4. Delia
Four
Delia
T here was a moment when we stepped into the house, that Heath pulled my mom away and a heated albeit whispered discussion ensued. I strained to hear but the only thing I caught was a what the hell are you doing here and a muffled sob from my mother.
I took their reunion time to poke around the living room. Everything was old. Outdated. Worn in. Like he’d lived here all his life. I wondered where my Grandmother was. Maybe Thursday night she had bridge club or volunteered with animals. Even better, maybe there was an art studio on the property and she’d waltz in, disheveled yet eccentric just in time for dessert. If there was dessert.
Even though Heath looks at me with sadness in his eyes I enjoy talking to him. He pulled an apple pie that he’d made from the fridge and we ate roasted pork tenderloin which he commented we were lucky he had cooked today because otherwise, he wouldn’t have had enough food.
Then he shows me a picture of a small yellow flower that he painted in the backyard. He says my name when calling me over to look at the painting. And I like that. The sound of my name from his lips. I’m still rolling with anger at my mom though. She sits in one of the dining room chairs all crumpled in on herself looking small and childlike. She’s barely uttered an entire sentence since we entered the house.
“Delia,” Heath says. “What grade are you in?” I have a grandfather. An actual living relative and I’m sitting in his house here with him in the flesh. My brain can barely make sense of it all. I can’t wipe the smile from my face. I have so many questions.
I smile. “I’ll be a senior this year.”
“Do you play any sports? In any clubs? Your mother here was captain of the cheerleading squad and did all the musicals.” He looks at my mom before scrubbing a hand down his face.
I chance a look at mom. What the hell? Cheerleading? I can’t even picture it. She doesn’t meet my gaze. “I…um…I usually join the swim team. I really love swimming.”
Heath slaps the table with a lazy grin. “That’s great. It’s important to be part of a team. Teaches a lot of good lessons.”
Mom cringes at his words. I know she thinks teamwork and other club activities are breeding grounds for hive-minded sheeple. I don’t know what to say so I don’t say anything. I just look between the two of them.
“I think we should go now, Dad.” Mom’s voice is soft and quiet. “Dinner was great. Thank you.” She pushes herself out of her chair and I do the same.
“This was…” I stumble trying to say the right thing. “This was really great.” Ugh. Lame Delia, really great? “I mean…”
Heath holds up a hand to stop me. “It was a pleasure meeting you finally.”
My breath freezes in my throat. “Finally?” I squeak. I look to Mom and then back to Heath. “You knew about me?”
Heath freezes, his expression a mix of oh shit and Is this girl daft.
Mom swoops me under her arm. I look to mom as her face creases with worry, an expression on her I’m not familiar with. She is the queen of worry-free. “We really should go now.”
She turns us, me still tucked under her arm and directs us into the hallway and out the front door as if she’s taken the route a million times and it occurs to me that perhaps she has .
On the bottom step of the front porch I hesitate, leaving her on the walkway and me towering above her on the step.
“You grew up here didn’t you?” I ask.
Mom looks at the door behind me before bringing her gaze back to mine. “Come on Delia, we’ll talk at home.”
“This is home! Isn’t it?”
“No,” she grunts quietly. “This was barely ever a home. Home is that way.” She jabs her finger in the direction of the camper. I’m confused, tired and overwhelmed. My body is tightly coiled with enough tension that if you plucked me like a string I might snap .
I march silently, down the last step, past my mother and toward the camper fighting back tears of frustration.
August 2022
I refuse to speak to her. I have burning questions that I deserve answers to but I am too angry to hold a conversation and so I am reduced to angry scribbling on paper instead. How could she? How could he?! They both withheld themselves and their stories from me. He knew I existed. He knew mom was pregnant? He never once reached out or sent a card or asked for a visit? And mom…she flat out lied to me for seventeen years. No family, just you and me kiddo. Thelma and Louise. What a crock of shit.
And why now? Why implode my world now? What is happening? I want to throw a tantrum. Rip my hair out and scream every dirty curse word I can muster. I want to sob dramatically and throw myself on the ground in a pool of tears and mucus.
But I will not. I will brood and stuff it all down while mom sits in her stupid fucking camping chair outside the van — alone.
She knocks on the door again. I still refuse to talk to her.
My words are a jumbled mess in my brain. My thoughts are chaotic. A swirling vat of contrasting emotions.
And where is my grandmother? This means that my grandparents know who my father is. I can’t take it. I can’t.
I toss my journal on the bed and stuff my feet into my flip-flops. Aggressively throwing open the van door I hop out. Mom jumps to her feet.
“Delia, let me explain,” she starts. I hold my hands up and march past her. “Where are you going?” I keep marching.
Past the house and the blueberry bushes and all the way down the dirt road until I’m at the main road. I look left, then right. I have no idea where I am or where I’m going but I don’t care. Tears stream down my face. I shove them away with the back of my hand. This whole thing is bullshit.
I go straight across the road, into a field. There’s a house way off to the left. It’s probably their yard, but I don’t care. I stomp through the tall grass, not even thinking about ticks and keep on stomping until I’m in the woods, and then, I stop.
Because I have too. I’m on the bank of a river. Wide enough for three lanes of traffic. Sandy with smooth rocks poking their heads above the water like curious seals. I kick off my flip-flops and jab a toe into the water. It’s warm. So warm. I walk in about fifty feet until the water reaches my shorts. Tilting my face to the dusky sky I open my mouth and scream before letting myself sink underwater.
It feels like hours have passed by the time I tromp back through the field, across the street, and up the dirt drive.
“Delia!” Mom’s voice comes from the porch steps of the house. With a quick glance I see she’s sitting with Heath. I ignore them both and head for the van. I can hear Mom pop up and follow. Her footsteps light and fast on the grassy path.
Whipping around, I face her. “I have no words for you. No nice words anyway.”
She reaches out but I deflect her touch. “I mean it, Mom. I’m not ready.”
“Delia.” My name hangs in the air in a deep baritone. Blinking, I look beyond my mother and see Heath, a worried crease in his forehead. “You’re soaking wet. Come to the house to wash up and dry off.”
“I’ll bring clothes for you,” Mom says and walks toward the van.
I stand rooted in my spot, staring.
“I don’t bite, girl.”
I can’t make my feet budge, or my mouth speak.
Heath sighs and tosses his hands in the air. “It’s just a hot shower and dry clothes.” He turns and heads back toward the house.
It’s the hot shower that gets me.