractingasmallwhitecard.“Ididthistoo.”
Clairetookthecard,feltthethickpaperbetweenherfingers,theglossy,navybluewritingslightlyraised.
JOSHFOSTERHOMES,LLC
Herheadsnappedup.“Wait…theprojectsyou’vebeenworkingon…Theyweren’twithHolden’scompany?”
Heshookhishead,thenpaused.“Well,yeah,thefirstcouplewere.Butthelasttwo,theonesI’vebeendoinguphere?Allmine.”
“Youdidit.”
“Ididit.”
Shesmiledathim,herchestsuddenlyfeelingtightandwarmatthesametime.“Josh,I’m…I’msorryIdidn’t—”
Heshookhishead,puttingupahandtocutheroff.“No,don’tdothat.Ideservedyourdoubt.IknowIdid.”
Shereleasedabreath,andheturnedtofaceher.
“ButI’mherenow,”hesaid.“I’mhereforgood.I’mnotthesamestupidkidIwaswhenwehadRuby.Hell,I’mnotthesamestupidkidIwastwoyearsago.IhopeIcanearnbackyourtrust.”
Clairereachedoutandsqueezedhishand.“Ihopesotoo.Thisisahellofastart.”
Helaughedandsqueezedback.“Iwantustobeafamily.”
Shenodded.“Metoo.”
Thenhisfacefellandhismouthdroppedopenalittle.“But,Imean,notafamilyfamily.”
Shetiltedherheadathim,frowning.
“Imean…”Hepulledhisfingersfromhersandscrubbedahandthroughhishair.Itwashardtotellinthedimlight,butClairecould’veswornhewasblushing.“IknowsometimeswhenI’vecomebacktotownwe’ve…well,we’ve…”Hewavedhishandbetweenthem.
“Screwed?”sheasked.Hiseyeswentsowideshelaughed.“Oh,comeon,Josh.We’readults.Wecancallitwhatitwas.”
Hisshouldersrelaxed,andhelaughedtoo.“Okay,yeah.ButIdon’tthinkweshouldanymore.”
Shejustliftedherbrowsathim.
Heshookhishead.“Itdoesn’thelpeitherofusbeagoodparenttoRuby.Andhonestly,inthepast,IwonderifushavingsexwashalfthereasonIbolted.Notthatanyofthatwasyourfault.Itwasallme,butwell,thesexconfusedme.Scaredme.AndIjustwanttobeagooddadandagoodco-parentforyou.”
Clairenodded,honestlyshockedatthewisdomhewasspouting.“Yeah.Allthatmakessense.”
“Andwedon’tloveeachotherlikethat.Notanymore.”
“No,wedon’t.”
“AndIwanttohavethatwithsomeonesomeday.”
Shesmiled.“Iwantthatforyoutoo.”
“Andthere’sthefactthatyou’recompletelyinlovewithsomeoneelse.”
Hersmiledropped.“I’msorry,what?”
Helaughed.“Admitit.”
“Ican’tadmittosomethingIdon’tunderstand.”
“Oh,please.Claire.YouandDelilah.It’sobvious.”
“Itabsolutelyisnot.Yousawustogether,what?Once?”
“Oncewasenough.Iknowshe’sgotacomplicatedpastinBrightFalls,”Joshwenton,“butI’veneverseenanyonelookatyoulikeshedid.Notevenme.Andyoulookedatherthesameway.”
“Andhowwasthat?”
“Likeyou’dfollowhertothemoon.”
Shechewedatherbottomlipandturnedbacktofacethelake.Shedidn’tunderstandwhyeveryonecouldn’tletitgo.WhyeveryoneseemedtothinkthewayDelilahmerelylookedatClairemeantshewasmadlyinlove.Youcouldn’tjudgethatfromalook.Youcouldn’tjudgeanythingfromalook.
Sowhydidshesuddenlyfeeltheneedtocrylong,shudderingsobsthatwouldhopefullydislodgethisacheinherheart?Sheshookherhead,mutteredfuckunderherbreath,becauseifanysituationcalledforagoodf-bomb,itwasthisone.
Joshnudgedherwithhisshoulder.“Whatareyousoafraidof?”
Shelaughedthroughherfallingtears,wipingunderhereyes.“WheredoIstart?”
Helookedatherexpectantly,andsherealizedhereallywantedtohearheranswer.
Shesaggedagainsthim.“I’mscaredofgettinghurt.I’mscaredofRubygettinghurt.I’mscaredI’llgiveher—giveanyone,Iguess—everythingI’vegot,andthey’lljustendupleaving.I’malot,Josh.I’vegotakidwho’sabouttobeateenager,forgod’ssake.I’vegotyou.I’vegotabusiness.AndI’vegot…well,IguessI’vegotsomemajortrustissues.”
Henodded.“Andalotofthatismyfault.”
Shedidn’tsayanythingtothat.Theybothknewitwastrue.
“Andmydad’s,”shesaid.“AndNicole’sand,hell,Idon’tknow.EverybrokenheartI’veeverheardasadsongabout.”
Hewrappedhisarmaroundher,andsherestedherheadagainsthisshoulder.
“Doyouloveher?”heasked.
“Itdoesn’tmatter.”
Hesqueezedheralittlecloser.“Doyouloveher?”
Sheletthequestionsettlebetweenthemforawhile.Thesunsanklower,turningthegoldenairtolavendertoadeepviolet.SheknewtheanswertoJosh’squestion,butitwasaridiculousanswer.Impossible.
Joshsighed.“Yourwholelife,you’vebeenputtingpeoplefirst,Claire.Yourmom.AstridandIris.Me.Ruby.It’sokaytotakesomethingforyourself.”
Hiswordssoundedlikewisdom,liketruth.Theysparkedsomethinginsideherthatfeltawholelotlikehope,andinanyothercircumstance,Clairemight’veagreed.Butshe’dalreadytried.She’dtriedtotakesomethingforherselfwhenshe’daskedthewomanshemaybelovedtostay,tofigurethingsouttogether.
AndDelilahGreenhadleftanyway.
Buteventhoughitwasimpossibletohavewhatshereallywanted,shelikedthis—herandJoshstandingoutonthedeckhebuilthimself,herheadonhisshoulderwhiletheytalkedaboutthepossibilityoflove.ChapterThirty-One
DELILAHWASSUREshewasabouttothrowup.
Thesunwassetting,castingagoldenglowoverGansevoortStreet,andabreezeblewoverherskin,finallygivingthecitysomerelieffromthismind-numbingsummerheat.Shewasdressedinherfavoriteblackjumpsuit,herhairbigandwild,curlsdefinedtowithinaninchoftheirliveswithallmannerofgelandcurlcrème.Hermakeupwasspot-on,ifshedidsaysoherself.Smokyeyesandwingedeyeliner,adarkredlipthatmadeherfeelpowerfulandsexy,likeacreatureofthenightinsomeparanormalromancenovel.
Exceptthiswasn’taromance.BecauseasshestaredupattheWhitney,atoweringgraybuilding,allmodernlinesandglass,thatshe’dbeeninsideofamilliontimesbeforeandtwicesincereturningtoNewYorknearlytwoweeksago,herstomachchurnedlikeitregrettedherlastmeal.
Sheswallowed,inhaled,thenswallowedagain,butnothingwasmakingherfeelcalmer.Tonight,QueerVoiceslaunchedattheWhitney.Shewasready.She’dbeenworkingherassoffsinceshegotbacktoNewYork.She’devengottenMichaelatocoverhershiftsattheRiverCafé.AfterherfeefortheParker-HaleweddingdroppedintoherAppleCashaccounttwodaysafterleavingBrightFalls—noemailfromAstridaboutit,notext,justachunkofchangethatwasrightfullyDelilah’sanyway—she’dpushedallworriesofmoneyandrentoutofherheadandgottentowork.
Tenpieces.
That’showmanyphotographstheWhitneywanted,andbythetimeshe’dreturnedtoNewYork,she’dhadoneweektopreparebeforethemuseumneededeverythingforframing.Thosesevendayshadbeenablur—barelyeating,catchingcatnapsonhercouch,constantlyporingoverherexistingbodyofworkforpiecesthatshowedtheworldwhoDelilahGreenwas,nicheandall.Butshe’ddoneit.She’devenworkedonanewpiece,ashotshe’dtakeninBrightFallsafterthecampingtripduringthoselongcoupleofdaysbeforeshe’dtakenClairerollerskating.She’dgoneouttothefalls,abouttenmilesoutsideoftown,awoodsyareawhereBrightRiverpooledunderaseriesofsmallwhitewaterfallsthatcascadeddownfromarockycliff.She’dbroughthertripodandhercamera,thenproceededtospendtheentiredaylostinhundredsofshotsofthenaturalworld,herselfinasoakedwhiteblousethemainsubject.
“Wow,”AlexTokudahadsaidasthey’dstaredatthephotographfivedaysagowhenDelilahhaddroppedeverythingoff.DelilahhadnamedthepieceFound.Shewasn’tsurewhy,butit’stheonlythingthatpoppedintohermindwhenshe’dfinishededitingtheshotshe’dchosen.
“Thisis…powerful,”Alexsaid,tiltingthelargerectangleofphotopaperthiswayandthat.Theirhairwasshortanddark,andtheyworeamaroonsuitwithasilkblackblouse,chicashell.“Painful,even.”
“Yeah”wasallDelilahcouldthinktosay,butinside,shefeltasthoughshewasmadeofglitter,afeelingthatonlyincreasedasAlexhadcontinuedtosiftthroughhertenpieces,commentingsimplybutauthentically.
Laterthatday,whenshe’dreturnedalonetoherfifth-floorwalk-upinBrooklyn,thespaceamessofclothesandfoodwrappers,half-drunkglassesofwineabandonedonsidetablesformorenourishinggulpsofwater,she’dgrabbedherphoneandopeneduptohertextswithClaire.
Athreadthathadbeensilentforaweek.
Herthumbshovered,desperatetoreachout,butunsurewhattosay.Whatwastheretosay?ThebetwithAstrid,ofcourse,wasstupid.Itwasmeanandselfish.EventhoughAstridhadn’ttakenit,andassoonDelilahandClairestarteduptheiraffair,Delilahrarelythoughtofthosespitefulwordsshe’dspokentoAstridinherKaleidoscopeInnroomagain.
Still.
Itlookedbad,sheknew.Whenshethoughtaboutthetrip,playedeverymomentoutlikeamovie,studyingherselflikeanaspiringactressstudiedHepburn,shesawit.
Herconstantsnarkycomments.
Hermeanness.
Herlackofcare.
ThewayshelashedoutatAstridanymomentshecould,andforwhat?Forrevenge?Forfun?ItwasnowonderClairehadletherleave,letherwalkrightoutofWisteriaHouseandBrightFallswithoutasinglequestion.Delilahdidn’tblameher,shesupposed.She’dmadeeveryefforttoensureeveryoneinBrightFallsknewshedidn’tgivetwoshitsaboutthem.
Andshedidn’t.
Butnow,asshelookedupattheWhitney,herchestfeltstrangelyhollow.Therewasexcitementthere,ofcourse.Professionalexcitement.Artisticexcitement.This-could-change-everythingexcitement,whichwasnosmallthing.Butshecouldn’tstoporignorethistuggingaroundherheart.Thewishforsomethingmore.Someone,perhaps.
Sheclosedhereyes,justforasecond,andimaginedwhatitwouldbelike.
Lifewithsomeone’sfingersentwinedwithhersfornightslikethis.
Lifewithherperson.
ButasDelilahimaginedsomeonewalkingbesideherinthishugemoment,thatsomeonetookonaface,afamiliarfeel,softskinandbrowneyesshiningbehindherglasses.
Clairehadn’tbeenlikeJax.
Shehadn’tbeenlikeanyoneinDelilah’slife.
She’dbeen…Shewas…
Delilahshookherhead,rolledhershouldersback.Shehadajobtodotonight,andshecouldn’tafforddistraction.
Shecouldn’taffordwhateverClaireSutherlandwas.
THESHOWBEGANateighto’clock.Bynine,Delilahhadalreadyspokentofouragentswhohadhandedhertheircardandtoldhertoemailthemherportfolio,connectedwithtwootherartistswhoseworkhadsimilarthemesaboutsomecollaborativeprojects,andsoldthreepiecesformoremoneythanshecouldcurrentlycomprehend
She’dalsocomedangerouslyclosetobreakingdownintotearsfivedifferenttimes.
Therewasnoreasonforthecrying.
Thenightwasperfect,theshowasuccess.Theexhibitionroomwasbrightlylitandsoftallatonce,artistsandpatronssippingchampagneandspillingoutonthemuseum’sveranda,whichoverlookedthecity.Therewereincrediblequeerphotographshanginginthespace,imagesthatshowcasedresilience,pain,sex,determination,hope,despair,celebration,andlove.ItwasthepinnacleofnotonlyDelilah’sprofessionallifesofar,butherqueerlifeaswell.Here,inthisroom,waseverythingshe’deverwantedorrunfromorfeared.
Sowhythisconstantwellingsensation,likesomethinginsideherwasabouttooverflow?Shecouldn’ttellifshewasoverwhelmedorhappyorscaredorsad.She’dfinallygottenamomenttobreatheandgrabbedaglassofbubblyalcohol,whichsheverymuchhopedwouldchillherthefuckout,whensheheardhername.
Sheturnedtowardthesoundtoseeawomanwithablondpixiecutinafabulouswhitebandagedresssashayingtowardher.
“Lorelei,”Delilahsaidwhenthewomangotcloser.
“Youremembered,”Loreleisaid,clinkingherglassagainstDelilah’s,aknowingsmileonherlips.
Delilahwinced.“I’msorryInevertexted.”
Loreleiwavedahand.“Ohplease.Iknowhowtohaveacasualhookup.”
Delilahnodded,butsomethingaboutthewords—theimplicationofjustsex—twingedsomethinginhergut.
“Ican’tthankyouenough,”shesaid,shakingoffthefeeling.“ForshowingmyworktoAlex.”
“Itwasmypleasure.I’veknownAlexforyears.WewenttoVassartogether.AndalthoughI’mjustoneoftheWhitney’smanybloodsuckinglawyers”—hereDelilahlaughed—“IknowabeautifulphotographwhenIseeit.”
“Well,itwasappreciated,nonetheless.”
Loreleinodded,hereyesonDelilahoverherchampagneflute.“Maybewecouldgetarealdrinkafterward?Perhapsevenlearneachother’smiddlenames?”
Delilahopenedhermouthtosayyes.Shealwayssaidyeswhenagorgeouswomanaskedheroutafteraneventorbeforeaneventor,hell,foranytimeduringanevent.Butherresponsegotstuckinherthroat,wouldn’tevenrollontohertongue.
Lorelei’sexpressionfell.“Igetit.”
“I’msorry,”Delilahsaid,rubbingherforehead.“I…Iwanttosayyes.”
Loreleitiltedherhead.“But…?”
Delilahshookherhead.“Idon’tknow.Ijust…”
“There’ssomeoneelse?”
Again,Delilah’smouthdroppedopen,thistimeadefinitivenoreadyandwaiting.
Butshecouldn’tseemtogetthatwordouteither.Delilahblinked,swallowed,andtriedagain.Stillnothing.
Loreleismiled,oblivioustoDelilah’sinnerturmoil,sighingandwavingahandatthecrowdofnamelessbeautyallaroundthem.“You’relucky,then.”
Andwiththat,shekissedDelilahonthecheekandsaunteredoff.Delilahwatchedher,suddenlybattlingaferalurgetocallthewomanbackanddraghertosomeunusedcoatcloset,thenfuckhersillyjusttofeelnormalagain.
Sheturnedaway,backtowardherpiecesonthewall.Therewerestillatleasttwohoursleft,andsheneededtofocus.Shecouldn’tblowthischance.Shecouldn’t—
DelilahfrozeasshesawafamiliarfigurestandinginfrontofFound.Thewoman’sheadwastiltedasshetookintheimage,herhippoppedoutinherblackpencilskirt,holdingaglassofchampagnewithtwofingerslikeitwasthecheapestbilgeshe’devertasted.
Blinkingdidn’tclearthevision,whichDelilahhadhalfhoped,halfdreadedwasjustsomestress-inducedhallucination.
Butno.AstridParkerwashere.InNewYorkCity.AtDelilahGreen’sshow.
Delilahstaredforafewseconds,wonderingifshecouldgetawaywithsimplyturningaroundandwalkingstraightoutoftheWhitney,butsheknewshecouldn’t.Strangely,shedidn’tevenwantto.Curiositytrumpedherhorror,andshemadeherwayovertoherstepsister,approachingherslowlylikeonemightawoundedanimal.
Whenshegotcloseenough,shedecidedsilencewasprobablybest,slidingupnexttoAstridandlookingupatherownfaceinblackandwhite.Shestilllovedthisphotograph,probablymorethananyotherself-portraitshe’devertaken.Self-portraitsweretricky;theytookforever,asyouhadtosetuptheshotwithoutitssubject,thendoitagainandagainuntilyougotitright.Doublethecomplicationsifwaterwasusuallyacenterpieceofone’swork.Thisonewasnodifferent,andithadpaidoff.
Alexwasright.
Itwaspowerful.
Intheimage,Delilahwasinthewateruptoherwaist,dressedinathinwhiteblousethatwascompletelysoaked,andnobra.Herhairwasdrenched,slickedstraightbackassheleanedonearmonarockycrag.Herbodywasturnedtotheside,herheadrestinginthecrookofherelbow,whilethefallspoundeddownuponherback.Waterdropletsflewintotheair.Thesliverofskyabovewasclouded,thetreesthickandwiry.Thepoolrippledoutaroundher,aroundthepressofwaterfromthefalls.Theentiresettingwaschaos.Nature,loudandlovelyandpowerful.
Butthewomanherself.
Delilah.
Herfacewas…serene.Athirdofherexpressionwashiddeninherarm,butbotheyeswerevisible,justoffcenteroftheviewer.Waterbeadedonherslightlypartedmouth,hercheeks,theendofhernose.Evenwithallofthat,shelookedatpeace.Therewasnosmileonherlips,noecstaticglimmerinhereyes.Therewasjust…aquietthere.Shehadn’tmeantforittohappen.She’dsimplybeenwastingtime,tryingnottothinkabouthowmuchshewantedtoseeClaire,experimentingwiththewaterdepthsandifshecouldpulloffaself-portraitusingatimerandatripodsetupinthemiddleofathree-footdeepriverpoolinBrightFalls.
Theresulthadbeenthis.Ashockingcalminthemidstofnaturalcacophony.
“Interestingtitle,”Astridsaid,motioningherglasstowardthewhiteplacardbelowthepieceidentifyingtheartistandotherpertinentinformation.
Delilahsighed.Shecouldn’texplainthetitle—Found.Ormaybeshecould,andthat’swhyshe’dconvincedherself,overandoverinthepastweek,thatthetitlehadbeenarbitrary,somethingtofillthemandatoryspace.
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”sheasked.
Astriddidn’tanswerrightaway,andwhenshedid,hervoicewassoft.“I’mnotsure.”
Sheturnedthen,hereyesfindingDelilah’s,andthetwowomenstaredateachother.ItoccurredtoDelilahthatthiswasprobablythelongestshe’deverreallylookedatherstepsister.She’dspentyearsperfectingtheartofavoidance,ofprotection,ofneverlettingAstridseehowmuchDelilahwashurting.Ifeyeswerethewindowintothesoul,Delilah’shadlongbeenshuttered.
Now,though,shemadeherselflook,allthoseentriesaboutDelilahinAstrid’sjournalflutteringthroughhermind.Shewantedtosaysomethingaboutthem,tounderstand,butshe’dneverbeenforthcomingwithAstridParker.
Notonce.
Thefactstruckhersuddenly,somethingregretfulandsadpullingdownhershoulders.Itwasaweight,thisburdenofhurtandresentment,ofmisunderstanding.Shewastiredandsore,andshewantedtobedonewithit.Therealizationwasalmostarelief,evenifAstridlaughedinherface—shewasreadyforthispartofherlifetobeover,or,attheveryleast,tochange.MaybethatmeantsheandAstridweredoneforgood.Maybetheyjustneededtosaygoodbye,wisheachotherwell,andwalkaway.
Sheturnedandlookedatherownfaceagain,anexpressionshebarelyrecognizedbutwantedtoseeinthemirroreverymorning.ShewantedtheDelilahhangingupthereonthewalltobetherealDelilah.Strongandresilient.Batteredbytheworldandcircumstancesbeyondhercontrol,sure,butinsteadofresentfulandangry,thatwomanwascalm.Peaceful.Serene.Grateful.Shebelongedsomewhere,despiteyearsandyearsofemotionaldisplacement.She’dfoundsomething.She’dbeenfoundbysomeone.
Ormaybe,bymanysomeones.
“Astrid—”
“YouknowwhatIrealized?”Astridasked.
Delilahlookedather,relievedtohavetoholdoffthewordsshewantedtosay,becauseshewasn’tsurehowtosayanyofthem.
“What?”shesaid.
Astridtookabreath.“Irealized,intwelveyearsofyoulivinginNewYork,I’veneveroncecometoseeyouuntilnow.”
Delilahblinkedather.
“I’dbitchandmoanaboutyoucomingbacktoBrightFalls.”
“Astrid—”
“ThenI’dbitchandmoanevenmorewhenyoudidn’tshowup,butIneverplannedatripouthere.Inevereventriedtobridgethatgap,didI?”
ShelookedatDelilah,herbangsjusttouchingherlashes.Shelookedtired,heroutfitpristineandhermakeupnaturalandminimal,butnothinghidtheshadowofpurpleunderhereyes.Astheylookedateachother,reallylooked,Delilahfeltsomethinginsideherrelease.
“Itwasaprettybiggaptobridge,”shesaid.
Astridnodded.“Yeah.”
“AndI…”Delilahsighed,forcingherselftokeepeyecontact.Itwasintense,thatwellingfeelingwasback,butthisalsofeltright.Hardandhorribleandright.“Ididmylevelbesttomakeitaswideaspossible.”
SomethingflickeredinAstrid’sexpression.Somethinglike…pain.Likesorrow.
“I’msorry,”Delilahsaidbeforeshecouldtalkherselfoutofit.Twowordsofapologydidn’tfixitall;sheknewthat.Butmaybeitwasastart.Because,nomatterhowhardherchildhoodwas,howlonely,AstridParkerwasherfamily.Hersister.Delilahfinallygotthat,twentyyearsafterherfatherdiedandleftheralone.Shedidn’thavetobealone.Notunlessshejustwantedtobe,andgoddammit,shedidn’t.Shewastiredoftryingtoforgetsheevenhadasister,tiredofpretendinglikeshedidn’twanttounderstandAstridbecausecaringabouthermightleadtopainorrejection.
Butitmightalsoleadtosomuchmore.
“I’msorrytoo,”Astridsaid.“Ididn’tmakeiteasyeither.Iknowthat.You’dlostalot.SohadI,andwewerejustkids.Iguess…well,Iguessneitherofusknewhowtohandletheother.Howtohandlethehurt.”
“No,Idon’tthinkwedid.”
Thentheybothseemedto…letgo.Literally.Theyexhaled,releasingwhatsoundedlikefourlungfulsofair,tinylaughsfilteringoutontheends.
“Goodgod,”Astridsaid.“Thatonlytookustwelveyearstosay.”
Delilahsmiledandshookherhead,hershoulderssuddenlyreleasingtheirholdonherneck.“Longerthanthatprobably.”
Astridnoddedandheldupherglass.
Delilahclinkeditwithherown,andtheybothsipped,theairbetweenthemalittleclearer,alittlemorebuoyant.TheystoodtherelikethatforawhilebeforeAstridmovedontoDelilah’snextpiece…thenthenextandthenext.Delilahfollowedher,watchingAstridtakeinherwork.Shefoundsheactuallycaredwhathersisterthought.Maybeshealwayshad,whichwaswhyshe’dneversharedanyofthiswithherbeforetoday.Notonpurposeanyway,assheknewAstridhadbeencheckingoutherInstagramforyearsnow.
“Thesearereallylovely,Delilah,”shefinallysaid.Astridhadneverbeeneffusivewithpraise,soDelilahdidn’texpectanynow.Butthatsimplephraseheldweight,anauthenticitythatDelilahfeltinherstomach.
“Thankyou,”shesaid,andmeantit.
“Iespeciallylikethisone.”
AstridhadstoppedinfrontofDelilah’spersonalfavoritepiece,herownself-portraitaside.
LaceandFury,itwascalled.Init,atwenty-five-year-oldClaireSutherlandwadedintoBrightRiverinalacedress,everythingabouthersoftandbeautiful,andatthesametime,despairingandragefilled.Delilahrememberedtakingthephoto,lookingathercamera’sscreenaftereachshot,somethinginherconnectingwithClaire’srage.WhenAlexhadseenitafewdaysago,they’djuststaredatitforawhile,thenshooktheirhead.
“Prettysureeveryqueerpersonintheworldcanrelatetothat,”they’dsaid,settingthephotoasideandmovingontothenextpiece.
Andthey’dbeenright.That’swhyDelilahhadtakenthephotointhefirstplace.Clairerepresentedacontradiction,thediscomfitingmarriageofbeautyandpain.Butnow,asDelilahlookedatClairethroughtheglass,sherealizedshewasn’tacontradictionatall.Shesimplywas.Complexityandclarity,fearandhope,loveandhateandindifference.Shewaseverything.
“Ilikeittoo,”Delilahsaidnow,staringatClaire’sprofile.
“Areyouinlovewithmybestfriend?”
DelilahsnappedherheadtowardAstrid.“What?”
Astridjustliftedherbrows.
“I…um…I…”Delilahblewoutabreath,therightwordhoveringjustoutofreach.Asimpleword.Aterrifyingword.
Astridnodded,asthoughDelilahhadspokenthewordanyway,thenliftedherglasstowardthephotoofClaire.“Well,Iwouldn’tsellthatone.Ihaveafeelingthere’ssomeonewhomightliketoseeit.”ChapterThirty-Two
RIVERWILDBOOKSdidn’topenuntilten,butClairealwaysarrivedaroundnine,readyforherworkdaytobegin.Somedays,shewasalreadyperchedatherdeskbyeight,siftingthroughinvoicesorperusingonlinecatalogs,makingschedulesandtryingtofigureouthowtoworksomee-commerceintothestore’sservices.Especiallythisweek,withRubystayingatJosh’snewcabininWinterLake,sheneededadistraction.Irisdidherbesttobeavailable,butshehadherownlife,herownrelationshiptostressover,andgodknewAstridhadenoughonherplatelately.
Now,threedaysafterwhatClaireknewwasDelilah’sshowattheWhitney,sheunlockedthestore’sdoorandsteppedintothefairylight–illuminatedspaceateightforty-seven.Sheleftthemainlightsoff,likeshealwaysdiduntiltheyopened,andflickedonthetwocomputersbehindthefrontcounter,listeningastheywhirredtolifeandbooteduptheshop’ssystems.
Herthoughtsstrayedasshewaited,wanderingwithoutpermissiontoDelilah,tohowhershowwent,ifshe’dgottenanagent.Inthepastfewdays,she’dreachedforherphonemorethanonce,itchingtotextDelilahandaskaboutit,askabouther,askanything.Butshealwaysstoppedherself.Therewasnopoint,andasDelilahhadn’treachedouttohereitherinthemorethanfourteendayssinceshe’dleftBrightFalls,Clairehadtoassumetheotherwomanagreed.
Sherubbedherforehead,exhaustionmakinghereyesswim.Shehadn’tbeensleepinggreatlately,whichmadeabsolutelynosense,butthereitwas,nonetheless.She’devenboughtbrand-newsheetsandanewcoverlet,newpillowsandanewquilttofoldattheendofthebed.Nothinghelped.ItwaslikeDelilah’sscent,thefeelofher,wasimpressedintothewalls,themattressitself,andClaire’sbedwasdamnedexpensive.Nowayshewasreplacingthat.
Thepoint-of-saleprogrambloomedontothecomputerscreens,andClaireloggedintobothregisters.Shehadjustcomearoundthecounterandwasstartingtoweavethroughtheshelvestoherofficewhenshesawthem.
Clairehadbeentryingtodecidewhattohangonthewallsforawhilenow.Shewantedsomelocalart,awaytobringthecommunitytogether,butthusfar,noonehadexpressedrealinterestinsellingtheirworkinRiverWild.Eitherthat,ortheartist’sstyledidn’tfitwiththebookstore’saesthetic,whichClairewantedtokeepcleanandsimple.Overayearago,she’dtakendownhermother’schoices,plastic-framedimagesofbookcovers,mostofwhichwerewrittenbydeadwhitedudes,andthewallshadbeenblankeversince.
Untiltoday.
Shestoodnearthecounter,hereyesroamingovertheblack-and-whitephotographsthatnowhungonherstore’swalls,allofthemindistressedwoodenframesthecolorsofadesertsunset—terra-cottaandsagegreen,thepalestduskyblue.Theimageswerelarge,atleasttwentybyforty,andClairesawfamiliarfacesbehindtheglassofeachone.
HerandRubyatVivian’s,Claire’sfacepressedintoherdaughter’shair.
Claire,Iris,andAstridatthevineyard,Astridinbetweentheothertwowomen,wineglassesintheirhands,theirmouthsopeninlaughter,rollingrowsofgrapesblurredbehindthem.
Firelightinthedarkness,IrisandClairehuddledonalogbench,Iris’smouthnearClaire’searasthoughsharingasecret.
RubyonJosh’sshouldersinthehotsprings,herarmsspreadandthemostbeautiful,euphoricsmileonherface.
Imageafterimage,Claire’slifesurroundedher.Herfriends,herfamily,hertown.TherewasevenaphotooftheoutsideofStella’s,allroughwoodandbrass.Shefeltherthroatthicken,andshewasjustabouttocallIrisandAstridandaskthemwhatthehellwasgoingonwhenshesawonemorephoto.
Ablack-and-whiteimageofonewoman.
Claire.Allalone.
WadingintoBrightRiverfiveyearsagoinalacedress.
Shegasped,andherhandflewtohermouth.Shespunaround,eyessearchingthroughthedimlighting.Astridcould’vehadaccesstoalltheotherphotos.SheknewDelilahhadsentherafilewiththeimagesshe’dtakenduringhertimeinBrightFalls.AndthiswasthesortofthingIriswoulddoforher—organizesomeamazingdisplayoftheexactkindofartandphotographsClairewouldwanttopopulateherstore.
Butthisphoto,onlyonepersoncould’vehungithere.Onlyonepersonhaditintheirpossession,andtherewasnoreasonshe’devergiveittoAstridorIris.NoreasonClairecouldthinkofanyway.Shewalkedswiftlythroughthestore,hopeanddreadminglinginhergut.Sheangledaroundafreestandingshelfthatheldreferencebooks,thereadingareashe’dsetupwithsoftbrownleatherchairscomingintoview.
Andinoneofthechairs,DelilahGreensatwithherelbowsrestingonherknees.
EverythinginClairefroze—herbody,herbreath,herheart.That’swhatitfeltlike,herpulsepausingtoseewhatwasgoingtohappennext.
“Hi,”Delilahsaid.
Clairedidn’tsayhiback.Shecouldn’t.Shejustblinked,hermouthhangingwideopen.
“I’mreallyhere.You’renothallucinating,”Delilahsaidwithalittlesmile.ShehadonapairofgrayskinnyjeansandafittedblackV-necktee,herlovelytattoosondisplay.
Clairesnappedhermouthshut.
Delilah’ssmilefell,andwhenshespokeagain,hervoicewassoft.“Saysomething.Please.”
Clairefinallygotagoodbreathintoherlungs.Herbrainworkedhard,tryingtoprocessallofthis.ShenoticedoneotherpalegreenwoodenframerestingonthecoffeetableinfrontofDelilah.Itwasfarsmallerthantheonesonthewalls,maybeafivebyseven,anditwasfacedownsoClairecouldn’tseetheimage.
“How…howwasyourshowattheWhitney?”shefinallysaid.
Delilahlookedsurprised.“Isthatreallywhatyouwanttoaskmerightnow?”
“I…Idon’tknow.Ijust…I’vewondered.”
Delilah’seyeslitup.“Itwentwell.Reallywell.”
Clairesmiled.Shecouldn’thelpit.ShewantedgoodthingsforDelilah,evenifthosegoodthingsdidn’tincludeClaire.Butthenagain,Delilahwashere.ShewasinBrightFalls,inClaire’sstore.Curiosityandconfusionwarredinhermind.
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”sheasked.
Delilahlaughed,thesoundsmallandalittlenervous.“Ithoughtyou’dneverask.”
Clairetookastepforward,thenanotherandanotheruntilshefoundherselfsinkingintothechairacrossfromDelilah,thecoffeetableinbetweenthem.
“So?”sheaskedwhenDelilahdidn’tcontinue.
Delilahswallowedandnodded,thenscootedtotheedgeofherchair,lacingherhandstogether.“First,Iwantedtobringyouthesephotos.”
“Youcould’vemailedthem.”Hertonecameoutharsherthansheintended.Ormaybenot.Shefeltherdefensesrising,andmaybetheyneededto.Shedidn’tthinkshe’devenadmittedittoherselfyet,butthiswomanbrokeherheartwhenshelefttwoweeksago.Shewouldn’tgothroughthatagain.She’dalreadybeentheresomanytimeswithherdad,withJosh.SowhateverDelilah’sgamewashere,Clairewasn’tplayingit
Delilahtookadeepbreath.“Icouldhave,butthatbringsmetomyotherreasonforcominghere.”
“Andwhat’sthat?”
“You.”
Suchatinyword,butitlandedlikeabomb.“Me.”
“You.”
“Whataboutme?”
Delilahlookeddownatherbootsasthoughgatheringherthoughts.Shechewedonherlowerliplikeshedidwhenshewasnervous,andClairehadtoforceherselftostayput,tonotgotoDelilahandtouchherface,tellheritwasgoingtobeokay.SheneededtohearwhateverDelilahwasgoingtosay,andsheneededDelilahtotellheronherown.Clairecouldn’thelpherwiththisone.
“Whataboutme,Delilah?”
Delilahreachedfortheframeonthetable,slidingitintoherhandsandstaringdownatwhateverimagetherewasbehindtheglass.
“AfterIleft,”shesaid,“Ididn’thavemuchtimetothinkaboutanything.TheshowattheWhitneywascomingup,andIknewIcouldn’tblowit.Iworkednightanddaygettingphotosready,andthen,whenitwastimefortheshow,timeforeverythingIeverwanted,itdidn’tfeellikeIthoughtitwould.”
Clairefrowned.“Whatdoyoumean?”
Delilahglancedupather,eyesclearandbright,almostfeverish,likemaybeshehadn’tsleptverywellinacoupleofweekseither.“ThenightoftheshowwaseverythingIdreamed.Butitalsowasn’t,becauseIwas…Iwasdoingitallalone.”
Clairefeltsomethinginhercheststarttocrack,butsherolledhershouldersback,liftedherchin.“I’msureyoucould’vefoundadate.”
“Oh,I’msureIcould’vetoo.”
Clairepressedhermouthflat.
“ButIdidn’twantadate,”Delilahsaid.“Iwantedyou.”
Claireshookherhead,butshecouldfeelthoseall-importantdefensescrumblingonebyone,hereyesalreadystartingtosting.“Youleft,”shesaid,becauseitwasallshecouldthinktosay.“Youleftwithoutasinglewordofexplanation.”
Delilahnodded.“Idid.AnditwasamistakeandI’msorry.”
Again,sosimple,thosewords,butthewayhervoicecurledaroundthem,Clairefoundherselfbelievingthem,whichwasdangerous.
“Andthebet?”sheasked.“DidyoureallytrytogetclosetometoannoyAstrid?”
Delilahwatchedher,andClaireheldherbreath.
“Yes,”Delilahsaidafterasecond.“Itwasashittythingtodo,andIwon’tmakeexcusesforit.ButIsweartoyou,Claire,afterwekissedthatfirsttimeatBlueLily,itwasonlyaboutyou.Aboutus.Probablyevenbeforethat.Youweresobeautifulandsweet,butIwasneververygoodwithbeautifulandsweet.Ididn’tknowhowto…Idon’tknow.Acceptit.Treatitwell.”
Claire’seyesfilled,andsheshookherhead.Sheappreciatedthehonesty,butitstillstungthatthiswholethinghadstartedoutasagametoDelilah.
Butithadn’tendedthatway,hadit?Ithadn’tevenprogressedthatway.Claireknewthatwasalsotrue,becauseshefeltit,becauseDelilahwassittinginherbookstore.She’dcomeback.She’dcomebackforClaire.
Delilahgotup,photoframestillinherhands,androundedthecoffeetableuntilshewasrightinfrontofClaire.Shesatonthetable,theirkneesbarelytouching,andleanedintoClaire’sspace,justalittle.JustenoughthatClaireleanedtoo,herbodyinstinctivelywantingtobecloser.
Whenshewassettled,DelilahflippedtheframearoundsoClairecouldseetheimage.Itwasinfullcolor,aselfieoftwowomenlyingontheirbacksinabed,darkhairamessagainstthewhiteandlavenderlinens,smilesontheirfaces,cheekspressedtocheeks.
ClaireandDelilah.
DelilahandClaire.
Clairerememberedthisphoto,thatlasttimetheyspentinbedbeforeeverythingwentpear-shaped,aftertheirrollerskatingdateandDelilahhadspentthenight.Thenextmorning,they’dmadeloveandthenslippedontanktopsandunderwearandeatenbagelsinbed.Afterward,Delilahhadgrabbedherphoneandtakenphotoafterphotoofthetwoofthem,ticklingClairetogethertolaugh,kissinghersenselesstogethertobeserious.
Itwastheperfectmorning.Theperfectwaytowakeup.Theperfecteverything
“ThisiswhatIwant,”Delilahsaid.“Mywholelife,thisiswhatI’vewanted.Abestfriend.Someonewhogetsme,whoacceptsme.Someonewhofightslikehelltogetmetoseethattheyloveme.Someonewholetsmelovethemback.Someonewho’ssogoddamnbeautiful,shemakesmytoescurl.Someonewhocallsmeonmybullshit.Someonewhomakesmelaugh.Someonewhomakesmelookatherlikethisandlooksatmethesameway.Someonewho…who’smyhome.”
TearsspilledfreelyandsilentlydownClaire’scheeks.“But…NewYork.Yourart.You—”
“Icantakephotosanywhere.IcantaketripswhenIneedto.Youcancomewithme.We’llfigureitout.”
“YouhateBrightFalls.”
Delilah’sshouldersfellabit,butsheshookherhead.“IhatedwhoIwashere.HowIfelthere.Butyouchangedallthat.Rubychangedallthat.Iris.Hell,evenAstridchangedallthat.”
Clairefrowned.“Astrid?Haveyou…haveyoutalkedtoher?”
Delilah’ssmilewassmall,alittlesad.“ShecametoNewYork.TotheWhitney.”
“Shedid?”
Delilahnodded.“Andwetalked.Alot.Shestayedacoupledays—notwithme,hellno—andwehaddinnerandworkedthroughalot.We’vestillgotalongwaytogo,butit’sastart.It’swhatIwant.Shehelpedmegetthesephotosshippedoutsothey’darriveyesterday,andweactuallyflewbacktogetherlastnight.Sheletmeintothestoreatthecrackofdawnthismorning.”
ClaireknewthatAstridhadn’tbeenaroundforthepastfewdays,butshealwaysrespondedtoClaire’sandIris’stextsthatshewasfine,givingnothingawayastowhereshewasorwhatshewasdoing.
ClairetookthephotofromDelilah’shands.Intheimage,shewassohappy.God,shewashappy.Shewas…shewasinlove.Shecouldadmititnow.Morethanshe’deverbeeninlovewithanyoneinherwholelife.But…
“I’malot,Delilah,”shesaidsoftly,lookingdownatthephoto.“I’vegotakid,anexwhowillalways,alwaysbeinmylife.Ican’tjustflyofftoNewYorkatamoment’snotice,andyou’reusedtothiswildkindoflife.I’masmall-towngirl.Ialwayswillbe.Joshbuiltahouse—”
“Iknow.Astridtoldme.”
“ThenyouknowI’mheretostay.Rubycomesfirst.Always,andIcan’t—”
“I’mnotaskingyoutoputhersecond.Iwouldneverdothat.”DelilahtooktheframefromClaire’shandsandsetitonthetable.ThenshetwinedtheirfingerstogetherandpressedherforeheadtoClaire’s.“I’mputtingyoufirst,Claire.Incaseyoucouldn’ttell,that’swhat’shappeninghere.”
Clairelaughed,moretearsspillingover.“Really?”
“Really.Iwanttotrythis.IadoreRuby,youknowIdo.AndI’llfollowyourleadforhowyouwanttohandleuswhenitcomestoher.I’lldowhateveryouwant.Astrid’salreadylookingintoaplaceformetorentindowntownand—”
“Butyourart.”ClaireleanedbacksoshecouldseeDelilahclearly.“YouneedtobeinNewYork.Ifyougetanagent,you—”
“I’vegotanagent.”Delilahsmiled.“HernameisJuliaVasquezandshe’sagoddamnsharkandI’vealreadytoldherI’llbespendingalotoftimeinalittleOregontownfortheforeseeablefuture.”
ClairesqueezedDelilah’shands.“That’ssoamazing.Iknewyoucoulddoit.Congratulations.”
“Thankyou,yes,it’sallamazing,butdidyouhearthepartwhereIsaidI’dbespendingalotoftimehere?Apartment?You?Me?Alife?”
Clairegrinned.Thiswashappening.Delilahhadleft,butshe’dcomeback.
Forher.
Forgood.
Clairehadnoideahowitwouldwork,ifitwouldwork.Allsheknewwasthatshewantedthis.ShewantedDelilahGreen.Andforonce,goddammit,shewasgoingtoletherselfhaveexactlywhatshewanted.
“Claire?”DelilahtiltedherheadtomeetClaire’seyes.
“Canwestoptalkingnow?”
Delilahfrowned.“Um,Iguess,butareyou—”
Clairedidn’tletherfinish.SheclosedthespacebetweenthemandpressedhermouthtoDelilah’s,framingtheotherwoman’sfacelikeitwasapreciousworkofart.God,she’dmissedher.AndfromthewayDelilahgaspedalittle,thenslidherhandstoClaire’shipsandpulledhertotheedgeofherchair,bothoftheirthighspartingtofittogetherlikepuzzlepieces,Delilahfeltthesame.
“Isthatayes?”Delilahaskedbetweenkisses.
Clairepulledback.“Towhichpart?”
“Allofit.You.Me.Us.”
“It’sayes,”Clairewhisperedagainsthermouth.“Yestoallofit.”ChapterThirty-Three
STELLA’SWASPACKEDtonight.Ofcourse,astheonlygigintown,itusuallywas.Alsoasusual,thesmellofsawdustandbeerandcheapperfumepermeatedtheair,thepatronsloudandlaughingastheyrelaxedattheendofaworkday.
DelilahGreenwalkedthroughthedoorinherjeans,boots,tanktop,andbomberjacket,justasshehadonsomanyotheroccasions.Butsomethingwasdifferenttonight.Tonight,Delilah,forthefirsttimeinherlife,didn’twalkinalone.
ClaireSutherland’sshoulderpressedagainsthers,theirfingerstangledtogetherastheylookedfortherestoftheirparty.
“Overhere,bitches!”Iriscalledfromatableinthecenteroftheroom,herredhairintwoPrincessLeiabunsandavodkasodaalreadyinherhand.Astridwastheretoo,offeringamuchmorestaidwave,butawavenonetheless.
InthethreeweeksthathadpassedsinceDelilahhadcomebacktoBrightFalls,she’dmovedintoanapartmentoverherfather’sformerarchitecturalfirm.Josh’soldapartment,incidentally.ItwassurprisinglycleanandexactlywhatDelilahneeded.Rubyhadbeenhelpingherdecorateit,slowly,becausedespitehersalesfromtheWhitneyandseveralnewcommissionsheragenthadarrangedforher,shestillneededtobudgetcarefully.Irisevencameoveroneevening,abottleofbourboninonehandandapaintrollerintheother,andhelpedhercoatthewallsinasteelyblue.ThenightendedwiththebothofthemdrunkofftheirassesandlaughinghystericallyovernothingandeverythinginthemiddleofDelilah’slivingroomfloor.Thenextmorning,ahangoverthelikesofwhichDelilahhadneverexperiencedassaultedherheadandstomach,butshecouldn’tseemtokeepasmileoffherface.Everythingfeltsonew,everyday—livinginBrightFalls,Claire,Iriswhofeltlikeanactualfriend.She’devengoneouttolunchwithAstrid.Twice.Isabelwasanotherstory.Delilahwasn’tsureshewasreadytoclimbthatmountain,butshekepttellingherselfshehadtime.Rightnow,shewasdiscoveringBrightFallsalloveragain,livinginsidethiscozytownthewayshe’dalwayswantedto,thewayherfatherhadalwayswantedherto
Now,ClairepulledDelilahtowardthetable,kissingheronceonthemouthbeforetheybothsettledintothechairs.
“Doyoutwohavetobesodamncuteallthetime?”Irissaid,rollinghereyes.
“Cute?”Delilahsaid.“Youmeanlikethis?”ShereachedoverandhookedherfingerintothecollarofClaire’spolka-dottedbutton-upandpulledhercloserforanotherkiss.Closedmouth,notongue,niceandsoftandthecutestfuckingthingthistownhadeverseen,ifDelilahhadtoguess.
“Exactlylikethat,”Irissaid,thenmadeagaggingface.
Claireblushedandgrinned,andDelilahwinkedather.Itwouldnevergetold,makingthatwoman’scheekspinkuplikethat.
AstridjustsmiledandpouredClaireaglassofwinefromthebottleofRieslingalreadyatthetable.Delilahorderedabourbonneat,andsoonallfourwomenhadaglassintheirhands.
“Whatshouldwetoastto?”Irissaid.“Oh,Iknow,Iknow—toAstridgettingherassgoodandlaid.”
Astridsplutteredonherwine.“What?”
“It’sbeenalmostsixweekssinceyoukickedshitbootprimetothecurb,”Irissaid.“It’stime.”
“It’stimeforyoutopullyournoseoutofotherpeople’ssexlives,”Astridsaid.
“I’llsecondthat,”Clairesaid.
Iris’smouthdroppedopen.“Excuseme?Mynoseiswhatgotyoutwosickeninglovebirdstogether.”ShemotionedbetweenClaireandDelilah.
“Wait,what?”Delilahsaid.
Clairegroaned.“Iris.”
Irisjustcackled.
“What’sgoingon?”Astridasked.
“Ohmygod,Iforgotwenevertoldyouthisstory,”Irissaid,slappingthetable.
“Hello,inthedarkoverheretoo,”Delilahsaid.
ClairedroppedherfaceintoherhandswhileIrislaunchedintoastoryabouttryingtogetClairelaidnearlytwomonthsagointhisverybar,challenginghertogetsomeone’snumber,whichresultedinherunknowinglyhittingonDelilahGreen.
“Isthathowallofthisstarted?”Astridsaid,eyeswide.
“Well,myassdoeslookfabulousinagoodpairofjeans,”Delilahsaid.
“Ohmygod,”Clairesaid,andDelilahlaughed.
Astridshookherhead.“Ican’tbelieveyoudidn’tknowwhoshewas.”
“Itwasdark!”Clairesaid,andtheotherthreewomengaveheralook.“Darkish.Andokay,fine,butcomeon,lookather.”ShemotionedtoDelilah,asmileonherstill-blushingface.
“Aw,sweetheart,youthoughtIwashot?”Delilahsaidinateasinglilt,takingClaire’shandandkissingherpalm
Clairepursedherlips.“IguessIdid.”
“Andjustlookatthemnow!”Irissaid.“So,mymeddlingworked,thankyouverymuch,andnowit’syourturn,mydarlingAstrid.”Thenshestoodupandcuppedherhandsaroundhermouth.“Hey,BrightFalls!Whowantsachancewiththisfine-lookingladynexttome!”HereshemotionedtoAstrid.“She’sindesperateneedofagoodfu—”
“Ohmygod,Iris,shutup,”Astridsaid,pullingherfrienddown.ClairewastoobusycrackinguptodefendAstrid,andDelilahjustenjoyedwatchingallofthisunfold,thedynamicoffriends,oldandnew,thegive-and-take.Itwaswondrous.Amiracle,ifshewasbeinghonestandabitdramatic.Butdramaticfeltright.Itfeltperfectforanightlikethis.
“I’mnotlookingtodate,okay?”Astridsaid.
“Whosaidanythingaboutdating?”Irissaid,wagglinghereyebrows.
“Well,I’mdonewiththattoo,”Astridsaid.“Nomoremen,ever.”
“Women,then?”Irisasked,andDelilahcouldn’thelpbutsmileatthehopefultonetohervoice.Anall-queercovenwasprobablyIris’sdreamcometrue,butAstridjustblinkedather.
“Okay,okay,”Clairesaidaftershe’dfinishedlaughing.Shesatupstraightinherchairandheldupherglassofwine,herotherhandrestingonDelilah’sthighbeneaththetable.“Atoastforreal.”
“Aboutsomethingotherthanmylovelife,please,”Astridsaid.
Irisstuckouthertongue.
Delilahliftedherbourbonandtookadeepbreath.“Tous,”shesaid.“Allofus.”
Theotherwomenlookedatoneanother,smallsmilesontheirfaces.
“Perfect,”Clairesaid.
“Hear!Hear!”Irissaid.
Astridnoddedandliftedherglass,atinysmileonherfaceasshelookedatDelilah.“Tous.”
“Tous,”Irissaid.
“Tous,”Clairesaid.
Theyallclinkedglasses,themusicandlaughterandlifebustlingallaroundthem.Afull,happyfeelingfilledDelilah’schestasshelookedatherfriends,herpartner,herhome.Sheliftedherglassoncemoreintotheair,tippingittoeachoftheminturn.
“Tous.”Acknowledgments
Writingaromancenovelhaslongbeenadreamofmine.Romancehasseenmethroughmanystagesofmylife,fromatwenty-somethingwhobarelyknewherselftothethirty-six-year-oldwomanwhotrulyunderstoodherselfforthefirsttime,thankstoabitofromancebetweenthepagesofabook.Sofirst,Iwanttothankromancewriters.Thankyouforwritingthosehappilyeverafters,forperseveringinthefaceofderision,forbelievingthatlove,inallitsforms,reallycanconquerall.Iwouldnothavewrittenthisbook—norwouldIbeanywherenearashappyorself-awareasIam—withoutallofyourwords.
Endlessgratitudetomyagentandfriend,RebeccaPodos.We’vebeentogethersincemybeginning.We’venavigatedthestormywatersofpublishinginYAandMG,editedananthologytogether,becomecolleaguesinagenting,andthey’venowseenmesafelyintothiswonderfulworldofadultromance.There’sareasonthisisnowthesecondbookI’vededicatedtothem,andIwouldbelostwithouttheirwisdom,humor,andcamaraderie.
SomanythankstoAngelaKim,mybrilliant,kind,insightfuleditor.Icouldnotimaginethisbooklandingwithabetterperson.YouunderstoodDelilahandClairefromthebeginning,andI’msothankfultohaveworkedonthisbook—andhopefullymanymore—withyou.
ThankyoutothewholeteamatBerkley,includingChristineLegon,MeganElmore,JessicaBrock,FareedaBullert,andElishaKatz,whohaveexpressedpassionandenthusiasmforthisstoryinawaythathastrulyexceededmyexpectations.Youhavemadethisdreamofminearealityandithasbeenapleasureworkingwithyouall.
ThankyoutoMarianneAguiarforyouramazingcopyeditingskills.I’mforeverinaweofthedetailsyouallkeepinyourheadsandhelpauthorsfine-tune!
ThankstoKatieAndersonforthebeautifuldesignofthisbook,aswellasAlisonCnockaert,whosedesignfortheinteriorpagesisanabsolutedream.SomanythankstoLeniKauffman,whosegorgeouscoverillustrationcapturedDelilahandClairesoperfectly,IgaspedwhenIfirstsawwhatshe’dcreated.She’ssounbelievablytalentedandI’msohonoredthatthisbookfeaturesoneofhercreations.
EndlessthankstoTaliaHibbert,MerylWilsner,KosokoJackson,RachelLynnSolomon,KareliaStetz-Waters,RosieDanan,andLanaHarperfortheirgenerouswords.I’msuchafanofeachoneofyouandsohumbledandhonoredthatyouwouldread(andlike!)Delilah’sstory.
ThankyoutoCourtneyKaeforyourenthusiasmandall-aroundkindness.You’reatruechampionofyourpeersandIcanonlyhopetohelpyoufeelasconfidentinyourworkasyou’vemademefeelinmine.
ToCraig,Benjamin,andWilliam,thankyouforcreatingspaceformetothink,tocreate,andtobemyself.Youaremyhomeandmyrespite,andmybookswouldnotbehalfofwhattheyarewithoutyoursupport.
Finally,toyou,dearreader,forreading,forsharing,forshowingup.We’vebeenthroughahellofatime—Iwrotethisbookduringthepandemicbecauseitmademehappy.Itgavemeapurposeeachmorning.Nowwe’vemadeitthrough(deargod,letitbetrue)thehardestoftimes,andIhopethisbookhasalsogivenyousomehappiness,somecomfort,somelaughs,andofcourse,someswoons.TurnthepageforalookatthenextromanticcomedybyAshleyHerringBlake
AstridParkerDoesn’tFaiL
ComingtoBerkleyfall2022!ASTRIDPARKERLOOKEDperfect.
Well,asperfectasshecouldlook,whichthesedaysmeantalotofconcealersmoothedoverthepurplehalf-moonsthathadtakenupresidenceunderhereyes.Butotherthanthatbitofsmokeandmirrors,shewaspristine.
Shehurrieddownthesidewalk,theAprilmorninglightlengtheninghershadowalongthecobblestonesofdowntownBrightFalls,Oregon.Shecouldn’tbelievethesunwasout,warmonherpaleskin,thatshe’dactuallybeenabletoleaveherumbrellaandgaloshesathomeinherfrontcloset.Thiswasthefirstrainlessdaythey’dhadintwoweeks.
BornandraisedinthePacificNorthwest,Astridwasusedtotherain,usedtograyanddrizzle,butthatthecloudsdeignedtoparttodayofalldays…well,itwasencouraging,tosaytheleast.HadAstridactuallybelievedinsigns,shemight’vegottenabitmaudlinaboutthetiming.Instead,shestoppedinfrontofWakeUpCoffeeCompanyandgazedatherreflectioninthelargepicturewindow.
Thismorning,she’dwokenupanhourearlierthansheneededtoandwashedandblownoutherhair,makingsureshestyledherrecentlytrimmedblondfringeexactlythewayKelsey,herstylist,hadshownher.Theresultwas…well,itwasperfect.Herwavylocksfelljustpasthershoulders,herbangswereshaggyandchicandshiny.Hermakeupwasminimal—concealernotwithstanding—andherjewelryunderstatedandtasteful,justapairofgoldhoopsswingingfromherlobes.
Herdresswastherealstar,herfavoriteoutfitandthemostexpensivethingsheowned—shestilldidn’tdaretellherbestfriends,IrisandClaire,howmuchshepaidforitlastyearaftersheandSpencerbrokeup.Itwasanecessarypurchase.Apowerpurchase,onetomakeherfeelconfidentandbeautiful.Asshetookintheivorypencildressnow,sleevelessandmidilength,herreflectionconfirmedithadbeenwortheverypenny.Pairedwithherfavoriteblackstrappythree-inchheels,evenhermothercouldn’tcomplainaboutthevisionAstridsawinthewindowrightnow.Shewaselegantandpoised.Prepared.
Perfect.
Everythingsheshouldbefortoday’smeetingandfirstfilmingattheEverwoodInn.Awobblysmilesettledontohermouthasshethoughtaboutthehistoricinn,whichwasnowherstore-create.Well,notexactlyhers.ButwhenPruEverwood,longtimeownerofthenationallybelovedVictorian,hadcalledtwoweeksagoandsaidthatshewasreadytorenovate—andthatNatashaRojas’ssuperchicHGTVshow,InnsideAmerica,wantedtodoanepisodeonthewholetransformation—Astridhadnearlybittenherowntonguetokeepfromscreamingwithglee.
Gleeandagoodbitofterror,butthatwasjustnerves,orsoAstridhadbeentellingherselfforthelastfourteendays.Ofcourse,shewasexcited.Ofcourse,thiswastheopportunityofalifetime.
Theoldmansion-turned-innwasadesigner’sdream—threestoriesofintricateeavesandgables,awidefrontporch,anexteriorthatwascurrentlythecolorofcatvomitbutwouldshinebeautifullyundersomelovelypastelhue,lavenderormaybeacoolmint.Inside,itwasamazeofdark-paneledroomsandcobwebs,butAstridcouldalreadyenvisionhowshewouldlightenandbrighten,theshiplapandaccentwallsthatwouldreplacethecherrywoodwainscoting,thetransformationoftherottingbackporchintoasun-drenchedsolarium.
Therewasnodoubt:TheEverwoodInnwasadreamproject.
Andcurrently,itwasheronlyproject.
Shesighed,pushingherrecentfinancialwoestothebackofhermind,includingthefactthatsherecentlyhadtoletherassistantandherreceptionistgobecauseAstridcouldnolongeraffordtopaythem.BrightDesignswasofficiallyaone-womanshow,soshedidn’thavetimefordoubts,forinconsistency.
SincetakingoverLindyWestbrook’sdesignbusinesswhentheolderwomanhadretirednineyearsago,Astridusuallyhadtheperfectamountofworktokeepherbusyandsolvent.Butlately,thingshadbeenslow…andboring.TherewereonlysomanydesignjobstogoaroundinatownastinyasBrightFalls,Oregon,andifsheworkedononemoredoctor-slash-lawyer-slash-realestateagent’soffice,fillingthemwithuncomfortableseatingandabstractpaintings,shewasgoingtotearherowneyelashesout.
Nottomention,ifsheletLindy’sbusinessfailnow,particularlyafterherdisasterofafailedengagementlastsummer,Astrid’smotherwouldnotonlytearhereyelashesoutforher,she’dmakeabsolutelysuretheentiretownknewtheprofessionaldeficiencywasonehundredpercentAstrid’sfault,bringingherpersonalshortcomingsoutfrombehindthefamilycurtain.
Lately,thisendearingqualityofhermother’shadkickedintooverdrive,Isabel’slipliterallycurlingwheneverAstridhadahairoutofplaceorreachedforabagel.Astridwasexhausted,hadsleptlikeshitformonths,andneededavery,verylongvacation.
Orshejustneededittostop—allofit,everysinglesigh,liftedeyebrow,andpursedmouthhermotheraimedinherdirection.Surely,ifanythingwouldappeaseIsabel—maybeevendrawoutaproudhugoraglowingdeclarationlikeIhadeveryfaithinyou,darling—itwasappearingastheleaddesigneronaprestigiousshowandbringingthebelovedEverwoodintothemodernage.
SoAstridverymuchneededtheEverwoodjob.SheneededthemoneyandsheneededthecloutthatbeingonInnsideAmericawouldbring.Theplacewasfamous—therewerecountlessbooksandshowsanddocumentariesfeaturingthelegendoftheBlueLadywhopurportedlyhauntedoneoftheupstairsbedrooms—andfeaturingonInnsideAmerica,thebrainchildofthedesignworld’ssweetheart,NatashaRojas,couldchangeeverythingforAstrid.
Thiswasherchancetogofromsmall-towndesignerwithafailedengagementtosomethingmore.Somethingbetter.Someonehermotheractuallyliked.Shewouldproveherselfwiththisproject,shecouldfeelit.
Sheofferedherreflectiononemoresmileandwasstraighteningthebutterymaterialofherdresswhenafistbangedontheglassfrominside.Shestartled,stumblingbacksothatherankleverynearlybuckledfromtheheightofherheels.
“Youlookhotasfuck!”
Aprettyredheadgrinnedatherthroughthewindow,thenmadeashowofwagglinghereyebrowsatAstrid’sform.
“Jesus,Iris,”Astridsaid,fingerspressedtoherchestasshetriedtocalmhergallopingheart.“Couldyounotforoneday?”
“Notwhat?”Irisyelledthroughtheglass,armsproppeduponthebackofaturquoise-paintedwoodenchair.
“Not…”Astridwavedherhandaround,searchingfortherightword.WhenitcametoherbestfriendIrisKelly,therightwordrarelystuckforverylong.“Nevermind.”
“Getyourcuteassinherealready,”Irissaid.“ClaireandDelilaharewhisperingsweetnothingsineachother’sears—”
“Wearenot!”Astridheardherotherbestfriend,Claire,callfromsomewherebehindIrisbeforesheappearedinthewindowtoo,herdarkhairupinamessybunandherpurple-framedglassescatchingthesunlight.
“—andI’mslowlylosingmywilltolive,”Iriswenton,hershoulderknockingintoClaire’s.
“Don’tevenpretendyoudon’tloveit.”ThisfromDelilah,Astrid’sstepsisterandClaire’sgirlfriendforthelasttenmonths,whosepresenceAstridwasstillgettingusedtoinherlife.SheandDelilahhadhadafraughtchildhoodtogether,filledwithresentmentsandmisunderstandings.Thehealingprocesswaslongand,honestly,exhausting.They’dcomealongwaysincelastJune,whenDelilaharrivedintownfromNewYorkCitytophotographAstrid’sdoomedweddingandfellinlovewithherbestfriendinstead.Sincethen,DelilahhadmovedbacktoBrightFallsandproceededtomakeClairehappierthanAstridhadeverseenher.
Asthoughtofurtherprovethepoint,DelilahglidedintoviewanddrapedatattooedarmaroundClaire,whopromptlybeamedupatherasthoughDelilahnotonlyhungthemoon,butcreateditaswell.Astridfeltapangdeepinherchest.Notjealousynecessarily,andshe’dlongrealizedtheproblemssheandDelilahhadgrowingupwerejustasmuchherfaultastheywereherstepsister’s,soitwasn’tdiscomfortorworryonherbestfriend’sbehalfeither.
No,thefeelingwasmoreakinto…nausea.She’dneveradmitittoClaire—orIrisandherbrand-newgirlfriend,Jillian—thatthesightofahappycouplegavehertheurgetovomit,butitwastrue,andherroilingstomachwastheproof.EversincesheandSpencerhadbrokenuplastyear,shefeltsquickyjustthinkingaboutromanceanddating.
Whichwasexactlywhyshedidn’tthinkaboutromanceanddating—muchlessengageinthem—andhadnoplanstodosointhefuture.
“Comeoninside,honey,”Clairesaid,tappingatthewindowgently.“It’sabigday!”
Astridsmiled,hernauseadissipating,thankgoodness.Whenshe’dtoldClaireandIrisaboutPruEverwood’scall—aboutInnsideAmerica,howPru’sgrandkidswerecomingintotowntohelptheolderwomanmanagethewholeaffair,Natasha-freaking-Rojas—herbestfriendshadpromptlysquealedwithgleeandhelpedherpreparefortoday’smeetingwiththeEverwoodfamily.Granted,prepareentailedseveralnightsatAstrid’shouse,openwinebottleslitteringhercoffeetablewhilesheworkedonherdesignsoftwareandIrisandClairegrewincreasinglygiddyandobnoxious,butstill.Itwasthethoughtthatcounted.
Today,they’dinsistedonhermeetingthemforbreakfastatWakeUptofuelherwith,asIrisputit,“bagelsandbadassery.”Astridwouldbelyingifshesaidshedidn’tneedalittlebadasseryrightnow.ShenoddedatClaireandmovedtowardthefrontentrance,handreachingforthetarnishedbrasshandle.Beforeshecouldgivethefirsttug,however,theturquoisewoodendoorflewopenandsomethingslammedintoAstrid,yankingallthebreathfromherlungsandsendingherflyingbackward.
Shelandedhardonherbutt,palmsscrapingonthecobblestones,andaburningsensationgrewinthecenterofherchestbeforeslitheringdownherbelly.
“Ohmygod,I’msosorry.”
Avoicesoundedfromrightinfrontofher,butshewasfrozen,herlegssplayedinamostinelegantfashion,therightheelofherfavoriteshoessnappedinhalfandhangingonbyaliteralthread,and—
Shesqueezedhereyesclosed.Countedtothreebeforeopeningthemagain.Maybeitwasadream.Anightmare.Surely,shewasnotsittingonherassonthesidewalkinthemiddleofdowntownBrightFalls.Herpencildress—hergorgeous,lucky,just-shy-of-a-grandpencildressthatmadeherasslookamazing—wasnotcoveredinveryhot,verywet,very
Thiswasnothappening.
“Areyouokay?”thewomanasked,holdingahandouttoAstrid.“IwasinahurryandIdidn’tseeyouthereand,wow,thatdressreallytookahit,huh?”
Astridignoredherbabbling,ignoredthehand.Sheconcentratedinsteadonbreathing.Inandout.Niceandslow.Becausewhatshereallywantedtodorightnowwasscream.Loudly.Inthiswoman’sface,possiblyaccompaniedbyanice,firmshouldershove.Sheknewsheshouldn’tdoanyofthosethings,soshebreathed…andbreathed.
“Are…areyouhyperventilating?”thewomanasked.“DoIneedtocallsomeone?”
ShekneeleddownandpeeredintoAstrid’sface,herhazeleyesnarrowed.Herfacewasalmostelfin,alldelicatefeatureswithasharpnoseandchin,andhershorthairwasshavedononesideandlongerontheother,swoopingoverherforeheadandfilledwithmessytangleslikeshe’djustwokenup.Shehadanosering,atinysilverhoopthroughherseptum.
“HowmanyfingersamIholdingup?”sheasked,presentingtwofingers.
Astridfeltlikerespondingbyholdinguponeimportantfinger,butbeforeshecould,IrisandClaireandDelilahspilledoutofthecafé,alloftheireyeswidewhentheyspottedherontheground.
God,wasshestillontheground?
“Honey,whathappened?”Claireasked,hurryingovertohelpherup.
“Ihappened,”thewomansaid.“I’msosorry,IwascomingoutandnotwatchingwhereIwasgoing,whichisjustsotypicalofmeandIfeelsohorribleand—”
“God,willyoushutup?”
ThewordsfelloutofAstrid’smouthbeforeshecouldthinkbetterofit.Thewoman’seyeswentwide,perfectwingedeyelinerarchingupward,herraspberryredmouthfallingopeninalittleO
ClaireclearedherthroatandtuggedonAstrid’sarm,butAstridwavedheroff.Goddammit,shewasgoingtogetuponherown,preservewhatdignityshehadleft.Passersbyontheirwaytoworkoroutforcoffeestaredather,allofthemprobablythankingthegodsorwhoeverthattheirmorningsweren’tgoingasbadlyasthatpoorladywiththeruineddressandscraped-uppalms.
Shehobbledtoherfeet,thewomanrisingwithherandtwistingherhandstogether,wincingasAstridwhippedoffherbrokenshoeandinspectedtheruinedheel.
“I’mreally—”
“Sorry,yes,Igotthat,”Astridsaid.“Butyoursorryisn’tgoingtofixmydressormyshoerightnow,isit?”
Thewomantuckedherhairbehindoneear,revealingseveralpiercingsliningthedelicateshell.“Um.No,Iguessnot.”
Somethingthatfeltlikedespair,asirrationalasitmightbe,flushedAstrid’scheeksandcloudedintoherchest.Thisonething.That’sallshewanted,thisonemorningtogoperfectly,butno,thisdisasterofawomanwithhercutehairandhernoseringhadtocomebarrelingintoherlifeattheworstpossiblemoment,obliteratinganychancesatperfection.Herfingertipsfelttingly,herstomachcrampedwithnerves,andherwordsflowedforthinapanoplyofvenomandannoyance.
“Howcouldyoupossiblynothaveseenme?”Astridsaid.
“I—”
“Iwasrightthere,inivorynoless.”Astridflutteredherhandsdownhernowdecidedlynotivorydress.“I’mpracticallyglowing.”
Thewomanfrowned.“Look,I—”
“Oh,forgetit,”Astridsaid.“You’vealreadyruinedeverything.”Shedugherphoneoutofherbag,tappedintohercontacts,andshoveditinthewoman’sface.“JustputyournumberinheresoIcansendyouthebill.”
“Ohshit,”Irismuttered.
“Thebill?”thewomanasked.
“Runaway,”Iriswhisperedather,butthewomanjustblinkedatbothofthem.
“Thedrycleaningbill,”Astridsaid,stillholdingoutherphone.
“Sweetie,”Clairesaid,“dowereallyneed—”
“Yes,Claire,wedo,”Astridsaid.Shewasstillbreathinghard,hereyesneverleavingthiswalkinghurricanewhocouldn’tseemtopassthroughadoorwithoutcausingmayhem.
Thewomanfinallytookthephone,lookingdownatitwhileshetappedinhernumber,herslenderthroatworkingaroundaswallow.Whenshewasfinished,shehandedthephonebacktoAstridandstartedpickingupthenowemptycoffeecupsanddrinkcarrier,dumpingthemallintoalargetrashcannearWakeUp’sentrance.
Thenshewalkedawaywithoutanotherword.
Astridstaredafterherasshehurriedabouthalfablockdownthesidewalk.Shestoppedatamintgreenpickuptruckthathadmostcertainlyseenbetterdays,andallbutthrewherselfinside,peelingoutoftheparkingspacewithasquealofrubber,enginerumblingasshedrovenorthandoutofsight.
“Well,”Delilahsaid.
“Yeah,”Irissaid.
ClairejustreachedoutandsqueezedAstrid’shand,whichjoltedAstridbackintowhatwasactuallyhappening.
Shelookeddownatherdress,thecoffeedryingtoadullbrown,hershoedanglingfromherfingers.Freshhorrorfilledherup,butnow,itwasn’tfromherruinedoutfit,herdestroyedperfectmorningonthemostimportantdayofherprofessionallife.No,shewasAstridGoddamnParker.Shecouldfixallthat
Whatshecouldn’tfixwasthefactthatshe’djustrippedacompletestrangeranewoneoversomespilledcoffee,afactthatsettledoverhernowliketar,thickandstickyandfoul.
“Let’sgetyoucleanedup,”Clairesaid,tryingtopullAstridtowardWakeUp,butAstridwouldn’tbudge.
“Isoundedjustlikemymother,”shesaidquietly.Sheswallowedhard,regretaknotinherthroat,andlookedateachofherfriendsinturn,thenlethergazestoponDelilah.“Didn’tI?”
“No,ofcoursenot,”Clairesaid.
“Imean,whatisjustlike,whenyouthinkaboutit?”Irissaid.
“Yeah,youreallydid,”Delilahsaid.
“Babe,”Clairesaid,swattinghergirlfriend’sarm.
“What?Sheasked,”Delilahsaid.
Astridrubbedherforehead.TherewasatimewhensoundingexactlylikeIsabelParker-Greenwould’vebeenagoodthing,agoal,anempoweredwaytomanagetheworldatlarge.Astrid’smotherwaspoised,perfectlyputtogether,elegantandeducatedandrefined.
Andthecoldest,mostunfeelingwomanAstridhadeverknown.Astridoftenfearedhermother’soverinvolvementinherlifewouldhavesevererepercussions,Isabel’sessenceseepingintoherdaughter’sbloodandbones,becomingpartofherinawaythatAstridhadnocontrolover.Andherewastheproof—whenshitwentdown,AstridParkerwasentitled,arrogant,andanall-aroundbitch.
“Shit,”shesaid,squeezinghertemplesbetweenherthumbandforefinger.“Ithreatenedherwithadrycleaningbill,forgod’ssake.Ineedtoapologize.”
“Ithinkthatshiphassailed,”Delilahsaid,wavingtowardwheretheburned-rubbersmokefromthewoman’stiresstilldriftedthroughtheair.
“You’llprobablyneverseeheragain,ifitmakesyoufeelanybetter,”Irissaid.“Ididn’trecognizeher.Iwould’verememberedsomeonethathot.”
“Iris,JesusChrist,”Clairesaid.
“Oh,comeon,shewasempiricallygorgeous,”Irissaid.“Didyouseetheoveralls?Thehair?Totalqueercore.”
DelilahlaughedandevenClairecrackedasmileatthat.Astridjustfeltadullsenseoflonelinessshecouldn’texplain.She’dbeenexperiencingitmoreandmorelatelywhenshewasaroundherfriends,liketheyallunderstoodsomethingfundamentalaboutlifeandloveshecouldn’tseemtograsp.
“Weallhavebaddays,”Clairewenton.“I’msureshegetsthat.”
“Youaretoopureforthisworld,ClaireSutherland,”Irissaid.
ClairerolledhereyeswhileDelilahgrinnedandpressedakisstohergirlfriend’shead.ThewholescenecausedAstrid’sstomachtoroilevenmore—thePDA,Claire’sconstantpositivity,Iris’ssnark.TheonlyonewhogaveittoherstraightanymorewasDelilah,andAstridcouldn’tbeartolookherintheeyerightnow,notaftergoingallIsabelParker-Green.
“Ineedtogetcleanedupathome,”shesaid,slippingoffherothershoetoavoidlimpingdownthesidewalkinonethree-inchheel.
“I’llcomehelp,”Clairesaid.
“No,that’sokay,”Astridsaid,untanglingherarmfromClaire’sgripandmovingtowardwhereshe’dparkedhercar.Sheneededtobealonerightnow,getherheadonright.Disasterofamorningnotwithstanding,shewasstilltheleaddesignerfortheEverwoodInn,shewasstillgoingtobeonInnsideAmerica,andshewasstillabouttomeetNatashaRojas.Nowayinhellwasonecollisionwithaclumsycoffeedrinkerandamomentofextremebitchinessgoingtoruinthatforhernow.
She’dkissedherfriendsgoodbyeandwashalfwaytohercarwhenshethoughttolookatherphoneforthewoman’sname.Maybeshecouldsendheranapologetictext,tellher,attheveryleast,thatofcourseshewouldnotbesendingherthedrycleaningbill.Sheunlockedherphone,herbarefeetcomingtoahaltasshestareddownatthewoman’s
© Copyright Notice
The copyright of the article belongs to the author. Please do not reprint without permission.
THE END
No comments yet