Delilah
I’ve made a terrible mistake.
It hits me when it’s too late, when Oliver grabs my shoulders and tells me to forget him: I just pushed away the best thing that has ever happened to me.
Before Oliver, I was just the strange kid with her nose stuck in a book, and a life so small it could fit in a thimble. But then we met, and he made the impossible happen. I experienced the world, instead of simply reading about it. I was no longer alone. I was loved.
And now I’ve pretty much done everything I could to ruin that.
I grab his shoulders tightly, but the fabric of his sweatshirt slips through my fingers. “Wait!” I cry. “Don’t leave me!”
But he’s already gone.
Behind me, I hear a crash and a muffled swear, but I don’t even turn around.
I can’t tear my eyes away from the book, where Seraphima and Oliver have landed.
They’re surrounded by the other characters, being embraced and welcomed back into the fold.
Oliver, I realize, looks just as lost as I feel.
He staggers forward, pushing away from the pack, and stares up at me, his hands balled into fists at his sides.
He swallows, but he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to. I don’t think there’s a word in the English language big enough to describe what it feels like to lose your other half.
“Holy crap,” Jules says. “That actually worked?”
I lift the edge of the fairy tale’s cover as gently as if it’s made of glass, and close the book.
At that moment, I’m tackled from behind as Jules throws herself at me. “I never thought I’d say this,” she admits with a sigh, “but I am so glad to be back in this hellhole of a town.”
Edgar gets to his feet, brushing himself off. “What town is this, anyway?”
I realize that when Edgar left, we were in Wellfleet, not here in New Hampshire.
I’m about to answer, but when I turn to look at him, his face makes me stop short.
I know it’s not Oliver. But his eyes are the same green as Oliver’s; his black hair is disheveled; the curve of his jaw is one I know by touch.
It’s not Oliver, but it might as well be.
I haven’t said a word, but Jules watches me carefully, then sidles closer to Edgar, slipping her hand into his. “So how’s this gonna work?” she asks pointedly.
It is enough to snap me out of my trance. Horrified, I realize that everyone at school thinks Edgar is my boyfriend…and it’s not going to look good if my best friend is hitting on him.
I groan. “I don’t know. I didn’t exactly think this through.”
“I need to get home to my mom,” Edgar says, then hesitates. “I don’t even know where I live.”
There’s a knock on the door, and the three of us freeze. My mother pokes her head inside. “Oh, Jules!” she says. “You must be feeling better.”
“Um. So much!” Jules replies.
“Where’s Seraphima?” my mother asks.
“She left early. All the Icelandic exchange students decided to spend their last week in Canada,” I say.
My mother’s eyes move from Jules to Edgar. “Nice tights,” she says, trying not to laugh.
“Halloween!” I blurt out. “We were trying on costumes. We’re going full-on Shakespeare this year.”
Edgar and Jules smile so wide I think their faces are going to crack. “So!” Jules says, breaking the awkward silence. “I’m going to go….Edgar, I’ll walk you home!” She grabs her duffel bag from the floor of my bedroom and takes Edgar’s hand. She starts pulling him toward the door.
“Great idea,” I reply. “Jules, I’ll text you after dinner so we can talk about, you know, what you missed at school.” I turn to Edgar. “I guess I’ll…Skype you later?”
He looks at me, baffled. “Whatever.”
“Edgar…?” I say pointedly. I turn so that my mother can’t see my face and, through clenched teeth, hiss: “Kiss me.”
Edgar’s eyes dart to Jules. I raise my eyebrows and give him a tight smile. The more we can convince everyone that things are normal, the better this will go.
He rolls his eyes, leans forward, and pecks me on the cheek as if I’ve asked him to kiss a toad.
My mother laughs. “Honestly, Edgar. No need to act like a prince just because I’m here. You can give her a real kiss goodbye.”
“Awesome,” Edgar sighs. He puts his hands on my shoulders, leans forward, and presses his lips against mine.
All I can think is: He’s not Oliver.
After a moment I pull away from him. Jules is glaring daggers at me. “Shall we?” she bites out. She grabs Edgar’s arm and yanks him roughly out the door.
We hear the front door close behind them when they leave the house. My mother turns to me. “Got a lot of homework?”
“Not really,” I say. When you don’t go to class, you don’t get homework.
“Well…it’s just the two of us for dinner. What do you say to a main course of popcorn, and one of our favorite films?”
I swallow back tears. “That sounds perfect,” I tell her. At this moment, all I want is to get under a pile of blankets and watch a classic Disney movie with my mom. All I want is to know that there’s at least one person left here for me.
So I’m missing my Doc Martens, the text from Jules reads. Do u think there’s a lost I like my guys flat.”
He sinks down against the rock wall, drawing his knees to his chest. “Wouldn’t it be lovely if we could write our own fairy tale?” Oliver muses.
I curl onto my side, propping the book against the pillow. “How would it start?”
“ ‘Once upon a time,’ of course,” he says. “We meet at…the market.”
“I ask you to reach the spaghetti on the top shelf,” I continue.
“And it’s love at first sight,” Oliver adds.
“What would we do?”
“Well,” Oliver says, “we’d live in a little cottage. With window boxes, where you’d plant violets. And every morning you’d cook me your amazing chocolate chip pancakes.”
“And what would you be doing for me while I’m slaving away in your sexist kitchen?” I ask.
“Someone has to take care of the baby,” Oliver replies.
“We have a kid?”
“Three. Two strapping lads and a little princess.”
I pull the covers close. “Do we have pets?”
“Only a dozen dogs,” Oliver says. “All basset hounds, of course.”
“Every day,” I add, “you go to work.”
“I do?” Oliver asks, truly surprised.
“Our country’s not a monarchy,” I point out. “The peasants aren’t going to pay for the college educations of your three kids.”
“What on earth do I do?”
I think for a moment. “You teach…fencing!”
“And you own the corner bookshop,” Oliver pronounces. “Filled to the rafters with fairy tales.”
“After every dinner, we tuck the children into bed, and drink a cup of tea and watch the news.”
“And the best part is at night, I get to hold you,” Oliver says. “And I know that I never, ever have to let go.”
“And we are absolutely, positively, blissfully ordinary.” I sigh.
He looks up at me, and I stare down at him, and even though we’re both smiling, there’s a whole world of sadness between us. “Oliver? Will you stay with me while I fall asleep?”
“Always,” he swears.
I put the book down on the pillow beside me, still wide open. One minute I’m awake and the next I’m not. It happens that fast, that effortlessly—like the moment night turns into morning, or summer shivers into fall. Like love.