Discovering Delilah

by Melissa Foster

  The world spins around me as she continues talking. My head is swimming. I can comprehend only a few words past the blood rushing through my ears.

  Our parents were strict…Did the best he could…Loved you…

  “Delilah?”

  I need answers. Real answers.

  “I gotta go.”

  I grab my car keys and storm out the front door toward my Jeep. I start it up and toss the phone on the passenger seat as I pull out and speed toward the cemetery. I don’t remember stopping at stoplights, although I’m sure I did. I don’t remember driving through the iron gates or navigating the winding road toward their freshly turned graves. I don’t remember getting out of the Jeep and walking to their graves.

  But I’m here.

  Staring at their headstones.

  I read my father’s headstone. Loving husband, father, and friend.

  The word conditionally is missing.

  Why? Why? Why?

  I pace the recently turned earth, too upset to think. “You made me feel like shit. I wasn’t a legal case for you to steer in a direction you approved of. You should have looked at me like I was your daughter, not a case to win or lose. You should have been compassionate, for fuck’s sake. I hate you for making me feel like shit.” I fall to my knees, and tears steal my voice. My chest burns, and my entire body quakes with every forceful sob.

  “Why, Dad?” I plead. “Why would you do this to me?”

  I look at my mother’s grave, but I can’t pull the words from my throat. She was also standing beside him, agreeing with the things he said. A silent partner who wasn’t always silent. I have a feeling that she doesn’t need me to repeat myself. She knows. She’s still beside him.

  I bury my face in my hands, feeling like my heart has been ripped from my chest again. How can a person’s heart be ripped out over and over again? I remain there, overtaken by sadness, for a long while. Tears come and go, and my mind continues to swim.

  I rise on shaky legs and stare down at my parents’ graves, crossing my arms to try to gain control of my trembling. It doesn’t work.

  “I don’t hate you,” I spit out. “I hate what you did. I hate how you made me feel.”

  Kenny’s words come rushing forward. 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.

  I sink to my knees again, the hurt overtaking my anger.

  “Dad, what did your parents do to you, for you to do this to me?”

  “It was pretty bad.”

  I spin around at the sound of Aunt Lara’s voice. She kneels beside me and touches my shoulder. Her other hand wraps around her rib cage. She broke a few ribs in the accident, and I wonder if she feels the pain anew.

  “Delilah, your father loved you, honey. He adored you.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “He only loved the perfect parts of me he wanted to love. I saw it in his eyes. Once I told him, he didn’t love me for me. I ruined it.”

  “Dee, this is going to be a lot to digest. Do you want to go somewhere to talk?”

  I shake my head. “No. I think I should hear it right here in front of him.”

  She stares at me for a long time, assessing me. I know she’s trying to figure out if she can convince me to leave, so I clench my trembling jaw to let her know I’m not going anywhere.

  “Okay.” She sits beside me and crosses her legs. “You didn’t know your grandparents very well, but our parents were super-conservative. If you think your father’s rules were strict, you can multiply them by about a million. I don’t claim to know much about gay lifestyles, and I don’t think my brother did, either. We were from a different generation. Our generation wasn’t as free or as diverse as yours. And our parents? Well, their generation was so…wrong when it came to this stuff.”

  Wrong? She thinks they were wrong?

  “Your father was only mimicking what he learned. We weren’t brought up to be open-minded.” She covers her heart with her hand and swallows hard. “But I know, with every ounce of my being, that he adored you.”

  “But…”

  “Please, just hear me out. Your father didn’t hate gays. He was uncomfortable with the idea. And when you told him about your…preferences, he was forced to confront other fears. Parental fears.”

  I bit my lower lip to try to stave off more tears.

  “On the way home, he and your mom talked about you. They worried for you. Your father worried that your lifestyle would make your life more difficult for you. It’s different for parents. We worry about how the things our children do—from getting tattoos or nose rings to sexual preferences—will impact their lives. I know you can’t understand this, because your generation is so much more open with these things, but when we were growing up...” She presses her lips together and shifts her eyes toward their graves. “Things were very different. Biases were everywhere. Your father didn’t want to imagine you facing that type of prejudice from others.”

  “But it’s not really like that! Things have changed and it’s more widely accepted now.”

  “No, honey, it’s not like that with your generation. But your generation kind of lives in a bubble.”

  I can’t keep my eyes from rolling.

  “Not just your generation. All generations live in their own bubbles. When we were your age, we lived in bubbles. We still do. Only as adults we’re expected to break free of our bubbles as younger generations change and evolve into things that are wildly different from what we’re used to. You’ll see one day, when the next generation does things that you question. This has gone on for hundreds of years. Every generation thinks the next is worse, doing things that are wrong or unsafe, or stupid.” She draws her brows together. “Not that you’re stupid or wrong or anything like that. I’m speaking in generalities.”

  “I don’t understand. I’m his daughter. He should have just accepted me. He owned a house in Harborside, for God’s sake.”

  She furrows her brows. “What does Harborside have to do with this?”

  “What do you mean? There are tons of gays there. Why would he buy in that kind of community?”

  Aunt Lara smiles and shakes her head. She covers her eyes with her hand, and when she meets my gaze again, her eyes soften, as does her tone.

  “Honey, that’s the bubble I’m talking about. To you Harborside is a diverse community because you grew up spending summers with Tristan and Brandon, and your generation is more accepting. Those lifestyles are normal to you because it’s what you were exposed to from a young age.” Lara has known Tristan and Brandon as long as we have. She usually visits us in Harborside for a few days each summer. Of course, this year everything’s been different, with her recovering from her injuries and all of us trying to deal with the loss of my parents.

  “It’s not normal, according to Dad.”

  “Right, because your parents lived in a different bubble than you. A different bubble than me, even though they were only a few years older than I am. As far as Harborside goes, they fell in love with the romance of living on the water, the family environment, the slower-paced lifestyle. The Taproom was a great investment and a fun way for them to keep busy in the summers. Their friends weren’t gay.”

  She takes my hand and holds my gaze. “Don’t you see, Delilah? Your generation’s bubble and your father’s generation’s bubble coexisted on the same plane but saw things very differently. They never saw Harborside as a gay community. To them it was a family community. A place to spend time with you and Wyatt, where you could build memories, which you have. Great memories.”

  I try to process what she’s said. Try to see it from her point of view, and I guess it kind of makes sense.

  “So you’re saying that I see it as diverse because I’m immersed in my friendships. My bubble.”

  “Yes, exactly. Your parents’ friends were straight. They saw Harborside completely differently. They saw Brandon and Tristan as two boys in a sea of tho
usands of families. You see Brandon and Tristan as two gay men in a pool of a diverse younger generation.”

  “But they looked at me like I was such a disappointment.”

  “Not a disappointment.” Aunt Lara nodded, and her eyes became hooded, even more worried. “Honey, your parents, your father specifically, didn’t know how to handle it. He was only human. He needed time to come to grips with it.”

  “My mom looked at me funny, too.”

  She shrugs, nods. “They were a little stunned. You were their baby, even if you’re all grown-up. They worried about you.”

  I steal a glance at their headstones and feel as if my father’s sitting right there watching me. But the eyes I see staring back at me are no longer judgmental. They’re worried.

  Oh, Daddy.

  I reach for Aunt Lara’s hand, and she squeezes mine.

  “He used to tell us that same-sex marriages were wrong.” I lift my eyes and meet her sad gaze. “I spent years feeling ashamed of myself, hiding who I was.”

  She shakes her head. “I’m so sorry, Delilah. I wish I had known how you felt. I wish they had known when they had more time with you, to digest it and process it and move forward. They never would have wanted you to suffer in silence. When we stopped for gas on the way home from your graduation and your mom emailed you, your father felt terribly guilty for whatever look he gave you. He said he looked at you like his father would have looked at him, and he hated himself for it.”

  “Wait. What?” My heart leaps to my throat. “What email?”

  Her brows knit together. “They sent you an email when we stopped for gas. They said they needed to apologize. Didn’t you get it?”

  I stand and run toward my Jeep. I hear her calling after me, but I keep going. After graduation we took pictures, packed up our room, and after my parents drove home, Wyatt and I went to a party. That was the night we caught Cassidy’s boyfriend cheating and Wyatt beat him up. Later that night we found out about my parents’ accident. I haven’t even thought about checking email since school ended. I never used it for anything other than school stuff.

  I click on the email app on my phone, and sure enough, there’s an unread message from my mom’s email. I’m afraid to click on it.

  Aunt Lara catches up to me.

  “Why didn’t she text me?”

  “I don’t know. Did your mom text often?”

  I shake my head. “No. She always called.” I look up at her, clenching my phone in my hands. “I’m afraid to read it.”

  “Want me to read it first?”

  I shake my head. “No, but do you mind staying with me while I read it?”

  She puts her arm around me, and a minute later I gather enough courage to read the message.

  Delilah,

  We can’t believe you’re all grown-up. Graduated! Dad and I are so very proud of you. Watching you and Wyatt walk across that stage was one of the proudest moments of our lives. You have both grown into such loving, strong adults. We love you so much, and we owe you an apology for reacting so poorly to your news. We are very sorry. Your father and I have been thinking about how much courage it took for you to tell us that you were a lesbian. (See? I can type it. I can even say it.) And that stunned look in your father’s eyes is fading. Mine, too, if there was one.

  You’ve probably figured out that we’re not perfect. We have hurdles of our own to overcome in order to fully support you. Skeletons to deal with, harshly ingrained biases to try to navigate past, but we love you, Delilah. We’re going to try our best to be as supportive as we possibly can, and even if it’s hard for us for a while, please don’t take that to mean we love you any less than we did before you told us. You took us by surprise, but let’s talk about this after you celebrate your graduation.

  Things are so different for your generation. Thank goodness for that, right? Know we love you and we’re trying.

  Happy graduation! Drive carefully tomorrow (or today, if you read this in the morning).

  Love Mom (and Dad)

  I read the letter three times, soaking in every word.

  They wanted to try.

  “I need to go back.”

  “To their graves?” Aunt Lara looks toward the graves.

  “No. I mean, yes. I’ll come back here, but I want to see Ashley.”

  Her brows knit together, and then her eyes widen. “Ash…Oh. Ashley?” She smiles.

  I smile, and tears burn my eyes again, but they’re no longer angry tears.

  “Oh, Delilah.” Aunt Lara embraces me and strokes the back of my hair, like my mom used to do. “They loved you so very much.”

  I draw in a deep breath. “Thank you for coming, Aunt Lara. I think I need to apologize to Dad. I kind of told him I hated him.”

  “I guess I don’t blame you. Want me to come?”

  I shake my head. “I can meet you back at the house.”

  This time I remember every step across the grassy lawn toward my parents’ graves. I notice the umbrella of trees to my left, the stone bench farther down the path, and the recently placed flowers at neighboring graves. As I sink to my knees, I feel every piece of dirt and grass pressing into my skin, and when I read my father’s headstone, I don’t think the word conditionally is missing.

  You wanted to try.

  I need to try, too.

  “I’m sorry, Dad. I guess our bubbles were in different places, but I’m a good person, and I hope you really did know that. I love you and Mom so much.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ~Ashley~

  THANKS TO BRANDON, I find Delilah’s parents’ house without getting lost. He programmed the address into my GPS. My heart is jackhammering as I drive down her road. The houses here are monstrous compared to my parents’ house. It’s kind of intimidating. Delilah isn’t pretentious at all, but as I pass the manicured lawns, expensive cars parked out front of stone Colonials with massive pillars running two stories high and yards bigger than three of our neighbors’ yards put together, I can’t help wondering what she thought as she drove down our street. I recheck her address, and my stomach sinks when I don’t see her Jeep in the driveway.

  What if she’s already left Connecticut?

  I park in front of her house and grab my phone from the passenger seat. There’s a text from Brandon. Text me so I know you arrived safely.

  Good timing.

  I respond quickly. Just rolled in, safe and sound.

  His response comes in a few seconds later. Good luck!

  I press Delilah’s speed-dial number and listen to it ringing, hoping she isn’t upset that I came without calling. I hear loud music and turn as Delilah’s Jeep pulls up alongside my car.

  “Hey!” Her eyes are red, like she’s been crying. “You’re here.” She looks down at her passenger seat and turns down her radio, then holds up her ringing phone. “And you’re calling me.”

  I end the call, happy that she’s not upset with me. “I had to see you.”

  “I was just going to get my stuff and drive home to see you! Let me park. Hold on.”

  I scramble out of the car as she parks and remind myself not to jump into her arms. This is her neighborhood, and a very conservative one at that. I’ll only make things more uncomfortable for her if I’m too eager. She comes around the side of her car and—my heart swells with emotion. She’s so beautiful, and she’s smiling. Smiling! Her hips sway with newfound confidence, and she’s wearing her boots, which makes me so happy, given where we are right now. I shove my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her.

  She opens her arms and pulls me into an embrace. “God, I missed you. I’m so sorry.”

  I stay stock-still for a second, wondering if she realizes that we’re standing where anyone can see us. She’s hugging me like she wants to climb inside my skin, and it overwhelms me. Fresh tears spring to my eyes, and I can’t resist wrapping my arms around her. “I’m sorry. I should have told you about the texts.”

  “No. I shouldn’t have overrea
cted. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. For making you feel like our relationship isn’t everything in the world to me, when it really is. For letting my father make me feel like I needed to hide it from the world. I was no better than him, and I’m sorry.”

  She’s still holding me close, and when she draws back and looks into my eyes, she keeps her body pressed to mine.

  “Ashley, so much has happened today, all of it good, but…”

  She searches my eyes, and the air between us shifts, warms. She seals her lips over mine, and for a second I’m too stunned to return the kiss. She presses her hand to the back of my head, keeping me close. Her tongue snakes over my lower lip, urging my mouth open, and I give in, finally, blissfully falling into our kiss.

  I hear a door open, and when our mouths part, Delilah’s lips curve up in a gratified smile.

  “Oh, sorry.” A woman starts to close the front door of the house.

  “Wait.” Delilah takes my hand and leads me up the walk. “Aunt Lara, this is my girlfriend, Ashley Carver.”

  Lara covers her mouth with her hand. The wrinkles around her eyes tell me she’s smiling. “Ashley, I couldn’t be happier to meet you.” She pulls me into her arms. “Would you like to come inside?”

  Delilah reclaims my hand. “We will, in a few minutes. I want to take her over to the cemetery first.”

  “Oh, okay.” Lara’s eyes are wide with surprise and a hint of skepticism, matching my thoughts.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I finally manage, still in shock by Delilah’s turnaround.

  “You, too.” Lara waves as Delilah leads me back to the Jeep.

  She starts the engine and leans across the front seat, taking me in another mind-blowing kiss.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, and I will never—ever—deny our relationship again.” Delilah puts on her seat belt, then reaches across me and clicks mine into place while I sit in stunned silence. “I don’t care if people stare or disapprove. The more I hide my feelings for you, the more I perpetuate the biases of older bubbles.”

  “Older bubbles?”