Discovering Delilah Page 8

  Everything changed last night.

  I felt like the minute I walked into the backyard, everyone would know what we’d done. I know that’s crazy. Seriously, it’s a party. There are always people making out at parties, and I wasn’t embarrassed to have made out with Ashley. Just the opposite. I could hardly believe I was lucky enough to be with her. It was what happened afterward that stole my legs right out from under me.

  The fear my parents instilled in me about their beliefs.

  The fear of being a spectacle.

  The disappointment in their eyes when I came out to them.

  Right now I hate my parents as much as I hate the term coming out.

  Waking up this morning and knowing I’m a girl’s girlfriend for the first time in my life is a good feeling. Knowing I’m Ashley’s girlfriend…? That makes my world spin. I smile, knowing that despite everything my parents instilled in me, I woke up feeling good about who I am. That might change in five minutes, or maybe it already has, but at least I had those few seconds before they crept back into my head.

  It’s Monday morning and I’m sitting on the back deck in a pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt, drinking coffee and thinking about Ashley—and my parents. My mom used to sit outside and drink coffee in the mornings when we were here. I remember waking up to the smell of coffee, and I’d find my mom sitting out on the deck sipping coffee and reading a novel or the newspaper. My father would be standing down by the water with one hand on his hip, the other shading his eyes, as if he were looking at a faraway land. Morning after morning. I never knew what he was looking at, but I know my mom liked watching him. She used to smile and reach for my hand when I came outside. Sit. Watch your father with me. We’d both look at him, and she’d sigh. He’s so much more relaxed here, isn’t he?

  Sadness tugs at the edges of my mouth, and I look down the beach, away from the place my father used to stand. After a few minutes I can think beyond them again. Grief is like that. It sneaks up when I’m least expecting it and clings for a while. The times I’m able to disengage from it, I feel thankful, and those times that I can’t, I feel like I’m dying right along with them.

  My mind shifts to Ashley. She left sometime after midnight and she texted me early this morning.

  Miss you already.

  Three simple words.

  Three simple words that brought last night rushing back to me—the look in her eyes right before she kissed me, like I was the only woman on earth she ever wanted. The first press of her lips against mine, the sensuous feel of her tongue exploring my mouth. I shiver with the memory.

  She’s meeting Drake this morning for her first surfing lesson. I was so disappointed when she agreed to let him teach her to surf, but last night as I was lying in bed thinking about her—because my mind and body have become a sponge and I’m drenched in thoughts of her—I came to understand why she was so hurt that I turned to Janessa instead of her. She wanted to share in my first time, and I get that now.

  I was so nervous the night I was with Janessa, trying to navigate completely unfamiliar territory while also trying to enjoy the ride. I think if I had been with Ashley that first time, while I’m sure it would have been amazing, I would have been in student mode, like I was with Janessa. It wouldn’t have been nearly as enjoyable, and I probably wouldn’t have let myself go like I did with Ash.

  Janessa left me thankful for an experience, like I’d taken a class that helped me with finals. Ashley. Good Lord, Ashley. Ashley left me craving more of her touch, her kisses. She has the most tantalizing mouth, like it was made just for me. I don’t want to hide our relationship, but I don’t know how to escape the guilty feelings that come along with it, either.

  I sip my coffee, watching a sailboat make its way across the ocean in the distance and wishing there were a guidebook for my life. How to Crawl Out From Under My Parents’ Expectations & Leave Guilt Behind.

  “Another beautiful morning in Harborside.” Tristan pats my shoulder as he eases into the chair beside me. He runs his hand down his face and scratches his bare chest, then stretches his long, muscular arms and yawns. He does the same thing every morning, like a cat.

  “Is there anything but? Even the rainy mornings are beautiful when you’re looking out at the water.” When my parents were alive, we came to Harborside for the summers, and usually during school breaks, too. I remember when we met Tristan. Wyatt and I were at the beach with our parents. It was a sweltering afternoon, and Wyatt and I were boogie boarding. Tristan was standing on the shore watching us with one hand on his hip and the other shielding his eyes from the sun, just like my dad used to do. I rode a wave all the way in and couldn’t jump off fast enough, or turn hard enough, and I plowed right into him. We couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, but he scrambled to his feet and reached for me before tending to the bloody cuts on his leg from where he was dragged against a ridge of sharp shells. Harborside has always been our home away from home, with friends like Tristan and Jesse, Brooke, Brandon, and Charley, but this summer it’s become the only home I want.

  “You can say that again. Where’s Ashley? I assumed she was staying over.” He kicks his bare feet onto a chair and reaches for my coffee, arches a brow, waits for my nod, then takes a sip.

  My stomach dips at the mention of Ashley, and for a minute I wonder if he knows what we did. Ashley’s spent the night before and I never got nervous the way I am now. This is so stupid. Even if he did know, of all people, the last person I should be uncomfortable around is Tristan.

  “She went home last night.”

  He pushes my coffee cup across the table.

  “Want to talk about the thing we’re not talking about?” Tristan smiles, but he doesn’t look at me.

  I cross my arms on the table and rest my forehead on them. “I hate you.”

  I feel his hand on my arm. Tristan acts like another protective, caring brother, only he’s got a gentler way about him than Wyatt. Wyatt comes to my defense like a bull. Tristan is more like a Transformer. He glides in all sexy and sleek and morphs to aggressive when there’s no other alternative. I love that about him.

  “Hon, I only have an assumption, and it’s a very poor one, based on limited info, since you keep your feelings pretty close to your chest.”

  I turn my head and rest my cheek on my arms, peering at him out of one open eye. “What’s your assumption?”

  He crosses his arms and doles out a warm smile. “That you’re just realizing you dig girls. Or more specifically, Ashley.”

  I turn again, resting my forehead on my arms so I can’t see his face, and I groan.

  “Why are we groaning?”

  Brandon.

  I hear the chair on my other side drag across the deck and sense Brandon sitting beside me. I peek at him as he crosses his arms over his chest.

  “Not my trouble to tell,” Tristan answers.

  I sit up straight and sigh. “I feel like I’m on The Ellen DeGeneres Show.”

  Brandon’s straight dark hair is standing on end. He’s wearing one of his signature black tees and a pair of jeans. He leans back and narrows his dark eyes. “Ah, we’re groaning about the argument last night?”

  I feel my cheeks heat up. “Did everyone hear us?”

  “Nope.” Brandon eyes my coffee, and I nod. He finishes it in one gulp. “Oh, that’s nasty. French vanilla? You should have warned me.”

  “You didn’t give me time. And you owe me a refill.”

  “I’m on it. As soon as you tell me what the big deal is. So you hooked up with Ash?” He shrugs, like this isn’t a revelation.

  How can it not be news to anyone but me?

  “You know I hooked up with Ashley?”

  Brandon shrugs again. “It was an educated guess. Until now.”

  Oh God. I could deny it, but I don’t want to deny it. “So you knew I was into girls this whole time and you never said anything?”

  “Definitely not. You said you were dating some dude at college, so I thou
ght you were straight.” Brandon leans across the table and hollers inside the house, “Army, bring out a pot of coffee?”

  “Sure,” Wyatt calls from the kitchen.

  I mull over what he’s said, and even though Brandon is bisexual, it doesn’t mean he’d assume I was. “So why would you assume I hooked up with her?”

  Brandon throws an arm over the back of his chair and stretches his long legs out to the side. “I’ve seen the way you look at her, and there isn’t anything straight about those looks. So I assumed you swing both ways.” Brandon levels a stare at Tristan. “The way it should be.”

  Tristan rolls his eyes. He’s used to Brandon’s brash comments. Tristan doesn’t hide the fact that he’s gay, but he doesn’t flaunt his sexuality the way Brandon does. Brandon openly eyes girls and guys like they were put on this earth solely for his taking. He hits on whomever he pleases, and if they turn him down, he simply moves on to the next, while Tristan is all about his heart. He’s selective about the men he goes out with, but he opens himself up too quickly—and gets hurt too often.

  “I definitely do not swing both ways.” I have to fess up to my closest friends and tell them how I have been hiding my sexual identity. It’s embarrassing, and I feel horrible for keeping it from them, but really, I had no choice. My parents watched us like hawks, and if they had gotten wind of me being interested in girls, God only knows what they would have done.

  Someone else might try to lie her way out of coming out to her friends, but I’ve spent enough time lying. I’m trying to shed my lying coat of armor, not figure out how to live within its confines for even longer.

  Wyatt comes out from the kitchen with one arm around Cassidy and a pot of coffee in his other hand, which he sets on the table.

  “You okay, Dee?” He sits across from me, and Cassidy sits on his lap and circles his neck with her arms.

  No, but I’m trying. “Yeah. Fine.”

  Tristan gets up and retrieves one of our deck chairs from the beach, where we moved them last night before the party.

  He sets the chair next to Wyatt. “Here you go, Cass.”

  Wyatt tightens his grip on her. “She’s fine where she is.”

  Cassidy gathers her long brown hair over one shoulder and kisses Wyatt’s forehead. “One day he’ll get sick of me. Thanks, Tristan.”

  “Never.” Wyatt nuzzles against her neck.

  Jealousy claws up my spine. I want what they have. I want to wake up with Ashley and touch her when I feel like it, without guilt or worry or any goddamn bad feeling at all.

  It’s never going to be that easy for me.

  What I want and what I’m capable of giving are two different things.

  “Aren’t you the one who tells me to keep it behind closed doors?” Brandon asks as he fills my coffee cup.

  “We’re not having a ménage on the couch.” Wyatt’s tone stops Brandon from saying anything more. His voice softens when he addresses me. “Everything go okay with Ashley last night?”

  “Yeah.” I answer, remembering how Ashley opened her arms to me even after she knew I’d been with Janessa and knowing I might not be able to reciprocate publicly for who knows how long.

  Yet.

  This is my new plan. I’m convincing myself that I’ll figure out a way to move past everything that’s holding me back.

  “Dee, we have to figure out when we’re going back to Connecticut,” Wyatt reminds me. We decided to sell our house in Connecticut since we both want to stay in Harborside. I think he’s bringing it up now to take the pressure off of me coming clean with everyone. He’s always watching out for me, even when I don’t think he is. “Aunt Lara is packing up most of Mom’s and Dad’s stuff, but I asked her not to do their bedroom, like you wanted. The real estate agent said we should get it on the market before winter.”

  “I think the weekend after next is good,” I answer.

  “Okay. What are we going to do about the Taproom?”

  “Why don’t you stay and take care of the bar while I go back home, and then I’ll manage it while you go another time?”

  Wyatt shakes his head. “No way. I can’t let you go back alone. You don’t know how you’re going to react to being there.”

  I press my lips together to keep my annoyance from coming out. Normally I’d just say okay, but lately I’ve been feeling too restricted, too taken care of.

  “I’m not a kid, Wyatt. I’ll be fine.”

  “Dee…” His eyes turn serious again.

  “I know it’s going to be hard, Wy, but I can handle it.” I watch as doubt fills his eyes, and it stirs anger—and worry—in my gut, because I have no idea if I’ll be fine. I’ve never had to handle anything like this on my own. Heck, I’ve never had to handle much on my own. But if I’m ever going to break free of this guilt, I have to try.

  “The grief counselor says we should try to envision a future where memories of Mom and Dad don’t pull me under. This is a start. I’ll be fine.”

  “But—”

  Cassidy touches his arm and shakes her head. I’m thankful when he relents.

  “Okay, now that that’s settled.” Brandon’s eyes shift between me and Wyatt. “So, Delilah, let me get this straight. You’re a lesbian?”

  Wyatt grabs his arm so hard I’m sure he’ll leave a bruise.

  “Back off.” Wyatt’s eyes narrow.

  “Wyatt.” Cassidy touches his arm, and he loosens his grip.

  “It’s okay, Wyatt. I have to do this at some point, and I know I’m not exactly comfortable saying this in front of strangers, so…I might as well say it where I can. It’s a start.” I meet Brandon’s expectant gaze and push past the twisting in my stomach.

  “Yes. I am. I’m…” Why is it so hard for me to say I’m a lesbian? I hate that it’s hard, but the word gets stuck in my throat. It kills me that I’m finally with Ash, and even dead, my parents are stealing the joy of it.

  Tristan covers my hand with his. “Baby steps. Finding your comfort zone isn’t a race. It’s a slow progression of coming into your true self, and no one can set that pace but you.”

  “Fuck baby steps. Own it, Delilah. Be loud and proud.” Brandon pats his chest.

  “Loud and proud isn’t for everyone.” Tristan glares at Brandon, then turns softer eyes toward me. “This is a first step for you, and I’m proud of you.”

  Wyatt eyes Brandon with a silent warning to back off. Brandon holds his hands up in surrender.

  “I need to tell you guys something.” I swallow the fear that’s prickling my limbs and threatening to steal my voice. “I’m not proud of the way I’ve lived my life so far, but it’s what I had to do. You guys knew my parents. You knew their views on this.” I pause, because when I think back, I don’t remember my parents ever looking at Brandon or Tristan the way they looked at me when I came out to them on graduation day.

  “Your parents?” Tristan releases my hand and looks at Wyatt.

  “They weren’t exactly pro same-sex relationships,” Wyatt explains.

  “They never said anything to me.” Tristan sits back and crosses his arms. His biceps flex and his brows knit together.

  “How do you know, Wyatt? Because I’m with Tristan on this,” Brandon says with a serious tone. “They never said anything to me either, or made me feel out of place, and hey, I don’t exactly hide my lifestyle.”

  Wyatt tried to talk to me about Mom and Dad several times this summer, but I haven’t wanted to. When we first got here, my emotions were too raw and I was too scared about how we were going to learn to live without them to even think about my feelings in that department. But over the last few weeks, my feelings for Ashley have grown, and I want to get past this.

  “They were pretty verbal with me and Dee,” Wyatt explains. “I always thought it was weird that they could treat you guys fine, when back home they made no bones about what they believed was right and wrong. Dee—”

  I hold up my hand to silence him. “I’ll tell them.” Wyatt likes to take
care of me, and I love that he does, but if I’m going to figure this out, I have to learn to deal with these things on my own. I hope that starting here, among our friends, will make it easier to face the rest of the world.

  “I hid my sexuality from everyone and denied it to myself. I’m not proud of it, but I hid it from you guys, from my parents, from Wyatt and Cassidy. Well, until Wyatt confronted me a few years ago and I finally told him the truth.” Wyatt holds my gaze, and I read a hundred things in his eyes. That he’s there for me, that I don’t need to explain anything. That he’ll take care of it, which only makes me want to stand up and do it on my own even more.

  “I did date a guy in college,” I admit. “But it was just to fit in and to be able to go to parties without being hit on.”

  “Aw, Delilah. Plenty of gay people hook up with straight people to fit in. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Tristan touches my arm again.

  “If what you’re saying about your parents is true, it’s people like that who cause their kids to commit suicide and feel ashamed of themselves.” Brandon sips my coffee. “Been there, done that. Well, not the suicidal part.”

  “Hey, our parents aren’t here to defend themselves,” Wyatt says in a serious voice. “Believe me, Brandon, if anyone wants to give my parents hell, it’s me. But that’s my place, not yours, so be respectful.”

  Brandon turned a serious and respectful gaze to Wyatt. “Sorry, man.”

  “I know lots of people do that, Tristan, but I’m not sure how to get past it, and I want to. I desperately want to.” The hurt in Ashley’s eyes crashes back in like a wave breaking in my chest.

  Cassidy moves from Wyatt’s lap and pulls up the empty chair next to me. She sits down and leans in close. Cassidy grew up around the corner from us in Connecticut. Her parents were never around, so she spent lots of time at our house, and until meeting Ashley, Cassidy was my closest female friend.

  “Delilah, I’m sure that right now it seems like you have two choices—come out to everyone or live a secret life. But it’s really not that black-and-white. Have you talked to Ashley about this?”