Discovering Delilah Page 2

  Pretty little mind? She leaves her hand on mine. It’s warm and soft and makes my pulse speed up. Did I misread her? Is she into me? Me? Why would she be? Do I look like a lesbian? No woman has ever come onto me before.

  “Thanks, Janessa.” I finish my drink and move my hand, feeling a little queasy.

  She waves the waiter over and orders another round of drinks. “So…was that your girlfriend on the phone?”

  My eyes shoot to hers.

  “It was just a guess.” She holds both hands up in surrender, then leans across the table and lowers her voice. “But your look is very telling.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.” I feel my cheeks heat up, but I can’t look away from Janessa as she arches a brow. We’ve spoken only a handful of times. How can she possibly guess this about me?

  “But…you wish she was?” Janessa’s phone rings and she holds up her index finger. “Hold that thought.” She looks at me as she answers the call, and the attention makes me even more nervous. “Hi, baby. Are you going night-night?”

  Night-night? Oh my gosh. I’m thinking she’s into me and she’s a mom? She’s probably married. My radar is totally off. My stomach feels like there’s a tornado brewing inside me. I look away, embarrassed that I was so far off base.

  “Okay, sweetheart. Have fun with Uncle Dean.” She blows a kiss into the phone, then holds up her finger again. “Hey, Dean. Yeah. She’s okay? Great. Okay. I’ll be there tomorrow morning.” She pauses. “Okay. Love you, too.” She ends the call and stuffs her phone into her purse. “I’m sorry. My little girl is staying with my brother and his little boy for their weekly slumber party.”

  “You have a daughter?” If I was wrong about how she was looking at me, how will I ever know when someone’s really interested?

  “Mm-hm. Jackie, she’s three. Here, I’ll show you a picture of her.” She pulls her phone back out and scrolls through pictures, then reaches across the table and shows me a picture of the most adorable little brown-haired girl. Janessa is lying on a bed hugging Jackie, cheek to cheek.

  “Aw, she’s so cute. She looks just like you, too.”

  She shows me a bunch more pictures, and in every one she and Jackie are both smiling. Even in the picture of Jackie sleeping on Janessa’s shoulder, it looks like the little girl is smiling.

  “What does your husband do?”

  She puts her phone away. “Oh, I’m not married.” She locks eyes with me. “And I’m not straight, either.”

  “Oh.” It comes out as a whisper, and the fact that I can’t even answer like a normal human being embarrasses me. I wonder if she adopted Jackie. She must have…No. She could have used artificial insemination. Or maybe Jackie’s her girlfriend’s child? I’m not curious because I’m interested in her. I’ve never thought past one day having a girlfriend—which in itself seems like a fantasy. I’m curious about how it all works.

  “Delilah, I’m going out on a limb here, so feel free to tell me if I’m off base, but you haven’t come out yet, have you?”

  I sigh, but this time I don’t look away. I have to start somewhere, and I’ve already admitted more to her verbally and nonverbally than I have to anyone else, so I force myself to answer her.

  “I hate that term.”

  “I hate it, too,” she admits. “So, are you out?”

  I shake my head.

  “Aw, Delilah. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay, really. I’m…This is all new to me. My parents were very conservative, so…”

  “So, you never told them?” Her brows knit together. “Want to talk about it?”

  “I told them right before I walked for graduation, but they weren’t very supportive.” I feel my eyes tear up and I down my drink in one gulp. When I told my parents that I liked girls, they looked at me like I disgusted them, and it nearly took me to my knees. They never said a word about my confession after graduation, but it was chaotic. There were pictures to deal with and congratulations from friends and my aunt Lara who had come with them to watch me and Wyatt graduate.

  I push the memories away and blink several times, trying to repress my tears. “I’m sorry. Can we not talk about my parents?”

  “Of course. I’m sorry. I’m being too nosy.”

  “No, it’s not that. Actually, I like talking to you. This is the first time I’ve had a conversation like this. It feels good to get some of it out in the open.”

  She smiles. “I like talking to you, too.”

  “I don’t really talk about this stuff with anyone else. My brother, Wyatt, tries to talk to me about it, but it feels weird even though he’s supportive.”

  “Listen, I get it. My parents were surprised to find out that my brother, Dean, and I weren’t straight.” Her eyes fill with sadness, and just as quickly, that sadness is replaced with something else. Determination? Acceptance? I’m not sure.

  “Our parents came around, and they’re very supportive, but I’ve dated women whose families weren’t exactly on board with their lifestyles, and I know how hard it can be.”

  “Even around here? Harborside is so diverse. I still can’t figure out why my parents had a summer house here and bought the Taproom.”

  “Your parents owned the Taproom?”

  “Yeah, well, Wyatt and I do now.” Knowing that she understands my situation puts me at ease.

  “So…” She sips her drink and lifts her chin in the direction of my phone. “Want to tell me about the texter we’re not talking about?”

  I laugh. “Ashley. I just met her at the beginning of the summer, and she’s…” My heart is sprinting in my chest, and I can feel a goofy smile coming on.

  “Uh-huh. You have a major crush on Ashley. So, what’s the problem?”

  “Take your pick. I’ve never kissed a girl. I have no idea if she’s into girls or guys, and oh yeah, did I say I have never even kissed a girl?” I know I’m blushing, but at the same time, it feels so good to get the words out that I can’t seem to stop myself.

  “Never? Didn’t you say in therapy that you just graduated from college?”

  I nod, knowing what’s coming next.

  “And you never explored your sexuality?”

  I shake my head.

  “You never got drunk and kissed your best friend, or got into a little girl-on-girl action and blamed it on the alcohol?”

  I laugh and shake my head again. “That would have been a good idea, if I drank a lot, but I was too afraid of my parents catching wind of it. And believe me, they would not have approved. I have no idea what they would have done, but the idea of them finding out and…I don’t know, refusing to pay my college tuition, or just making me feel worse than I already did...” I shrug again, unable to believe how I’m opening up to her. She’s so easy to talk to, and I feel oddly safe sitting in this dimly lit corner booth, spilling my heart to her.

  “Oh, Delilah. No offense, but your parents did a job on you. At least you’re in the right place to figure it all out, and it sounds like your brother is supportive even if you don’t want to talk to him. Believe me, support is everything.” She finishes her drink and slaps money on the table. “Want to get out of here and walk for a while?”

  “Sure. Thanks for the drinks.” We grab our stuff, and once we’re outside she loops her arm into mine, like a friend who’s known me for years.

  “I promise you, Delilah. It won’t always feel like you’re living in a fishbowl. Life has a way of working itself out, and there will come a time when you know you’re on the right path, and when that happens, you’ll stop worrying about what everyone else thinks.”

  A fishbowl. That’s exactly what I feel like, even though my parents are gone. They drove their beliefs into my head so strongly that I can’t get out from under the feeling of being scrutinized. Walking with Janessa is nothing like walking with Ashley, where I’m dissecting every step, every breath, searching for hints that might reveal if she’s into me or not. Being with Janessa is different. Then again, no
one makes me feel like I do when I’m with Ashley.

  When we come to my street, I stop walking. Janessa stops, too, our arms still linked. It feels nice to have another friend.

  “This is my street. So I guess I’ll see you next week?”

  “Yeah, sure.” She steps in closer and touches my hip, causing goose bumps to race up my limbs. “Delilah, I know your heart is wrapped around Ashley. I can see that when you talk about her, and that’s such a good feeling. But I’ve also been where you are, with no experience.”

  Her eyes are warm and her touch is caring, not pushy. Even though I’m crossing into new territory by opening up to her, and even though my stomach is more nervous than a fly on a lily pad, I don’t retreat. And I don’t feel like she’s coming onto me, although there is something in her eyes, her touch, the sensual sound of her voice, that makes my breathing become shallow.

  “Every woman deserves to feel safe when she has her first experience and to feel confident when they’re with the woman they care about.” Her eyes never waver from mine. “If you ever want to…you know…explore that side without the pressure of doing it right or the embarrassment of feeling inexperienced…”

  Ohgodohgodohgod.

  “I’m here for you, as a nonjudgmental friend. My life now is all about Jackie. I don’t have room for anything more than sharing an intimate night. Or a few. Or whatever. I’m not looking for a girlfriend or a quick hookup. I’m offering to help, and trust me, there’s a big difference between hooking up with someone and overcoming your fears in a safe environment.” She smiles like she hasn’t just sucked all the air from the world, and it’s all I can do to remain erect.

  I can hardly believe she’s offering herself up to me, but more than that, I can hardly believe I’m considering it.

  Chapter Two

  ~Ashley~

  I SHOULDER MY backpack and shove my hands deep into the front pocket of my hoodie as I walk across the dense sand behind my apartment complex toward the dunes to meet Delilah Armstrong. We’re both artists, although not professionally. I’ve been painting landscapes for about four years, and Delilah sketches. She’s begun teaching me how to sketch. She’s incredibly talented, and sketching seems to come as naturally to her as painting landscapes comes to me. I used to sleep in, but as Delilah comes into focus, perched high among the dune grass, with the rising sun illuminating her profile, I never want to sleep in again. I have no idea if she knows I’m a lesbian or not, and I can’t tell for sure if she’s straight or not, but even if she is, I’d get up at the crack of dawn to see her every day if I had the chance. We don’t get a lot of time together because she works a lot of hours at the Taproom, and I work a lot at Endless Summer Surf Shop. But even though we get to share only a few stolen hours here and there, during those times it seems like no one else in the world exists.

  She’s leaning over her sketch pad with an intense look in her grassy-green eyes as I walk up the dune. I’m careful not to disturb her. I like watching her sketch. Her pencil moves swiftly across the page, and every once in a while she smiles, like she’s happy with the shading she’s accomplished or the curve she’s drawn. She’s wearing a thick sweatshirt, shorts, and her favorite black lace-up boots with frilly white socks. Seeing her in those boots always does funky stuff to my stomach. Only Delilah could pull off black boots with frilly socks, especially in summer.

  She lifts her eyes when I’m a few feet away, and her shoulders drop a hair as a smile spreads across her lips. She picks up a to-go cup from beside her and hands it to me. Her eyes sweep over me quickly and she nibbles on her lower lip, then covers her sketch.

  “Hi, Ash. I brought you coffee.”

  She’s usually too busy showing me how to sketch to create something herself. As much as I like when she’s leaning against me, showing me the right angle to draw from or the proper shading technique to use, I like when she sketches even more, because it gives me time to drink her in. She’s shy about her drawings, though I don’t know why. They’re always amazing.

  “Thanks.” I drop my backpack and settle in beside her, pulling out my sketch pad and pencil. “It’s chilly this morning.”

  “I know, but after a few minutes you’ll get used to it.”

  I lean in close and peer at her sketch pad. “Can I see?”

  She spreads her hands across the page as if she’s not going to show me. I know she will. She always does this, fights her shyness.

  “It’s not very good.” She points to a boat anchored by the Harborside Pier. “I’m trying to draw that, but I can’t get the waterline right. It looks like a five-year-old did it.”

  I want to laugh because the image is so beautifully drawn that it’s almost ridiculous that she worries, but I don’t. I didn’t know Delilah before her parents died, but I wonder if their death somehow undermined her confidence, or if she’s always doubted her talents. She moved here right after her parents were killed in an accident on the way home from her college graduation, and even though her confidence wavers, she still seems incredibly strong to me. I don’t think she realizes how managing everything she does on a daily basis requires her to be strong. Since the day I met her she’s been dealing with more than any young woman should have to. As if losing both parents wasn’t enough, she’s also had to learn to run their business, decide about selling her childhood home, deal with attorneys and wills and other things that no one our age should have to think about.

  “It does not.” She watches my eyes as I reach for the sketch pad. She does that a lot, watching me. I set her sketch pad on my lap and marvel at her sketch, and when I feel her eyes leave me, I steal a glance at her.

  She has the most flawless skin. Her slightly upturned nose might look snobbish on anyone else, but Delilah’s image is natural. There’s nothing harsh or contrived about her. She’s tall and lean, but not hollow-looking, like many thin girls.

  Even though Delilah is strong, she has this shyness, this vulnerability, about her that makes me want to hold her in my arms and tell her things are going to be okay. We’ve only known each other a short while, but she’s already touched me in ways no one else ever has.

  “This is so good, Dee. I wish I could draw this well.” I hand her the sketch pad and pick up my pencil.

  “Stay right where you are. I want to see if I can draw your profile.” I hover over my sketch pad and set to work trying to create her image, but it’s like re-creating the Mona Lisa. I know I’ll never come close.

  She sets her sketch pad in the sand and sighs.

  “Come on, Ash. Draw that boat or something.” She looks down at the sand and bows her neck.

  “Boats are so boring, and you’re supposed to be showing me how to draw people, remember? Now lift your chin and don’t complain.” Besides, boats don’t make me want to kiss them.

  She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks plump up with her smile. I’m glad she gives in.

  “Tell me about therapy last night—then you won’t think about me drawing you.” I’m trying to take her mind off of the fact that I’m studying her. I know she won’t go into much detail. She never does. But I like hearing the thoughts she is willing to share, and I think it helps her to talk it over, even just a little here and there. Most people would probably think she’s moving forward just fine. She keeps her emotions pretty close to her chest. But when she does share, I can tell there are struggles she’s not revealing, because along with a thread of sadness, there’s an underlying layer of anger. She buries the toes of her boots in the sand.

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”

  “No, it’s fine.” She sifts sand through her fingers, and I can see she’s nervous.

  I’ve come to know several of Delilah’s nervous habits. If we’re on the beach, she reaches for sand, but when we’re sitting in the grass, she pulls blades apart in skinny strips, and when we’re at her house or at my apartment, she plays with the edges of her shorts.

  I go back to sketching, waiting for her to say mor
e as the sun rises higher into the sky and catches her long blond hair at just the right angle to show off the golden highlights. Sometimes when we’re together it’s hard for me not to reach out and touch her. This is one of those times. I can see she’s struggling to tell me something. Her eyes flick to the water, then back to her feet, and finally she meets my gaze.

  “I spaced out through most of therapy, but I went out with Janessa, the girl I told you about.”

  Janessa. My stomach takes a nosedive as the green-eyed monster sinks her claws into my neck. My hand stills on the sketch pad. Delilah is pretty careful with her emotions, and I’m not entirely sure how to read her sometimes. There are times when I catch her looking at me like she wants to touch me, or kiss me, and at those times my heart swells with hope. I know I’m probably seeing only what I want to see. Other times I see her gazing off at guys on the beach, and I don’t know what to think. I have no right to be jealous about Delilah going out with another girl, especially since I’m pretty sure she’s straight, but I am jealous, and I have to force myself to push those feelings aside and act like it doesn’t bother me. I’ve made the mistake of being attracted to straight girls before, and I’m not willing to lose our friendship over my crush on her.

  “Was it fun?” Please say no.

  Oh my God. I’m such a bitch.

  She’s looking at me that way, like I could lean forward and kiss her and she would be totally into it. Ugh. I know it’s my own wishful thinking, but hell if I don’t think I see it in her eyes. I wish I could just ask her if she’s straight or not, but it’s not a topic you can throw out there. Hey, check out the sunrise. Are you into girls? She’s never brought it up to me, either. I figure eventually it’ll come out one way or the other. Either I won’t be able to keep myself from touching her, or she will go out with a guy and that’ll be that. Only I’m not sure turning off my feelings for Delilah would be as easy as that’ll be that.