37. Delia
Thirty Seven
Delia
L angdon looked so sad when he talked about Olivia. I’d never seen him so sad before. It was like his pilot light blew out just thinking about losing his sister. He pointed out the path that led to his house in the back field as we sat on the bench where my mom and Daniel carved their initials. Before he left, I gave him my new phone number and told him he could text me if he wanted. He promised to take me to my dad’s house soon so I could see it.
I’m impatient and determined and I really wanted to jump in Langdon’s truck and have him bring me over to the cabin right that moment, but he insisted that I shouldn’t jeopardize my first day of grounding. And he was right. I didn’t want to test Gramps’s patience.
Gramps rolled up to the house not even thirty minutes after Langdon left. Probably for the best. Although he brought over my homework for the day I don’t think Gramps would have been pleased to see that I’d had someone over when I’m supposed to be grounded.
He shuffles out of the truck and I notice how tired he looks. How old he seems. I wonder if it’s stress. Stress from my mom appearing and then disappearing. Stress from suddenly having a teenage granddaughter that he didn’t know. Stress from said granddaughter getting kicked out of school for a day for fighting. Just a whole lot of upheaval in his life, out of the blue. Poor guy.
I rush out the door, down the steps, and help him schlep the grocery bags into the house.
In the kitchen we put the items away together quietly. I occasionally ask where something goes because I’m still learning the house. My house. I have a house. A home. A Gramps and a crush and friends.
And no Mom. I push the last thought out of my head.
I have a mom, she’s just missing at the moment and honestly, the rest of the list makes me feel better than harping on the last part.
After dinner, I take my pile of papers up to my bedroom, put one of Langdon’s playlists on and get my homework done. My heart and brain aren’t in it and it takes longer to finish than normal. I’m still exhausted .
I slip out of my clothes and flop into bed in my underwear. I pull the blankets up to my chin and close my eyes for a moment.
Langdon texts me Goodnight .
I grin and set the phone on the nightstand. I fall asleep thinking of the feeling of Langdon’s fingers wound through mine.
Gramps lets me go to work which is nice. But Langdon’s not at work on the weekends so it’s just me and Viv—again—it’s nice but also, boring.
There’s no tension, no awkward flirting, no banter. But Lyra stops in during my lunch break and eats with me. I’m pumped to show her my phone and get the scoop on the day after the punching that I missed.
Technically Gramps didn’t mention whether or not I could have friends over to work and Viv doesn’t seem to mind. When we’re done eating Lyra leaves and I get all my tasks done early so Viv says I can leave early.
Gramps comes to pick me up. I wait on the sidewalk in front of RootBound for him to arrive. It’s a sunny day out and still warm enough to be comfortable with a light coat on but Main Street is dead.
I text Langdon back.
Work’s boring without you to irritate .
My phone vibrates as I’m tucking it back in my pocket.
LOL I’ve had the best relaxing day—weird.
Ouch I respond.
JK. What are you doing now? His text pops up.
Waiting for Gramps to pick me up. See you tomorrow?
Gramps truck rumbles toward me, slows, and pulls to the curb. I tuck my phone into my pocket and hop in the clunky old truck.
“How was work?” he asks as he directs the truck into the nonexistent traffic.
“Slow today. Just me and Viv.”
Gramps nods. “Hungry?”
“I could eat. What’s for dinner?” I ask. I brace myself for the pothole he’s sure to hit. He does and my head bonks my arm as it grips the ‘oh shit’ handle near the door. Gramps mutters something not gentlemanly.
“I thought you could surprise me. Do you cook?”
I laugh. “Really? I mean, yeah I can, but do you really want me to make dinner?”
Gramps turns onto our road. “I do. I’m tired tonight. Don’t even care what you concoct just as long as I can sit for a bit.”
My brows furrow. “Are you okay?”
He waves me off and nods. “Just fine. Old and tired is all.”
A tremor of panic streaks through my veins. “Gramps. Are you sure?”
He glances at me from the corner of his eye. “Teenagers have a lot of… energy. Can’t a man just be old and tired without being on death’s doorstep?”
I bite my bottom lip and nod. “Sure. Sure, they can. Do you like homemade mac and cheese? I make the best cheese sauce.”
Gramps went to bed early causing another small wave of panic in my belly. I retired to my room, too anxious to sit and watch TV alone downstairs. My brain is haywire—too many thoughts and feelings pummeling through me. Conflicting emotions attack my nervous system. I’m curled up on the window seat. It’s a still, dark night. The ottoman—dated and wrinkled—looks lonely perched just out of reach of my feet. I grab my notebook to write a little.
I fear my ottoman resembles an anus. The center pucker is…brown and wrinkled.
A current of anger winds through me but I’m not sure why or at what. I feel sore and tired and unappreciated, even if the latter is untrue, it is how I feel.
This feeling—this dissatisfaction—it’s a clever torture the universe delivers. Do I deserve it? Is Mom leaving a punishment? I miss her. I miss our life before here.
Simple and boring.
I like it here, Gramps house feels like a home. I like the friends I’ve made and my job, but still…something’s missing. A current of dissatisfaction always present.
I think it’s Mom. Or rather, her absence.