Discovering Delilah (Harborside Nights, Book 2) (21 page)

She draws away and hands me a napkin. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

I shake my head and wipe my tears as Ashley reaches for me. “You didn’t make her sad, Mom. You made her happy.”

That night when we crawl into Ashley’s childhood bed, I reach for her and I love her without holding anything
back. And I hope and pray that in the morning I still feel this confident and this free—because I know I’ll feel more for Ashley than I do right now, just as I have every day since our first kiss. And she deserves to be loved without the memory of my parents stealing one second of it away.

~Delilah~

THE NEXT MORNING I’m sitting on Ashley’s bed looking at her photo album while she showers. The bedroom door flies open and Kenny leaps onto the mattress and scrambles up next to me. He leans his chin in his palm, and I wonder how he can go from moving so fast to being almost perfectly still. I’m glad I’ve already showered and dressed. I make a mental note
to remember to always get up early when we’re here. I can just imagine how awkward it would be if he ran in when we were still in bed together.

“Whatchya doing?” His hair is askew, and his breath smells like sugary cereal.

I look from him to the album. “Looking at your sister’s pictures.”

“She was a dork back then.” He points to a picture of Ashley when she must have been about his
age, with two long pigtails, wearing a pink shirt and matching shorts.

“She was cute.” I bump him with my shoulder.

“You only think that because she’s your girlfriend and you have to. When I have a girlfriend, I’m not going to think she was pretty when she was a dork. But I guess dorks can be pretty, too. Ashley was a pretty dork. Do you like to play Minecraft?”

I need a lot of coffee
to keep up with this kid.

“I haven’t ever played, but I’m not much of a video game person.”

He frowns at that and shakes his head. “That means you’re a dork, too.”

“Ah, so a dork is someone who doesn’t play video games? Good to know.”

“I guess. Sort of. But you can be an ugly dork. But you’re not. You’re a pretty dork. Do you kiss Ashley? Do you kiss her a lot? I know you hold
her hand because my mom said that you guys hold hands sometimes. I don’t care that you hold her hand. I like to hold her hand, too. She’s a good hand-holder.”

Coffee. Coffee. Coffee
.

His mother appears in the doorway. She is dressed in a pair of jeans and a blouse and is carrying two cups of coffee. She hands me one and sets the other on the dresser.

“I thought you girls would need
these. Ash said you take cream and sugar. I hope that’s okay.”

“Wow, yes, thank you. You didn’t have to do this.” My own mother didn’t deliver coffee to my bedroom.

“We need to keep our guests fueled to keep up with this little powerhouse.” She reaches a hand out for Kenny.

He groans as he climbs off the bed. “Wait.” He turns back toward me, and I hold my breath. I don’t know what
to expect, but after the questions he fired at me a few minutes ago, I’m a little worried that he might ask me again if I kiss Ashley, and I’m not sure how Ashley and her mother would want me to answer that. Although I get the feeling that in this house, honesty goes a long way.

Lucky Ashley
.

“Make it quick, Kenny,” his mother says with a stern voice and a smile. How do parents achieve
that? “You still need to bathe and practice your lines.”

“Will I see you
after
the play?” he asks.

“Yes, definitely. We’re leaving today, but you’ll definitely see us before we go.”

“Good.” He walks away, holding his mother’s hand. “I had to make sure I liked her.”

“And? Do you?” his mother asks.

“Nope. I love her, just like Ashley does.”

My jaw drops open as Ashley steps
out of the bathroom and sees me staring at the door.

You love m
e?

Ashley hurries over to the door, listening as Kenny’s voice—“Do you think they kiss?”—fades down the hall.

I bury my face in my hands, embarrassed that Kenny is asking his mother about us kissing and mortified that a seven-year-old feels comfortable talking about us kissing when I’m such a chickenshit in public. I don’t
hear her mother’s response.

“Told you he has no filter.”

I love her, just like Ashley does
. That little boy overwhelms me, in a good way. He loves me even though I want to kiss his sister and my own parents couldn’t seem to.

Ashley and I have a few hours to kill, so we go for a drive and she shows me the elementary, middle, and high schools she attended. We get out at the high school
and walk around the brick building just to kill time.

“What was it like being
out
in high school?” I know she won’t mind that I ask. Ash is like an open book, unlike me, whose true self has been kept under lock and key forever.

She shrugs. “At first it was a little weird. Some people looked at me funny or avoided me for a while, but there were other gay and lesbian kids at school. And
I had Bolton. He never acted funny around me. Now that I think about it, he is kind of like Wyatt. He would never let anyone say anything bad, and if anyone looked at me funny, he gave them hell. But I think even if he hadn’t been there, it would have been like anything else in life. After a few weeks it was no big deal. And I had my parents’ support. I think that made everything easier.”

She stops walking and looks at me. “I’m sorry you didn’t have that, Dee. I wish you did, and not just so our relationship could be easier, but for yourself. So you weren’t so conflicted for all those years. I can’t imagine how hard that was for you.”

“Thanks, Ash. I wish I did, too, but if there’s one thing I learned in counseling, it’s that I have to figure out how to move forward, because
I can’t change the past. Talking to your mom last night helped. She helped me to remember how much I loved hugging my mom and hearing her voice.”

“Well, I’m glad it helped, but if it’s too hard being here, just tell me.”

“No. It’s just the opposite. I like it here. I loved my mom and dad, even though they were strict and even though their views were different from mine. I just…I guess
it’s easy to forget the good when I’m wrapped up in the bad.”

We’re walking again, and I don’t even realize I’ve reached for Ashley’s hand until our fingers connect. I wait for the rush of worry to swell in my chest, but it’s so faint I barely feel it, making it easier to push away.

“I’m glad you invited me. Thank you.”

“Me too. I think going home next weekend will be good for you,
to gain some closure. Do you want me to go with you?”

“I always want you with me, but this is…I don’t know. I think I have to do it by myself. Is that rude?”

“No. I understand. And if you need me, I’m only a phone call away.”

“Why are you so supportive of me?” I ask as we cross the parking lot toward the car.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she says lightly. “I love you.”

I reach for
the car to stabilize myself.

“You
love
me?” I whisper. I heard Kenny say it, but I didn’t think it was real. Ashley never said those words to me before.

Ashley steps closer and presses her finger against my lips. “I don’t need you to say it back. I just need you to know how I feel.”

You love me.

The words are still tying a pretty little bow around my heart as she continues speaking.

“I’ve been falling for you every second since the moment we met, and I’ve been trying to hold it back because I didn’t want to scare you off, but…”

 “Scare me off? You’re so careful with me and protective of me
.”

 “Seeing you with my family and being with you…” She shrugs again. “I don’t want to hold it back anymore, even if I can’t show you in public. I love you.”

“Ash.”

She
shakes her head. “Please, don’t say it now. I know how you feel about me. I feel it every time you kiss me. But please don’t tell me until you can say it without worry of who hears you, because as much as I want your love, I want it free and clear of all the rest of the stuff we have to work through. I want to know that when you tell me you love me—whether it’s next week or next year—that you would
be just as confident saying it into a microphone as you would whispering it in my ear.”

~Ashley~

NEARLY EVERY SEAT in the small community theater is filled. Kenny looks adorable onstage, and Delilah and I take tons of pictures. My parents are positively glowing with pride when Kenny stands center stage and says his lines perfectly. At the end of the play, when Kenny and Patricia hug, he squeezes her with all his might, and the whole audience
aww
s.

When Kenny releases Patricia, she bends at the waist to catch her breath—I guess he really did hug her with all his might. Kenny walks to the edge of the stage and searches the audience.

“What’s he doing?” my mom whispers.

My dad shrugs. “It’s Kenny. Who knows?”

Kenny puts his hands beside his mouth and yells, “I did it, Bolton! I hugged her and it didn’t stink!”

The audience
roars with laughter. My mother covers her eyes and shakes her head, but she’s laughing, too.

My father rises to his feet and yells, “That’s my boy,” which leads to a standing ovation, to which Kenny bows about a dozen times.

Delilah gets pictures of the whole thing.

She stands beside me as we clap and presses her leg against mine. Ever since I told her that I loved her, she’s been
stealing glances at me, like she’s trying to figure me out. I haven’t told her again, because she knows how I feel, and there’s no need to overwhelm her. I guess it was kind of selfish of me to say it out loud when she’s already dealing with so much, but when I’m with her, I feel so much. It was really hard to hold back. And I want her to know that I love her when she goes home to Connecticut. I have
a feeling it’s going to be much harder than she anticipates, but I respect her need to do it alone.

Delilah takes pictures of Kenny and my parents and Kenny and Patricia. She takes pictures of Bolton and the kids and my parents, me, and the kids. She takes so many pictures that I lose track of who’s in them.

“Can I see your phone?” Kenny holds out his hand to Delilah.

“Sure. Do you
want me to show you how to take a picture?” She crouches beside him and he shakes his head.

“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.

~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—”