Chapter Oliver #3
I think about that for a moment. Then I roll over, pinning Delilah to the mattress.
I can feel her heartbeat speed. I wind my fingers through hers and whisper in her ear.
“Number one,” I say, “your hands.” Then I drop a kiss on each eyelid.
“Number two,” I say, “your beautiful eyes.” I slide my hands down her arms and slip them beneath the hem of her oversized shirt, spreading my palms across the small of her back. “Number three…your soft skin.”
I nibble my way from her collarbone to her jaw, and she sighs. “Number four,” I say, “the sound of your voice.”
I trace her lower lip with my thumb. “Number five…your mouth.”
And then I kiss her.
Delilah’s lips move under mine, as if we are speaking the same secret. I break away only when there’s no more breath to share, and bury my face in the curve of her neck. “I love you so much.”
Her hands play over my shoulders. “When you say that to me…I feel like I’m flying.”
With a groan I roll onto my side, curling my body around hers. I slip my arm beneath her waist and pull her tight against me, her back to my front. “I’ll never let you fall,” I promise.
Two days after Jessamyn’s return from the hospital, we celebrate with a meal she calls “takeout” that is a collection of delicious foods from a foreign land.
Although she doesn’t seem to have much of an appetite, I can’t stop eating.
“I have never tasted anything so delectable in my life,” I say, mopping up sauce with flatbread and stuffing it in my mouth.
“Really,” Jessamyn muses. “Most of the time when I want Indian, you fight me to the death for Chinese instead.”
“Perhaps my taste buds are evolving.”
“Hmm,” she says, raising a brow. “Who are you, and what have you done with my son?”
My blood runs cold. Has she figured it out?
Then Jessamyn laughs. “Does this mean I can start cooking brussels sprouts too?”
What the devil is a brussels sprout? I force a smile. “Let’s take it slowly,” I suggest.
I watch Jessamyn pour herself another drink of water. I’ve been watching her carefully since she’s come home, as if her bones are made of glass and the slightest bump might shatter her whole. But with the exception of a small bandage on her temple, she seems to be her usual self.
Not that I’m entirely sure what that is.
I know I need to tell Edgar what happened to his mother—that she was in the hospital overnight. And I’m not holding the truth back from him, honestly. It’s just that I want to wait until I’m able to give him good news—to tell him his mother is fine.
I want to be 100 percent certain.
Jessamyn begins closing up the ingenious little boxes that hold the food. “How about we watch a movie after dinner? Do you want to pick?” she asks.
One shelf in the living room is devoted to small folders containing disks that—like Orville’s potion for the future—project a moving image onto the television screen.
I’ve watched a few with Delilah. I let my finger trail over pictures of robots and aliens, which all seem to have numbers in the title, and finally come across one that looks much more palatable.
I hand the movie to Jessamyn, who takes it and smirks. “Very funny.”
“What? It looks rather interesting.”
“The Princess Bride?” she says. “The last time I suggested watching this, you said you’d rather cut off your own leg with a rusty spoon.”
“Well…I thought you might like it,” I say, holding my breath.
She smiles up at me. “Oh, the sacrifices a son is willing to make.”
We settle on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, queueing up the film. Jessamyn has scooped us each a bowl of ice cream (which, frankly, is one thing this world has going for it that puts the fairy tale to shame. And here I thought “melt in your mouth” was simply figurative language).
“It’s hard to believe that in a year, you’ll be going off to college,” Jessamyn muses.
I turn to her, horrified. “What if I don’t want to go anywhere?”
“Edgar, since you were ten, you’ve dreamed of going to the University of Southern California to major in video game design.”
Thanks to social studies class, I know that California is about as far away from New Hampshire as one can go in this kingdom without falling into an ocean. If I thought Delilah and I were separated when she was here and I was merely on Cape Cod, how could I ever withstand this distance?
“I can’t leave here.”
Jessamyn puts her arm around me. “Edgar, we’ve been through this. You shouldn’t be worrying about me. What would make me happiest is knowing that you’re following your dreams.”
But my dreams have changed, now that I’m not Edgar.
Because I don’t know what to say, I grab my spoon and start shoveling chocolate ice cream into my mouth.
I am halfway finished with the contents of the bowl when I realize Jessamyn is staring at me as if she has never seen me before. “When,” she asks, “did you become a lefty?”
“What am I going to do?” I ask Delilah, pacing in front of my locker. “She knows I’m not her son. She wants me to go to California, for God’s sake….” When Delilah doesn’t offer even a word of encouragement or support, I turn to her. “What’s wrong with you today, anyway?”
Delilah rubs her eyes. She looks like she’s been locked in a pirate’s brig all night, not that I’m going to tell her that.
“I got, like, two hours of sleep,” she says.
“Frump is refusing to eat kibble, which means I had to prepare a gourmet meal after my mom went to bed. And he snores. Like, super loud. And every time I tried to take the sheets away from him, he actually kicked me.”
“Wait, what?” I say, my head snapping around. “He slept with you? In the same bed?”
“Yes. Just like Humphrey did. Remember? You’re not the only one with the hidden identity!”
“I’ve seen what you wear when you sleep.”
“He’s just an animal, Oliver!”
I grit my teeth. “Exactly.”
A grin breaks over Delilah’s face. “Someone’s jealous.” She leans closer to me. “And you know what else? I’ve seen him naked.”
I frown. “Not funny,” I say, slamming my locker. It’s been two days since Frump arrived. “Have you heard anything from Orville?”
“No. Frump and I opened the book last night, and he’s still working on a remedy.”
I consider this, and Delilah tilts her head. “What are you thinking?”
“That maybe we should fashion a pair of pants for Frump in the meantime.”
“I’m pretty sure my mom would notice,” Delilah says. “Honestly, Oliver? He’s really not my type.”
Only slightly mollified, I look down. “Then maybe you could wear pants to bed,” I suggest.
Delilah turns, about to lecture me, but she is interrupted by the arrival of Chris, who needs to get into his locker. “I’m so glad you guys are both here,” he says. “I need your advice.”
Chris looks at Delilah. “You know your friend Jules?”
“What about her?”
“I was kind of thinking of asking her out….”
Delilah’s eyes widen. “Really?”
“Yeah, except for one thing. She scares the hell out of me.”
“Why?”
“Just yesterday,” Chris says, “I watched her make Mrs. Jacon cry in homeroom, telling her that by taking her new husband’s name she was a disappointment to the female sex.”
“Jules may be tough, but trust me, she has a soft side. She cried twice watching Titanic.”
“I cried four times,” Chris murmurs.
“Perhaps we should all go courting together.”
“Dude,” Chris says, “not all black people are into basketball—”
“He means a date,” Delilah explains, and I nod. A slow smile unfurls over her face. “So you finally want to take me out, huh?”
I shrug. “It seems fitting, since we’ve already gone to bed together.”
Delilah’s mouth drops, and Chris’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “That’s my cue to leave,” he says, and he walks off down the hall.
Shaking her head, Delilah sighs. “Oliver,” she says, “you and I need to have a little talk about slang.”
Delilah drives Jules home after school, so that she can pick up some things before the double date. Then we continue to Delilah’s house, with Jules sitting in the backseat, fidgeting. “This is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had,” she says. “I don’t even know why I said yes.”
“Because you don’t want to die alone and surrounded by cats,” Delilah replies.
“You know my track record,” Jules mutters. “He’ll probably be gone by dessert.”
“Maybe Chris will be the exception,” I suggest.
Jules snorts. “Easy for you to say. You’re lucky. You already found your dream girl.”
“Actually, she found me.” Delilah catches my eye, and I grin at her.
“This is really helpful, you guys,” Jules says. “Now all I have to do is stuff Chris inside a book and try to pry him out.”
“Those are just details,” Delilah tells her, pulling into the garage of her house. “The point is you never know who’s going to be the one.”
“She’s right. If I’d given up, I never would have bothered looking when Delilah opened the book. I might never have known that she could hear me. Just be yourself,” I suggest. “Or perhaps a slightly gentler version of yourself.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jules argues.
I turn in my seat and raise a brow.
“Ugh. Fine,” she says. “I’ll try to tone it down.” Jules gets out of the car. “It’s not my fault that my awesomeness intimidates people.”
We both watch her carry her bag upstairs. Delilah slips her hand into mind. “She’s right. We did get pretty lucky.”
What if Delilah hadn’t opened the book that day? What if I hadn’t looked up?
What if this isn’t permanent?
What if we did get so lucky that we’re due for something terrible?
I drop a kiss on the crown of her head. “I know.”