Discovering Delilah Page 12

  Me using someone for sex?

  Me. The lesbian virgin until just a few days ago?

  Weird. Definitely weird. But not as weird as knowing that the entire time she was getting ready for work this morning, I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. She moves so confidently and gracefully at the same time. She’s like the perfect woman.

  My perfect woman.

  Our toothbrushes hang in the holder side by side. Our hairbrushes and elastic hairbands sit on the dresser. My clothes are on the chair in the corner of her room, tucked beneath her hoodie and shorts. Seeing our stuff comingling has definitely had an impact on me. It makes me want to be comfortable outside of our homes with her, too. It makes me want to try harder.

  I’ve been thinking about what Brandon said about girls and relationships and guys and sex, and although I think there is some truth to it, I also think he has it a little skewed. Girls are about sex and relationships. Finding the one person in this world who understands me the way Ashley does, who is patient with my insecurities and also turns me on the way she does? I know our relationship is a rare gift, and I know I’ll never tire of being with her, emotionally or physically.

  Before leaving her apartment for the day, I run down to my Jeep and get the gift I bought for her yesterday. I had to have Brent give it to Brandon to bring to me so she wouldn’t find out, but it was worth the sneaking around. I make the bed and gather my things. We’re staying here again tonight, so I leave my bag on the chair in the corner, then write a note in the card I brought and set the gift in the center of the mattress.

  As I climb into my Jeep I see a white paper stuck beneath the windshield wiper. I look around and don’t see any No Parking signs. With a heavy sigh I get out and snag it from the windshield.

  Ashley’s handwriting makes me smile, but her words cut straight to my heart.

  D, I miss you already. Xo, A

  Chapter Twelve

  ~Ashley~

  IT’S THURSDAY. I hate Thursdays. I never used to hate them, but ever since Delilah fooled around with Janessa, Thursday has become my least favorite day of the week. I woke up feeling jealous and insecure an hour ago, and I’m lying here trying to hide it, but Delilah and I have become so in tune with each other that I know when she wakes up she’ll feel it rolling off of me. She looks so peaceful sleeping beside me. I don’t want to ruin her day with my own insecurities, so I slip from my bed, tiptoe into the bathroom, and turn on the shower.

  I step beneath the spray and close my eyes, hoping it’ll help clear my mind. The warm water soothes the tension that has my shoulders riding practically beneath my ears. I look down at the shampoo bottles, and my heart squeezes with the sight of Delilah’s shampoo, her scented body wash, and her pink razor. How can these little everyday items hold so much meaning? I pick up her shampoo and open the cap, inhaling the scent. I feel myself smile even though it only sort of smells like Delilah. Her skin has a scent apart from all of these manufactured aromas that is purely her own.

  Thinking about Delilah brings me back to it being Thursday and Delilah attending group counseling tonight with Janessa. I’ve been able to put the image of Janessa touching her out of my mind for the past week, but now that it’s Thursday, it creeps right back in. Janessa is gorgeous, and I know she and Delilah are friends. I’ve noticed when she gets a text from Janessa she’s careful not to react too strongly in front of me, although she never hides the texts or waits to answer them, and I appreciate that. I probably shouldn’t be jealous, given that I’ve been with other girls before I was with Delilah, and she doesn’t even ask about them. Well, other than Sandy, but I kind of offered her up, and Delilah never asked about the intimate side of our relationship.

  I know Delilah needs the group sessions, but I just don’t know how to get past this. She seems to gain something from them even when she says she doesn’t. Every day she gets a little more confident. When she first moved here, on the heels of her parents’ deaths, she was pretty withdrawn. I think moving back into the house with Wyatt after staying with Brooke was a big step in her moving forward and healing. When she moved to Brooke’s she told me that Wyatt reminded her too much of her father, which made it hard for her to stay at the beach house. I know his fight at the Taproom also fed into her reasons for leaving, but knowing she was able to move back and push past the similarities between Wyatt and her father is huge.

  I’ve also noticed a difference in the way she handles herself. She moves with more confidence around the Taproom. I know her counseling sessions have a lot to do with her progress, and I’d never ask her to choose between the sessions and me. That would be totally unfair. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t cross my mind this morning when thoughts of her kissing Janessa were sailing through my mind.

  My eyes fill with tears knowing that today my stomach will twist into worse knots than it already has, and I’ll be nervous the whole time she’s there. It’s selfish. I know how she feels about me. She surprised me with a wet suit for goodness’ sakes, and left it on my bed with a card that said, I wish I were always with you to keep you warm. She cares about me a lot. I can feel it every time we’re close. She said she saw how cold I was the other morning and she couldn’t stand to see me shivering. She was actually mad at the guys for not giving up their own wet suits. She’s so cute. I think there’s a protective side to her, similar to Wyatt’s, but she’s buried every feeling so deeply that she probably doesn’t even realize it’s in there somewhere.

  I can’t wait to discover more about who she really is. I want to know everything about her, and I want her to know everything about me.

  The shower curtain opens and Delilah peeks in. She’s told me that she’s never showered with anyone before, and this is another one of her baby steps. That’s what she calls them, even though I know they’re gigantic steps, and I’m so proud of her for trying that tears sting my eyes again as I reach for her hand.

  I never cry, and Delilah brings tears to my eyes by stepping into the shower? I’m in deep trouble.

  She crosses her arms over her chest and looks at me with a sweet, embarrassed wrinkle of her brow. I kiss the worry lines away as I back her under the warm water and fold her into my arms. I feel her apprehension ease as the rigidity in her limbs dissolves and she becomes soft and pliable once again.

  My Delilah.

  I’m falling for you, Delilah.

  Your vulnerabilities and your insecurities and your strength to try to push through them. I’m falling for your sweet lips that are pressing against my shoulder and your gentle caress as you stroke my back. I’m falling for your voice, whispering in my ear.

  “Do you mind that I’m in here?” Delilah asks so tentatively. I’m surprised she can’t feel in my touch how much I want to be with her.

  “No. I always want you with me.”

  I’m falling for the way you make me feel full and whole and like a girly girl and a lover and your best friend. I’m falling for the way you’re turning my body so I’m beneath the warm spray, too.

  I close my eyes and pull her close without telling her any of these things, even though keeping them inside is like trying to keep a lid on boiling water. I don’t tell her because it’s Thursday, and she needs Thursdays, even if they scare the shit out of me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ~Delilah~

  WHEN I DRIVE Ashley to the beach to meet Drake for her surfing lesson, it makes me feel even more like we’re a couple. It’s a small thing, driving her to her lesson, but it feels like another level of commitment, another level of opening my closet door and sticking my toe out. Testing the waters. Granted, there aren’t many people here yet, but there will be soon.

  I’m glad Ashley doesn’t mind if I tag along. I like watching her, and I feel better knowing that she has her wet suit to wear. I was working when she got home and found it on the bed. She called me when she opened it, and I could hear her sniffling over the phone. I’m not sure if she knew I could hear her, but I did. Ash is so strong all the tim
e that hearing those emotions took me by surprise. Just like this morning when I joined her in the shower. I could tell that she was upset when I first joined her, even though she told me she was fine. I felt her holding something back. But she never pushes me, so I didn’t press her about what it was. I assume she’ll tell me when she’s ready.

  I brought my sketch pad so I can draw while Ashley works with Drake, but I can’t concentrate on anything except watching her. I bury my feet in the sand, set my sketch pad aside, and bury my hands in her sweatshirt pockets. I’ve claimed this sweatshirt as my own. Not that she cares. I think she’d let me borrow anything, just like I’d let her.

  Drake’s really patient with her as Ash wipes out a dozen times or more, and he’s right there to help her out. I’m glad, because even though she can totally handle herself, having him there keeps me from wanting to run into the surf to help her myself. All these unfamiliar emotions keep tumbling forward, like wanting to be the one to help her in the water and not being able to get enough of her when we’re alone. I always thought couples were kidding about that overwhelming desire to ravage each other. I couldn’t imagine it. Now it’s hard not to.

  She’s so cute, and she keeps glancing over at me and laughing. I’m sitting a good distance away because I didn’t want to distract her, but I think I am. Her laughter is better than the sound of the ocean or the gulls, or any other sound I’ve ever heard. I know I’m not going to sketch a darn thing, and part of me wonders if my sketching was filling a gap in my life for all these years. I love to sketch, but having a sketch pad and pencil used to be like extra limbs, always with me, at the ready. Now they often feel like accessories that don’t match my moods.

  My phone vibrates with a text, and I dig it out of my bag. Janessa.

  Oh, shit. Janessa.

  No wonder Ash was upset this morning. It’s Thursday. I didn’t put two and two together. Over the past week Janessa has texted me on and off with pictures of Jackie and just friendly stuff, touching base. She’s been totally supportive of me and Ashley, and I don’t want to end our friendship just because we made out once. It wasn’t even like really making out. It was more like she provided physical CliffsNotes. I had friends in college who dated guys and then dated their best friends, and sometimes they’d even date another one of their friends and still remain close to all of them. I don’t want to make Ashley uncomfortable, but I think once she gets to know Janessa, she’ll like her, too.

  I read her message.

  Coffee after the session tonight?

  I look over at Ashley and hope I’m not making a mistake as I respond.

  Sure. Mind if Ash comes?

  My heartbeat speeds up.

  Not at all. Where? Dean will pick me up with the kids afterward. My car’s in the shop.

  I breathe a little easier. I’m about to take a really big baby step, and it scares me, but as I watch Ashley and think about the risk she’s taking for me—by allowing me the time and space to learn how to deal with our relationship in public, even though she’d promised herself never to be in this position again—I know she’s worth it.

  I’ll have Ash meet us at Brooke’s Bytes.

  ~Ashley~

  DELILAH AND I carry our stuff to the Jeep after my surfing lesson, laughing as we wave goodbye to Drake.

  “I swear it’s like I have two left feet on that board.” We secure the board into the back of the Jeep. The morning is warming up, and even though it’s early, young families are already arriving at the beach, carrying enough paraphernalia for an army. I reach for Delilah’s hand, and her eyes dart around the lot, landing on a couple heading in our direction.

  I don’t say anything as she pulls her hand out of reach. I tuck away my hurt feelings and remind myself she’s worth it. She climbs into the drivers’ seat, and I take a deep breath before climbing into the passenger seat.

  “Janessa texted about tonight.”

  Ugh. “Oh?” I hate that my voice sounds strained.

  She pulls out of the parking lot as if she hasn’t just given me a double whammy. “She asked if I wanted to meet for coffee after group tonight.”

  “Mm.” It’s all I can manage. What does she expect me to say? Great? Have fun? Sorry. I’m patient, and I’m understanding, but they’ve been down and dirty with each other. The last thing I want to think about is the two of them alone somewhere.

  She stops at a red light and reaches for my hand. “Will you meet us at Brooke’s?”

  Her voice is so hopeful that it’s hard to stay upset with her for not taking my hand in the parking lot. And then…I realize what she’s just asked.

  “Brooke’s? Why would you go where everyone knows you when you’re so careful about people knowing about us?”

  She raises her eyebrows and her lips curve up in a nervous smile. It’s not until she traps that plump lower lip of hers with her teeth that I realize what she’s doing.

  She’s trying.

  Well, I’ll be damned. My eyes well with tears again as I nod, and she throws her arms around my neck and hugs me.

  The car behind us honks and we both laugh, but inside my heart is singing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ~Delilah~

  AS I WALK up the front steps to the YMCA, I remember the first time I went to group counseling with Brooke. Despite Brooke telling me that we would sit in a circle with other people who had lost loved ones and discuss the trouble we were having working through our losses, I still didn’t really know what to expect. Nothing can prepare you for the look on people’s faces when they share their stories of longing to see someone they love or the overwhelming sadness that envelopes you as you watch pain turn their hands to fists and pull tears from their eyes. Nothing could have prepared me for the moments of grief that I would experience over the first few months after my parents died. And certainly nothing could have prepared me for the way their deaths impacted my ability—or inability—to come out.

  I really need to find a better way to think about this than coming out, because I hate how that phrase makes me feel. I mull that over for a few minutes as I settle into my seat. I’m the only one in the room and it’s quiet. The linoleum floor makes the room feel cold when there’s no one else in it.

  Coming out.

  Admitting I’m a lesbian.

  Being myself.

  Nothing feels right. How about none of anyone’s damn business?

  I swear I can think like a confident person when it comes to this stuff, but thinking and acting are two different things.

  “Hey there, Delilah,” Janessa says as she comes through the door and takes the seat beside me. She tucks her hair behind her ear and pushes her purse beneath her chair. She’s wearing a tank top and shorts, and as she settles into her seat, she sighs loudly.

  “What a day. Jackie and I spent the afternoon making sand castles. I’ve never built so many in one day.” She arches a brow and smiles. “I wonder if there are surrogate castle builders. I’ll have to look into that.”

  We both laugh.

  I like being with Janessa, and I still don’t feel funny around her—and she obviously doesn’t feel weird around me. For the first time since coming to group, I notice I’m holding my head higher. I have a little better handle on who I am, and it feels really good.

  Mark and Cathy come into the room holding hands. Their shoulders are rounded forward and there’s no mistaking the red rims around Cathy’s eyes. I wonder if she’s upset over the daughter they lost or something unrelated, and then I realize that everything in their life is probably connected to her death in some way. No words can come close to taking away their pain. It’ll be okay is something people say when they don’t know what else to say. Or give it time. I wonder if they ever want to respond with, No, it won’t, or All the time in the world won’t bring our daughter back. I can’t imagine losing a child, and I can’t imagine how they make it through each day.

  “How are things with Ashley?” Janessa whispers.

  “Ama
zing. But also nerve-racking. I’m not very good at the whole PDA thing. It still makes me feel funny.”

  She nods as if she understands, but before she can respond, Michael and Meredith enter the room and take the seats across from us.

  “Good evening, ladies.” Meredith folds her hands in her lap. She looks like a librarian in her long skirt and button-down blouse. “Mark, Cathy. It’s nice to see you.”

  Mark smiles, but I can tell it’s forced by the pinched lines around the edges of his mouth. They lost their daughter to leukemia some months before I began attending the sessions. Sometimes they seem like they’re doing well, moving forward. Then there are times like tonight, when their tired eyes and boneless postures speak of sleepless nights and longing for a daughter they’ll never hold again.

  Janessa leans in close and whispers, “You need to acknowledge her in public as soon as you’re comfortable.”

  It takes me a minute to realize she’s talking about Ashley.

  “I know.” I watch Meredith as she rights her purse beside her chair.

  “You’ll hurt her feelings, and that’s hard to overcome.” Janessa holds my gaze and nods, as if to say, Trust me.

  Mark’s voice calls both of our attention. “Meredith, I think Cathy and I have fallen back into a cycle of guilt and bargaining, and we’re not sure how to break free from it. We feel guilty that our daughter died, when we would have gladly given our lives instead, and even though we know that’s not a reasonable bargain to wish for, we can’t stop. And then we feel guilty for not being able to stop.” Mark clasps both hands around Cathy’s. Cathy nods in confirmation. “Is there anything you can suggest to help us through this?”

  I try to pay attention, to think past what Janessa said, but I know she’s right. I see the hurt in Ashley’s eyes every time I pull out of her reach. I wish I could have told my parents years ago and just dealt with the fallout. I think it would have made things much easier now.

  “Mark, Cathy, as you know, stages of guilt aren’t always singular, and they don’t follow regular patterns. For some people, bargaining and guilt go hand in hand, and for others, they skip over one of those stages altogether. Everyone’s grief is different.”