Track 9 Delilah #3
There’s just something so…open about the way Emmett takes in the energy of the room, staring not just at the queens and their rhinestones and their fifty shades of wig colors and glittering makeup and the early afternoon sunshine glinting off the bottles behind the bar, but at the other diners too—the hungover kids chasing the hair of the dog and the middle-aged gays rolling their eyes fondly at the whippersnappers and the cluster of lesbians in mom jeans and cardigans, their table surrounded by strollers.
It makes Delilah wonder just how much time Emmett spent outside of their little pocket of Crown Heights before they stopped Delilah from getting creamed by that SUV. And whether or not they ever would have let themselves explore something like this if they hadn’t made that split-second decision.
“That was amazing,” Emmett says as the two of them make their way back to Roscoe.
They’re all shining eyes and flushed cheeks, a perfect mark of sparkling lipstick high on one cheekbone from the queen who swooped down to press a smacking kiss there.
There’s a generous dusting of glitter in their hair, and they look like they’ve never been so happy in their life.
Delilah wants to bottle their delight and keep it for her next rainy day. “Are they always like that?”
“What, drag brunches?” Delilah’s bladder already regrets the three glasses of water she chugged down to try to cancel out the Baileys in her coffee.
She’s glad they parked a few blocks away; she’ll have a bit more time to get the alcohol out of her system before she has to decide whether or not to ask Emmett if there’s a driver’s license somewhere in that backpack.
They’d been carded at the bar, but Emmett’s New York ID doesn’t necessarily mean they’ve ever been behind the wheel of a car.
“That’s the general vibe, yeah. Glitz and glam and music and more booze than is probably advisable when you’ve still got the rest of the day to get through, unless you planned well enough that the next activity on your schedule is a nap. ”
Emmett glances at her, the tilt to their lips suggesting that they’ve caught on to the fact that Delilah kind of wishes the next activity on her schedule was a nap. “It’s like there’s a whole world I’ve never even been able to touch.”
“Your sister seems like she’s kind of plugged into it,” Delilah says, remembering what they’d said about Ruth and her illicit copies of queer plays. “She never tried to bring you anywhere?”
“She’s only eighteen,” Emmett says. “She’s not old enough to get into places like that.
” Delilah doesn’t contradict them or say anything along the lines of Oh, you sweet precious baby, because she’s a kind, mature adult.
“But it was different for her, I guess. She’s more like you, more…
” They make a vague gesture with one hand that Delilah’s not sure whether to be offended by or not.
“She’s very brave. She always wanted to make her parents happy, but not if it meant she was unhappy.
Even when she was little, she made her own rules. ”
“I kind of feel like I’m being called out for something.”
“You’re the one who keeps pointing out that you invited a stranger into your car.”
“And you’re the one who got into said car,” Delilah reminds them. “Pot, kettle, baby.” To her surprise, Emmett flushes. “So Miss Ruth is your family rebel, huh? Good for her.” She considers that. “Any chance she’s…you know. Under the rainbow flag with the rest of us?”
“I…don’t know. I never thought of asking her.” Emmett brushes their fingertips over the glittery lipstick on their cheek. “I wish I had.”
“Did she ever ask you?”
A touch of color flashes across Emmett’s cheeks, there and gone so quickly that Delilah almost wonders if she imagined it.
“Once,” they say. “But I—I don’t think I really understood the question.
” Their smile creeps back, lopsided with wry amusement.
“A lot of conversations make more sense in retrospect now.”
They stop at a crosswalk. Emmett drops their hand from their cheek to rub absently at their left forearm through their sleeve, and Delilah knocks her shoulder gently against theirs. “Hey. You’ll have a good story to tell her now, right?”
The signal changes. Emmett starts crossing the street without answering or waiting for Delilah to follow. Delilah blinks after them, trying to figure out what she just missed and whether or not she said something wrong, and if she should ask about it so that she doesn’t do it again.
No, she decides. Better to just drop it.
For all the strangely familiar camaraderie the two of them have developed so quickly, Emmett doesn’t owe her any more than they’re willing to give.
Briefly cursing the length of Emmett’s legs, Delilah jogs to catch up with them on the other side of the street.
“Hey,” she says. “I was wondering. Do you have a driver’s license?”
[written haphazardly in Delilah’s journal, ink-smeared and off-center, clearly done without attention]
Maybe This Is You Are We Were It’s a Bad Idea
Lessons in Storytelling
Open Ended
Silver in the Moonlight
I Think You Should Let Me Fight Your Dad
Folk Tales in a Minor Key
Beauty in the Moonlight oh Jesus fucking Christ, Delilah, get it together.