CHAPTER 34 DELILAH
DELILAH
“Tell me when to start.”
“Okay,” his low voice rumbles over the line, sleepy and slow.
I imagine him tucked into his bed on the other side of the city, just like I’m tucked into mine.
We haven’t been able to see each other in three days, so we’re doing this instead.
Calling each other when we can. Waving at each other forlornly through our respective lobby windows.
I liked it so much better when we were sharing two hundred square feet.
“I’ll count down from three. Three, two, one—”
I press play on my remote and wiggle down beneath my blankets.
My phone is on speaker, tossed on top of my comforter next to a coffee mug generously filled from the bag of M&M’s I found on the hood of my car earlier this week.
Unfortunately, that’s about as close as Jackson and I have come to seeing each other in the absolute disaster that is our competing schedules.
I always seem to be coming when he’s going, or vice versa.
We’re two ships passing in a pothole-laced parking lot, exchanging Post-it notes on cars.
“I don’t want to hear any complaints about movie choice from you tonight.”
His answer is a chuffed laugh that feels like it’s pressed right against my neck. Goose bumps immediately erupt over my skin.
“Who would possibly complain about a film that celebrates the idea of a love triangle?” Jackson muses. He pauses. “Wait. There are three men, right? Love . . . square?”
“It could have been a Why Choose film if Hollywood were progressive enough, and I’m choosing to ignore your tone.” The opening credits of The Philadelphia Story begin to roll. On the other side of the phone, I hear its echo. “You could have picked the movie, you know.”
“I did pick the movie. You said, and I quote, ‘Over my dead body.’”
I laugh. “I’m not watching Transformers before bed! And I don’t think Bumblebee would help you fall asleep either.”
Jackson hums, and I hear the rustle of sheets. “Hate to break it to you, but it’s not the movies that help me fall asleep, Delilah.”
I tuck my smile down into the top of my comforter. He slept over after we destroyed my living room, and my sheets still smell like him. If I close my eyes, I can picture him in the space next to me, one arm pushed under the pillow and the other curled over my thigh.
“How did today ago?” I ask, after we’ve watched Katharine Hepburn drift across the screen with Cary Grant.
Jackson’s sigh is weary. “Fine. I think Maggie forgot I’m the one that put together the station’s onboarding documents. So I’m basically lecturing myself about the requirements of a job I already do. It’s an excellent use of my time.”
He’s been caught up in promotion stuff while I’ve been working through a story on the fate of this year’s cherry blossom bloom.
Keith has been surprisingly quiet since we returned from our trip to the mountains, letting me do my job and actually .
. . report on the weather. Needless to say, I’m suspicious.
“That’s not what I was asking about, and you know it.”
Another forlorn sigh, this one punctuated with a grunt at the end. He’s quiet for a long time. I pick at a loose thread at the edge of my duvet while he works through it.
“I don’t trust her,” he finally says.
“And that’s okay,” I remind him. “You’re doing a good thing. You’re giving your sisters a chance at a relationship you never got to have. It’s an opportunity for them to explore and find closure with you as their safety net.”
“Doesn’t feel like a good thing,” he grumbles. “Feels like I’m leading the lambs to slaughter.”
I rattle my candies around in my mug, searching for the red ones. “Worst-case scenario, what’s going to happen?”
“She lets them down,” Jackson says immediately. “She breaks their hearts.”
The rest of his sentence goes unsaid, but I hear it all the same.
Just like she broke mine.
“She’s taking them to that leadership brunch at the school tomorrow,” Jackson continues. “Adeline is excited.”
“Penelope isn’t?”
“Penelope is . . . hesitant,” Jackson says slowly. “She’s more like me.”
I grin at my phone. “Ruthlessly organized with a secret passion for Michael Bay action films?”
Jackson’s laugh is tired. “Chronically doubtful,” he corrects. “Voted least fun meteorologist three years in a row by Baltimore magazine.”
“Is that a real recognition?”
“If it were, I’d win it. Every year.”
I can hear the sadness that lingers. I hate that the reappearance of his mother has twisted him up and left him doubting his every move.
“Those girls are lucky to have you, Jackson. No matter what happens with your mom, you’ve validated their feelings and given them the space to try for themselves.
The fact that you’re worrying so much about it is proof of how much you care.
And boo on Baltimore magazine.” I pluck a green candy from my mug.
“I always have fun when we’re together.”
“It’s different with you.”
“Is it?”
“Mm-hmm,” he hums, and the sound of it vibrates over my bones. Rattles somewhere beneath my rib cage. “You make it easier.”
“What?”
“Everything,” he whispers.
I have nothing to say that’s not either horribly premature or terrifically embarrassing, so I settle for the comfortable silence instead, letting it stretch and grow between us. I hear him shift on the other end of the phone and my eyes get heavy, even as my heart grows light.
“Jackson?” I whisper.
When he answers, his voice is drawn out and low. Half-asleep. “Yeah, baby?”
I could do it. I could tell him how I feel. Wrapped in sheets that still smell like him with the marks he worked against my throat a tender ache. His easy breathing in my ear.
But there’s the unmistakable sound of a door slamming open on the other side of the phone, footsteps against a hardwood floor.
“Hey,” he whispers. “It’s late. You guys okay?”
A whispered conversation and then a heavy sigh.
“I’m not letting that cat into the house.”
I press my face into my pillow to muffle my laughter.
“Addie, what—” There is an increase in the fervor of the other voices in Jackson’s bedroom. “Hold on—I said hold on a second. Christ. Delilah, I paused the movie. I need a minute to deal with something.”
I glance at the clock hanging above the television in my room. “It’s late. I can just let you go.”
“Don’t do that,” he says. “I’m going to give this stupid cat some warm milk and then we’re going to finish this movie. Just wait here, okay? I’ll be right back.”
“All right,” I laugh.
I pause the movie and sit up in my bed, stretching my arms above my head. I pilfered another one of Jackson’s sweaters, though I’m starting to believe he wore the extra-soft forest green one over here on purpose.
Static bursts on the other side of the phone and I stare down at it, dropping my arms with a soft thump.
“Delilah?” a voice whispers from the speaker. “Delilah Stewart?”
I blink. “Yes?”
There’s a thud, a whispered Ouch, you barbarian, and then a tussle for the phone.
“Hey, Delilah,” another voice whispers. “Thanks for taking our call.”
“Um,” I scratch at the back of my neck and glance down at the screen, double-checking I’m still connected and this isn’t some gas-station-candy-induced dream. “Did I . . . take your call?”
“Thank you for not hanging up,” she corrects quickly. “Listen, we don’t have long.”
I settle back against my pillows with a grin. “Did you con your brother into feeding a stray cat so you could get me alone?”
“To be fair,” the other voice says. Adeline, I guess. “The cat really does like it when Jackson leaves her milk.”
“Yeah, but we also spent, like, twenty-five minutes trying to lure her to our house.”
“We’re doing a public deed, if you think about it. Feeding the huddled masses.”
“It’s a cat, Addie.”
“And it’s cold out there, Penelope.”
I roll my lips together against my smile. “Did you guys have something specific you wanted to talk about?”
“Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” They recalibrate, brought back to the task at hand. “We have some questions.”
“Okay.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Hmm.” I think about it. “Blue.”
“And how do you feel about meticulously organized weekly meal calendars?”
Very subtle. That makes me grin. “I appreciate the thought and detail.”
“Have you always liked the weather?”
“Always,” I answer.
“If you were trapped in your car and you had fifteen seconds to live, what would—”
“How about,” I cut in gently, “you ask what you really want to ask.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then Adeline, I think, in a heated rush, “What are your intentions with our brother?”
“Yeah,” Penelope adds. “Because if this is a thing for, like, views or clout or whatever, we’re not going to be happy about it.”
The smile slips from my face, pressure blooming across my nose and behind my eyes. A half hour ago, Jackson was worried about protecting his sisters, and now they’re protecting him.
“I really like your brother,” I manage around a throat that feels too tight. I pick up my mug and stare at the candies inside. “I really, really like him.”
A pause, longer this time. I imagine the silent conversation happening on the other side of the phone and strain my ears for any hint of it.
“Will you be patient with him?” Penelope asks.
“Yeah. I will.”
“And you’ll help us take care of him?” Adeline adds. “He’s not great at accepting help, so you have to be sneaky about it.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed that.” I laugh. “But, yeah. Yes. I’d love to help take care of him.”
“Okay,” Adeline finally says. “Good. That’s what we were hoping for, because Penelope and I are big fans of your work. We didn’t want to have to hate you.”
A laugh sputters out of me. “I’m glad.”
I hear the rustle of sheets as they presumably settle into Jackson’s bed. “What are you guys watching, anyway?”
“None of your business,” Jackson’s voice booms from somewhere in the background. Both girls scream and the sound ricochets around my bedroom.
“You scared us!” Penelope screeches.
“You’re in my room!” Jackson laughs back.
I hear the muffled thud of a pillow thwacking into something.
One voice asking, Are we going to have snacks with this movie?
Then Jackson’s voice, closer to the speaker, We aren’t having snacks.
You are going to bed. Some static as the phone returns to its owner.
“Still with me?” Jackson asks. The girls chatter happily in the background and I imagine the three of them tucked together.
I smile. “I’m still with you.”