“It wasn’t really fun, but it was nice.”
Her voice pulls me from my thoughts.
“We went for drinks at the Sandbar.”
“Drinks? You don’t even like to drink that much.” I lower my eyes to keep her from reading what I’m sure my sharp response has probably already conveyed.
“I only had two, but it was nice talking with her. She’s got a three-year-old little girl, and she’s really nice. You’d like her.” She looks out over the water again.
She has a baby. She’s probably in a relationship. Relief lifts my eyes to her again.
“Maybe I can meet her sometime.” Even knowing she’s probably straight, I’m still a little jealous that Delilah spent the evening with her. I know she and Janessa are friends and talk before and after their group sessions, but they’ve never gone out for drinks before. I realize I’m gripping my pencil too tightly and the shading I’m working on is too dark, too angry, but I can’t seem to loosen my grip.
“That would be great. Maybe after therapy sometime?” She reaches for the sketch pad and our fingers brush. “Can I see?”
Her fingers are long and delicate, and I want so badly to bring them to my lips and press a kiss to their tender skin. It takes all of my focus to resist the urge and release the sketch pad.
“It’s not very good.”
“Ash, this is amazing. You made me much prettier than I am.”
I scoot closer and look over her shoulder. This is my favorite place, pressed up against her with our hips touching. We sit like this a lot when she’s teaching me sketching techniques or discussing the nuances of drawing. Lame, I know, but I’ll take what I can get, because even if she’s into girls, it doesn’t mean she’ll be into me, and I enjoy spending time with her too much to chance losing that.
“You are prettier than I can capture on paper, Delilah.” Our eyes connect, and the air between us pulses with electricity. I brush her hair from her shoulder, barely breathing, hoping she’ll give me a sign that she wants me as badly as I want her.
“Thanks, Ash. You’re the greatest friend ever.”
My heart sinks. Greatest friend ever.
~Delilah~
THE TAPROOM HAS become my safe harbor, a project that fills my head and keeps me from thinking too much about the loss of my parents or my feelings for Ashley. It took a few weeks for me and Wyatt to get a system down for managing the bar. Luckily, we had Jesse Steele to help us. He and his brother, Brent, own Endless Summer Surf Shop, where Ashley works, and recently purchased a restaurant in town, which they’re renovating. Before buying the restaurant, Jesse ran the Taproom in the off-season, and after my parents died, Jesse stepped in to help us learn the business. Now we have a system. I handle inventory, ordering, and staffing, and Wyatt manages the accounting and administrative end of things. We don’t have a huge staff, so when someone is out, Wyatt or I often have to fill in.
Today Tristan is working the bar. Charley, one of our waitresses who also fills in as a bartender, is out on a three-day assignment with her other part-time job, and Rusty, a waiter, couldn’t come in early to cover her shift. It’s just me and Livi handling tables. Livi’s worked here all summer. She’s an excellent waitress. She lost her mother when she was a teenager, so she understands what Wyatt and I have been going through and she’s always willing to talk, although I’m not big on talking about my parents. Sometimes it’s hard to separate how much I miss them with how much I hate some of the feelings they’ve left me with.
I hand my customers’ orders to Dutch, our cook, and grab a stack of napkins to refill the napkin holder behind the bar. I stare at the box of napkins like it has answers written all over it instead of napkin sizes. It’s no use. No matter how much I try to focus on those words, hoping they’ll replace the look in Ashley’s eyes when we were on the dunes, I can’t. And it’s that look—the look that makes me think Ashley might be into me—that draws me back to Janessa’s offer.
Would it be so bad to climb between the sheets with her and figure this out? To see if I like being intimate with girls and make sure I’m not some freak who likes to check out girls but doesn’t like being intimate with anyone? Would that be using Janessa? Is she using me? I immediately push that thought away. Let’s face it—she’s pretty enough and sweet enough that she hardly needs to spend a night with a lesbian virgin.
I swear being with a guy was never this hard. Even when I had sex the first time, it wasn’t this complicated. Brad and I had been sort of dating for a few weeks. I was trying to figure out if I liked guys or not, because everyone I knew in Connecticut was straight, and here in Harborside I didn’t know any lesbian women, only gay guys. And as if that didn’t make me feel out of place, every time we saw a newscast about same-sex marriages, my parents’ faces would pinch up, and Dad would make a comment about how wrong it was. I was really hoping that I was misinterpreting my feelings toward girls.
It was a painful road of discovery, because I felt like I was out in a dinghy floating in the middle of the sea with a storm brewing in the distance and no one to throw me a lifeline. It’s such a lonely journey, this whole self-discovery thing we have to do. My first endeavor into making sure I wasn’t misinterpreting my feelings was to be intimate with a guy. What a mess that was. I was seventeen and at least a year behind my friends in losing my virginity. We did it in the backseat of Brad’s father’s car, parked on a back road. The whole experience was uncomfortable and without emotion. He got all sweaty and grunted like he was in pain, and I kept thinking, This is what girls rave about? I still don’t get it. I thought it might have just been him, so I tried again with another guy my senior year. But sex experiment number two didn’t go any better than the first one. When I got to college I decided to try one last time, still clinging to the hope that it was all in my mind. Frank. I dated him for appearances’ sake, which allowed me to go to parties without being hit on by guys and made me feel a little less like an outsider. Looking back, I wish I had been like every other rebellious kid and jumped into bed with as many girls as I could, even though that’s not who I am. I cringe inside at the thought. I’m just not made of slutty cloth. But it would have made things easier to deal with now.
Sometimes I hate my parents.
Guilt chases that thought right out of my head.
Guilt, guilt, guilt.
Run, run, run.
My desires are always chased by guilt, because being who I think I was born to be, who I want to be, goes against everything my parents believed and filled my head with. And yeah, I know they’re dead, but…That’s another thing I feel guilty about and the reason my guilt is always followed by the urge to run from dealing with my feelings at all.
I pry those thoughts from my mind and try again to focus on work.
Wyatt bursts through the double doors into the back of the bar. We’re twins, but his hair is thicker, shaggy, and darker than mine, light brown compared to my blond, and while I’m only five foot five, Wyatt’s over six feet tall and broad as a linebacker. The kitchen seems smaller with him in it. He’s been in and out between meetings with accounting firms. We’re hiring an outside company to audit our books because our last accountant—and our dad’s best friend, whom we called Uncle Tim—embezzled money from the bar. I guess gambling and drinking can drive a person over the edge, but add losing your best friend and I guess I can see why he lost it. Wyatt fired him and told him to stay away from us, but Uncle Tim…er…Tim Johnson, has known us since we were born. We spent a lot of time with him and his wife over the years. He even came to our high school and college graduations. Wyatt couldn’t just push him out of our lives completely, even though that was what he tried to do. After firing him, Wyatt got him into a treatment center, and I know Wyatt’s visited him a few times, although he doesn’t really talk about it.
“Hey, sis.” He joins me at the counter, where I’m waiting to pick up a sandwich order from Dutch. “You sure you can hold down the fort?”
“Yeah, no prob
lem.”
Dutch slides the order across the stainless-steel counter and winks. His hair has grown a lot in the last month, and it looks like a curly brown Afro. He reminds me of Seth Rogan, only bigger.
“Hey, Rocky. There’s nothing Delilah can’t handle. And she doesn’t have to use her fists.” Dutch’s deep laugh fills the kitchen as my brother gives him a narrow-eyed stare.
“The nickname’s Army, thank you very much.” Wyatt flashes a crooked smile, and Dutch shakes his head. Army has been his nickname since we first went to college. His friends thought that Army was cooler than Wyatt Armstrong. Most girls loved it, but me and Cassidy, whom Wyatt and I have known since we were five years old, have never cared for it. To us he’ll always be Wyatt.
“It’s your own fault for beating up that guy who was coming on to Cassidy. You’ll never live it down in Dutch’s eyes,” I say as we walk back into the bar.
“She’s right!” Dutch yells after us.
Wyatt’s face grows tight. He’s not proud of that fight, and I think the fact that it was the catalyst for my moving out still bothers him. Our parents’ death hit us both equally as hard but in totally different ways. Wyatt seems to have moved past most of his grief, but I’m still knee-deep in quicksand.
“I’m heading out to meet with another accounting firm. Rusty’s coming in to relieve you soon, and Jesse’s coming by later to check over the books and inventory. You know, gotta make sure we’re still on target and all that.”
In addition to helping us with the Taproom, Jesse has taken on the role of watching over us, too. I think my father would be pleased that Jesse has stepped in, even though he’s only about ten years older than us. And he doesn’t act like a father, but more like an older brother. He hangs out with us when we have parties and makes sure no one drinks and drives.
“I’m fine, Wy. How are the interviews going?”
“Eh. You know, it’s a lot of numbers talk, but I really liked one guy, so we’ll see. You’ll have to meet him before we make any decisions, of course.” Wyatt scans the room. The bar runs the full length of the wall across from the door. We have a dance floor toward the back of the bar and a small stage where our friend Brandon Owens’s band plays a few times each week. Two girls are sitting on barstools drinking cocktails and eating sandwiches. One of them runs her eyes over Wyatt. He’s so into Cassidy now that he doesn’t even notice, or he doesn’t seem to. There are two couples sitting at tables in the middle of the room.
“Looks like you have a customer.” Wyatt nods at a booth, where—holy crap—Janessa is sitting. She has one leg stretched across to the other side of the booth as she studies the menu. “A very pretty customer.”
My pulse quickens at the sight of her. “Hey, you have a girlfriend.”
“She’s not for me.” He winks, and I grab his arm and move in really close before he can walk away.
“How can you tell she’s into girls?” I whisper. I really want to know, because to me she looks just like every other girl in the bar, only prettier. Wyatt and Cassidy are the only people who know that I like girls, even though I know our friends here would be supportive. My parents are no longer here watching over every move I make, but I still feel like they are. Yes, my parents have messed me up that badly.
“Want me to take the booth?” Livi asks as she hurries behind me.
“No, I’ve got it, but can you take these to that couple over there?” I hand her the tray of sandwiches and squeeze Wyatt’s arm. He rolls his eyes.
“Really, Delilah? Look at the people she’s eyeing. It’s not me or Tristan, the two hottest guys in here.”
“Tristan’s also gay.” We’ve known Tristan Brewer since we were kids, and he’s bartended for the Taproom for the last three years. He moved in with us a few weeks ago, after breaking up with his boyfriend, Ian.
Wyatt nods across the bar to six-foot-two, dark-haired, hard-bodied Tristan. “So, you’re saying he looks gay?”
“No! You know I don’t think that, but…”
“She’s checking out Livi’s ass. She’s scanned every woman in here, including you, but she’s not looking at the guys in the same way. I could be way off base, but even though I’m taken and would never cheat on Cass, a guy knows when he’s being checked out, and that woman is not checking me out.” He pulls out of my grip and whispers, “Maybe you need me to be your wingman.”
I smack him. “Ugh. No, I do not. Go talk accounting.”
The few feet I have to walk to get to Janessa’s booth feel like a mile. My stomach is knotting up, and ever since she offered to…help me learn, I keep picturing her without any clothes on. I must be crazy. She’s wearing skinny jeans and a tank top, but I swear she’s sitting there in lacy underwear and no top at all. I feel my cheeks flush as I reach her table.
“Hi.”
She smiles up at me. “Hey there. You know, I’ve been in here a million times, but today it feels different.”
Oh God. Maybe I’m in over my head.
“Knowing you and Wyatt own this place makes it more comfortable.”
Whew. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I thought she was really coming on to me, and that would have made things even more uncomfortable.
She wrinkles her brow. “Are you okay? You look nervous.”
“Yes. Fine.” I hold up the order pad. “Do you want something to eat?”
She looks me up and down, and her eyes fill with concern like they did last night. “You didn’t think…Oh gosh, Delilah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like a come-on. Seriously, I really like you, but I’m not here to hit on you. I just thought since we were becoming friends, it would be fun to come over.”
I move closer to the booth and rest my hand on the table for stability. I feel like everyone in the place is looking at us. Thanks, Mom and Dad. They’ve drilled how wrong it is to be a lesbian into my head so deep that I can’t even act normal.
“It’s fine. It’s me.” I lean down closer to her and angle my body so my back is toward the bar, blocking us from the rest of the customers. “I’m a little like a deer in headlights with all this stuff. I feel like I misinterpret everything.” I’m not sure why I reveal this to her so easily, but I can’t seem to stop. And I’m not sure I want to. Every time I uncover a hidden fear, I breathe a little easier.
“Did you give any thought to my offer?” she asks with a straight face and a smile, as if she’s asking me if I liked the sandwich I had for lunch.
Part of me wants to turn to liquid and slip through the floorboards, but another part of me, the part I’ve been burying deep inside for years, wants me to grab hold of this brass ring and cling so tight that it forces my parents’ disapproving eyes from my memory.
My response sounds far more confident than I feel. “I haven’t thought of anything but your offer and Ashley since last night. I was with Ash this morning, and it’s so hard not to tell her how I feel, but...I don’t even know…you know. If I like being with girls.” I’m whispering, but I can’t squelch the urge to turn and make sure no one heard me.
Tristan raises his chin in my direction and smiles as he wipes down the bar.
I feel exposed and slide into the booth across from Janessa. She puts her foot on the floor, resting it against mine, causing those knots in my stomach to tighten even more.
“I’m thinking about it, but what will it do to our friendship? I mean, I really like being able to talk to you about this stuff. What if it makes it weird?”
“Then we’ll talk about it. We’re both adults, and Delilah, it’s sex—it’s not like we’re robbing a bank.”
It’s sex. She says it like it’s not that big of a deal, and for most twenty-two-year-olds, it isn’t a big deal. But it still feels like there’s a billboard strapped to my back that reads I’m about to have my first sexual experience with a girl! I hate that it feels so all-consuming. I tell myself it’s not a big deal. We’re not robbing a bank.
Why was it so much easier to give my body over t
o a guy than to do this?
My thoughts turn to Ashley and how much I wanted to kiss her this morning. I’ll lose my mind if I have to go any longer pretending that I don’t have feelings for Ashley, and being with Janessa will give me the answers—and the experience—I need to know if I’m doing the right thing.
I look across the booth at Janessa, and nothing about this situation makes sense in the conventional way. It’s the weirdest offer I’ve ever received and definitely the strangest one I’ve ever considered, but for whatever reason, I feel like this is also the most important decision of my life. I trust Janessa. Something in the way she’s looking at me, like she wants to help me, not like she wants to devour me, makes me feel comfortable, and I’ve never been comfortable with my sexuality. That means something, doesn’t it?
I want to do this. I don’t want to make a fool of myself with her or Ashley, but if it is a choice, I pick making a fool of myself with Janessa. Because if I totally screw up, or don’t end up liking making out with a girl, then I’ll definitely want to run away afterward. And I could never run away from Ashley.
The sooner it’s done the better.
Assuming I enjoy the sexual side of things, this will give me enough confidence to talk with Ashley about how I feel, and on the off chance Ash is into me, then I won’t be fumbling through the rest. Or maybe I will, but at least it won’t be like it’s my first time.
Thinking it through is making my stomach feel like the inside of a whirring blender.
Before I can chicken out, I blurt out, “I want to do this.”
“Okay.” She smiles.
“Okay.” Oh my God!
Janessa shrugs. “Jackie’s staying with Dean again tonight. I guess she couldn’t get enough of their fort last night.”
Tonight? “Okay.” Not one single part of me believes I’m going to go through with this, but the affirmations keep coming—This will help. I’ll finally know for sure—and Janessa is looking at me with such compassion that I start to believe I just might follow through.
Discovering Delilah Page 3