Chapter 29 #2
“I said it to Delaney.” The admission tightens in my chest, and a lump forms in my throat. I don’t speak her name to anyone and only give myself the occasional permission to even think about her. “I said it as if it pertained to her.”
It’s the subtle things—the soft sigh, the corners of her eyes that lower, the thoughtful pause—that tell me what I already know. I fucked up. “That’s not a very nice thing to say to someone you care about.”
It’s the disappointment heard in her tone that hurts. “No. It’s not.”
Peering up at me, she asks, “Is that why you’re no longer together?”
“It’s one of many things. It’s complicated.
” I repeat what I told the doctor as if that somehow justifies it.
“She eats cookies for dinner and spaghetti and meatballs for dessert, wears leggings around like they’re regular pants, has kleptomaniacal tendencies when it comes to my T-shirts, and leaves knickknacks around the penthouse.
How does that even make sense to anyone else? ”
She takes a sip of wine, but I have a feeling it’s to cover her laughing.
I wasn’t allowed to walk into certain rooms if they were freshly vacuumed, so I assume she would side with me.
When she lowers her glass, she says, “What a wonderfully unique young woman.” I assumed wrong.
It’s hard to be upset when she’s siding with Sass, though.
“You don’t understand. She’s walking chaos in human form, a tornado that comes through, leaving dirty dishes and Cheez-it boxes in her wake. She lit my Radafo art piece like it was a candle from Bath and Body Works. The artist has died. It’s irreplaceable.”
“I never liked that piece, but it’s wax, Warner. When it’s burned through, you can have it refilled. Problem solved.”
“It was an investment piece, Mother.”
“Art should be about evoking emotion, not hoping it gains in value.”
I release the heaviest of sighs. “Well, it evoked an emotion, alright.”
“Listen, son, not one thing you’ve said about sweet Delaney would make me dislike her.
If anything, I like her more for her carefree spirit.
” She leans in and whispers, “She changed you in ways that you’re oblivious to, but I give her credit.
The changes are good. You smile more, well, more lately.
I know it was tough in the beginning. You had people sign your cast, and you didn’t give them strict instructions or require the same color.
I’ve not reversed a meal order like she has, but maybe that’s something we can try next time we meet for dinner. ”
“Dessert first?”
“I love a good apple pie à la mode and New York-style cheesecake. What’s your favorite dessert, Warner?”
Delaney. Not something I can say to my mother. “Double chocolate cookies.”
She starts back on her pork chop and says, “I love chocolate. Where do you get those?”
“I know a place. Maybe I can take you some time.”
“I’d like that.” She takes a bite. I do, too, but when she finishes, she adds, “What are the chances of you and Delaney mending fences?”
Making peace? I can’t say I thought it was a possibility.
She went her way, and I went mine. Neither of us made the effort to contact the other again, although I have passed by more recently.
I haven’t seen her the past two times I walked by Bayetti’s, which makes me wonder where she is, though I have no right to ask.
“I don’t think she wants peace because of how it ended. She wouldn’t even fight with me.”
“My dear Warner. Have you ever thought that she didn’t argue as a way of sparing you more pain?” No, that hadn’t crossed my mind because it didn’t seem like an issue prior, but I’m in a different place these days with the distance between me and the pain that haunted me.
“It’s not like that. She wouldn’t even answer my questions. I was left to fill in the blanks after she left, and that didn’t do me any favors.”
Reaching over, she covers my hand with hers on the table. “It makes me wonder what the answers involve. She was smitten with you. You didn’t see it, but everyone else did. So playing devil’s advocate, maybe she was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“Yourself. If there’s one thing I know for certain, it’s that you are looking for reasons to close yourself off from the world.
” Resting her hand on her chest, she says, “That’s my fault.
It’s your father’s. You always had to deal with things yourself, so you learned that if the walls were strong enough and taller than anyone else, no one could scale them or hurt you inside.
I’m sorry I wasn’t a better mother. I don’t have an excuse, but I will tell you that you are my greatest joy in life. ”
I never expected to bond with my mom on a deeper level. But we have simply by spending more time together. I regret that we didn’t start doing this sooner. I look at her, the face that smiles every time she sees me, and smile right back. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Warner.”
We eat some of our dinner before she adds, “You have a brilliant mind for business, but making more money won’t make you happier.”
I swallow the bite and ask, “What will?”
“You already know the answer.”
I do. She’s been the answer all along. I just refused to ask the question before now. “What if it’s too late and I’ve lost her for good?”
“It’s funny you knew exactly who I was speaking of.” She’s tricky, this one. I grin. “It’s never too late for true love. But you need to show her that she’ll always be safe with you. Love and security. The rest comes naturally.”
Loving Delaney is the easy part. Proving I deserve a second chance is more difficult. Words—lies and mistruths, bad mantras thrown out like they were meant when they weren’t—got us here. It’s going to take more than words to win her back. “Oh shit. What if Delaney is seeing someone else?”
“She’s not,” she says, raising her glass to take another sip. “Your old mom did the research her son should have done more than a month ago.”
It’s good to know she has my back.
I take the train home from dinner, wanting the detour into the city I never visit anymore. It gives me time to think about all that was said at dinner, and what’s happened since Delaney left. It’s not been good without her, but so much has improved because she was once a part of my life.
She’s not seeing anyone, according to my mom.
Maybe it’s a miracle or the sign I’ve been waiting for to spur me into action. Perhaps it’s learning that Delaney Bayetti hasn’t moved on. Like me.