“No. I want pictures with you in them.” He hands her phone to our father. “Dad, will you take pictures of me and Delilah? Then me and Delilah and Ashley. Then me and Delilah and Ashley and Patricia and Bolton. Then me and—”
“I get it, Kenny.” My father motions for us all to get together.
Kenny takes my hand and places it in Delilah’s. Her eyes cut to me.
“Mom said if Delilah didn’t mind, I could hold her hand, too. Do you mind, Delilah?” He turns his big brown eyes up to her.
She tightens her grip on him. “Nope. I don’t mind at all. In fact, I like holding two of my favorite people’s hands. It makes me feel special.”
Two hours later we drive away, waving to my parents, Kenny, and Bolton all the way down the street until they disappear from sight. Delilah picks up her phone at a stoplight and navigates to the pictures before handing it to me. I stare at the picture of Delilah holding mine and Kenny’s hands for a long time. When the phone sits idle for too long, the screen turns black. I press the button to unlock it and notice that Delilah has already made that photo her background image.
I think her baby steps just got a little bigger.
Chapter Twenty
~Delilah~
AFTER SPENDING TIME with Ashley’s family and Bolton, a few things become very clear to me.
I got ripped off in the parental-support department.
Ashley loves me.
I’m nowhere near ready to have children, although I love Kenny to pieces.
Ashley loves me.
The way Wyatt watches over me isn’t a bad thing, even if it feels stifling at times.
Ashley. Loves. Me.
It’s Tuesday afternoon, three days since our trip. Three days since Ash told me she loves me, which has made it hard for me to think about anything else. Three days since I spent time with what is probably the most supportive family on earth. Three days since meeting a kid who made me realize that I’m pigeonholing my relationship with Ashley. I don’t know how it happened, but listening to Kenny’s unfiltered thoughts was as enlightening as it was overwhelming. One thing he said stuck with me as much as Ashley’s I love you did.
I’m standing at the stainless-steel counter in the kitchen of the Taproom, eating a grilled-cheese sandwich, as his excited, high-pitched voice whips through my mind for the hundredth time. She said it’s okay for girls to be girlfriend and girlfriend and boys to be boyfriend and boyfriend. I think it’s okay since Mom said it’s okay.
Mom said it’s okay.
Kenny puts a lot of faith in his mother.
I pull out my phone and look at the pictures from this weekend. Kenny will probably grow up thinking same-sex relationships are acceptable because his mother said they were.
“Hey, Dutch?”
Dutch turns with a spatula in one hand and a slab of cheese in the other. His apron is covered with grease, and true to Dutch’s typical style, his hair is a curly, tangled mess, but his smile is as bright as the summer sun. “Yo?”
“Best grilled cheese ever. Thank you.”
“But of course.” He winks.
“What do you think of same-sex relationships?”
“Um, Delilah. Is this a trick question? Because I’m pretty sure you know Tristan and Brandon are gay, and…uh…aren’t you and Ashley an item?” He turns, flips a few burgers, then lowers the flame and comes over to the counter. “Something bugging you? Want to talk?”
I shrug. “Yes and no. Why do you think they’re okay?”
“Well, because I don’t give a shit about who anyone else sleeps with. Whatever makes people happy and all that.” His eyes turn serious. “Is someone giving you a hard time? Because I’ll take care of them—”
“No. It’s nothing like that. I’m just wondering about something. Do you think you’re all right with it because your parents were, or did you decide it on your own?” I finish my sandwich, and he takes the plate and tosses it into the sink.
“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it that much.” He moves to the stove and flips the burgers, then looks over his shoulder at me. “I guess we never talked about it much in my house. I don’t think my parents have issues with it, but I couldn’t say that for sure. So I guess I came to it pretty much on my own.” He finishes cooking the burgers, puts them on plates, and sets them on the counter just as Charley comes into the kitchen.
“Hey, Delilah. Thanks, Dutch.” She picks up the plates and heads back toward the bar.
“Wait! Charley.”
She turns, her ponytail swinging from side to side. “Yeah?”
“Why are you okay with same-sex relationships?”
She looks from me to Dutch with a worried expression on her face. “Um. Because who am I to judge. Why?”
“Did your parents feel that way?” Now this is really bugging me, and I want to know more about how people come to these decisions.
“Sure. My parents don’t care if people are gay. Why? What’s going on? Is this about you and Ashley? Because I think it’s great that you two finally figured out what I knew all along.”
“What?” I laugh, because come on…Really? She knew? How could she? I wasn’t even one hundred percent certain. Well, I kind of was, but still.
Charley laughs. “Oh my God, Delilah. You two have been like Siamese twins since you met, and you look at each other with sickeningly dreamy eyes.”
“They do?” Dutch raised his brows in quick succession. “Hm.”
“I gotta take these out to the customers, but yeah, they do.” Charley rolls her eyes. “Guys never notice anything. Maybe I should date girls.” She breezes back into the bar.
“Why are you asking all this stuff anyway?” Dutch crosses his big arms and narrows his eyes.
“I’m wondering if most people form their opinions about this stuff based on what they’re taught rather than basing it on their own feelings. And I’m starting to understand the impact parents have on their kids.”
The impact my parents had on me.
And it’s starting to piss me off.
“Well, hell, Delilah. You should have said that. It’s no secret that our parents mess us up big-time. It’s like their jobs or something. So, sure, most people probably believe whatever their parents teach them. It takes strong people to break the mold, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.” And I want to break it. It’s just easier said than done. I stand up and pull my shoulders back as Wyatt comes into the kitchen.
“Hey, Dee. You almost ready to go meet the accountant?” Wyatt goes into the back office and comes out with a folder.
“Sure. What’s that?”
“The agreement so we can work with them.” He nods toward the door. “Let’s go. We’ll talk on the way.”
In the car I open the folder and read the agreement.
“Don’t worry, Dee. If you don’t like him, we won’t sign the agreement. But his references were solid, and he seemed like a good guy.”
“Did he seem smart and honest? That’s what I care about more than a good guy.”
“Yes, Dee. Smart, honest, and a good guy.” Wyatt drives to the accountant’s office and parks beside the building. “I promise, if you don’t like him, he’s not hired. I’d never do anything without your okay. This business is both of ours, not just mine.”
I’ve known all along that Wyatt feels this way, but hearing him say it so earnestly makes me feel good. As much as he’s overprotective of me, he’s also confident in my abilities to handle important decisions, and that means a lot to me.
Inside the office, a short, stout secretary brings us into Mr. Park’s lavish office, where we wait for twenty minutes.
“Not exactly a good impression,” I whisper to Wyatt.
“He’s busy.”
“So are we,” I remind him.
“Wow. I guess you’re over your quiet stage.” He sits back and locks his fingers behind his head as he stretches. “Relax, Dee.”
A
swarthy-looking man with too much product in his dark hair and a suit that looks more expensive than the BMW he probably drives peeks his head into the room. He flashes a toothy smile. “Wyatt, my man.” He nods at me. “You must be Delilah.”
“Yes.” I stand and extend my hand, and he waves from the doorway.
“I’ll be right in.” He leaves the door open and begins talking to a woman right outside.
I sink back into my chair, eyeing Wyatt. “Real classy, Wy.”
Wyatt shrugs.
The room is beyond silent. There isn’t even noise from an air conditioner to drown out Mr. Park’s conversation with the woman in the hall.
“Listen, I don’t care what that faggot says. We’ll take him to court,” Mr. Park says in a hushed whisper.
I curl my fingers into fists and stare at Wyatt. Wyatt’s brows draw together.
“I know you will, but what should I tell his partner?” The woman says partner like it’s a dirty word.
I grab Wyatt’s arm and feel his muscles tense as he rises to his feet.
“I don’t care what you tell that queer—”
I beat Wyatt out the door and plant myself between Mr. Park and the primly dressed woman.
“I’ve got this, Delilah.” Wyatt holds a protective arm out in front of me. His hands are fisted, his chest looks like it’s been inflated, and his biceps are tight.
“No. I’ve got this.” I step closer to Mr. Park and glare at his beady, dark eyes.
“You should be ashamed of yourself.”
He laughs. “Excuse me?”
“Do you think it’s professional to call someone a queer and a faggot?”
His smile fades, and his eyes shift over my shoulder to the woman behind me with an incredulous look that quickly morphs into save-my-ass mode as a practiced smile curls his thin lips. “You misheard what I—”
“I only wish I had. Let’s go, Wyatt.” I’m shaking as Wyatt steps closer to Mr. Park and pins him in place with a threatening stare.
Wyatt stares him down until Mr. Park backs up and looks away. Then Wyatt takes me by the arm and leads me out of the office. This time I’m glad for his help, because my legs aren’t working very well. By the time we reach the car, I have tears in my eyes.
“The guy’s an asshole. How could I have misjudged him so badly? I’m sorry, Dee.” When he notices I’m crying, he gathers me in his arms. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know how to screen for that shit.”
“He’s an ass, but they’re everywhere. Our own parents were like him.” I push away from Wyatt and pace the parking lot as I wipe my eyes, feeling like that asshole just called me names. “I hate people. I hate him. I hate Mom and Dad.”
“No, you don’t, Dee.” Wyatt reaches for me and I pull away.
“Yeah. Right now I do. Because of Mom and Dad I’m afraid of people like him, and I’m so sick of being afraid. I’m sick of feeling like I can’t be myself. Sick of feeling like I’m being judged.”
He takes me in his arms and holds me despite my fighting to push free. He holds me while I sob, and he holds me while I kick the ground and curse and bitch about how much people suck. He holds me until I have no more tears to cry, and then he drapes an arm over my shoulder like it’s no big deal and helps me into the car.
“Creek, home, Taproom, or Ashley’s?”
I rest my head back and breathe deeply. “Oh, Wyatt. Why do you put up with me? Why does Ashley? Why does anyone? I’m so fucked-up.”
“Put up with you? Dee. I love you. You’re just about the coolest girl on earth, and I know Mom and Dad messed with your head about your personal life, but look how far you’ve come. You’re stronger than any girl around.”
I shake my head. “No. I’m not.”
“Yeah, you are. Mom and Dad died less than three months ago. Do you realize how recent that is? And you’ve taken full charge of the scheduling and running the ordering and all that shit at the bar. You’ve gotten yourself into counseling, and you’re in a great relationship. I don’t know anyone else who could have come that far.”
I exhale loudly and close my eyes.
“I wished they didn’t exist.” My admission comes as a whisper, and when Wyatt doesn’t respond, I wonder if I even said it. I open my eyes. Wyatt’s arms are crossed over the steering wheel as he stares straight ahead.
“I wished they didn’t exist,” I repeat, louder this time.
He looks at me. “I heard you.”
“Do you hate me?” Fear freezes like ice in my chest.
He shakes his head. “Do you know how many times I wished they didn’t exist, Dee? How many times I wished them away?”
“Yeah, but I did it right before we walked for graduation. After I told them I liked girls, when they gave me that look like they were so disappointed in me that they wished I didn’t exist. I wished it then, and then we walked for graduation, and then…” Tears spill down my cheeks. “After graduation there were pictures, and congratulations, and there was no time to talk about it. I thought we’d talk about it the next day when we went back home. And then…” My breath hitches in my throat. “And then they died, Wy. I wished they didn’t exist and then they were gone.”
Tears tumble down Wyatt’s cheeks. “It’s not your fault, Dee.” A statement, and he says it like a command. Like there’s no room for arguing.
But there is.
In my head there’s way too much room.
“Maybe it is. Maybe they crashed because they were too upset with me to concentrate.”
“No!” His fist rises, then comes down hard on the dashboard. “No, Dee. The tractor trailer crossed the line, and the driver was drunk. It wasn’t Mom and Dad’s fault, and it wasn’t your fault.”
“Maybe Dad was distracted. Maybe he could have gotten out of the way.” I cover my face with my hands and sob. “Maybe…”
“No! No! No! I’m not going to let you do this to yourself. Goddamn it, Delilah. You did not kill them!” He pulls me across the console and holds me tight. “You did not kill them,” he whispers.
He holds me for what feels like a long time, maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour. I’m not sure. We pull ourselves together and drive in silence out to our house. We walk around back and sit on the steps to the deck, just the two of us. Wyatt puts his arm around me and I rest my head on his shoulder. It’s been a long time since we were alone.
“I’m sorry about that guy,” Wyatt says quietly.
“I know. I’m glad you didn’t hit him.”
He smiles. “I don’t hit anymore—you know that. Besides, he wasn’t worth it.”
“Yeah. You’re right.”
We sit for a while longer, comforted by the sounds of the ocean and the cool breeze coming off the water.
“Wy?”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe Mom and Dad felt the way they did because of how they were brought up.”
“Makes sense, but it doesn’t excuse them.”
I nod. “I know I don’t need their approval, but it still hurts, you know?” Tears stream down my cheeks again. I let them fall, because I feel like they’ve been buried so deep inside me that I’m just starting to skim the top of the well.
“I know.” He kisses my temple. “You don’t need anyone’s approval, but you know you have my support.”
“I know. Thank you.”
“I don’t know how to get past this, Dee. I wish I had the answers. I know how much you’re hurting, and I wish Mom and Dad were here right now, because I’d give them a piece of my mind.”
“I know you would.” I have no doubt that he’d go head-to-head with our parents on my behalf without giving it a second thought. “Wy?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for always being there for me.”
He holds me closer.
“But I think I have to move out.”
His hand stills on my shoulder. “What? Why?”
“Because my whole life I’ve been taken care of. Don’t get me wrong. I love you for it,
and I loved them for it. But I think it’s time. Before I settle down in a relationship and move in with someone…I need to have my own space and know I can take care of myself.”
“You mean before you move in with Ashley?”
I shrug. “Maybe one day. I’m definitely falling for her.”
“She’s really cool, Dee. Like you. I’m happy for you both.”
Wyatt clasps his hands in front of him and leans his elbows on his thighs. “When are you thinking of moving out? I feel like you just got here after living at Brooke’s.”
I shrug again. “I’m not sure. I just wanted you to know I’m thinking about it.”
“I don’t like the idea of you living on your own. Where would you move?”
“Probably to the same complex as Ashley. It’s walking distance from here and from the bar.”
He nods, but his hands are rubbing each other over and over, and I know he’s uncomfortable with me moving out.
“I’ll let you check out the place first, just to be sure you think it’s safe.”
He cocks his head to the side and smiles. “And let me put a guard outside your door?”
I bump him with my shoulder and laugh. “You aren’t losing me. I promise.”
He nods. “Yeah, I know.”
“And it won’t be for a while.”
“Okay.” His arm comes around my shoulder again, and he rests his head against mine. “I’m proud of you, Dee.”
“Why?”
He sighs. “Why? Because of everything. Who you are. How you treat people. The way you’ve handled the bar. Everything.”
“Right back at ya, Wy. What do we do about an accountant?”
He shrugs. “We’ll figure it out. Eventually, the right person will come along. Until then I’m doing the books so there’s no chance of anyone stealing, and Cass is double-checking my work.”
“I haven’t seen her much lately.”
“I know. Your schedules haven’t crossed much, but she was so happy to get the pics you sent of Kenny’s play.” Wyatt pulls out his phone and scrolls through his contacts. He holds up his phone and shows me my contact info. He’s cropped the photo so it’s just me and Ash.
“I love that.” I show him his contact info in my phone and the picture of him and Cassidy.
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