Instrumental
Emmett
If you did not prove your friend many times to be a faithful loved one, do not reveal to your friend any matter that you conceal from your enemy, lest he change and become your enemy and reveal your secret.
Emmett doesn’t know what they’re doing.
Telling Delilah had been a risk. More than a risk. They hadn’t known what would happen—they could have turned to stone completely, or fallen apart at whatever seams held them together, for breaking some fundamental rule of their existence.
Delilah could have stared at them like they were something monstrous, her warmth turning to fear and horror.
But Delilah had made herself so vulnerable. She’d let Emmett in, shown them a secret part of herself, shared memories of a life-changing moment with a hesitant but no less steady voice. And all Emmett could think of was how much they wanted to give her something just as precious in return.
Maybe they should have thought more about it. Considered the potential consequences more clearly. But they’d said it, and they couldn’t take it back.
And Delilah had listened. Had looked at them, not with terror, but like they were something mystical and wonderful.
Had kissed them.
Sitting in the diner across from Delilah now, watching her slowly drown her pancakes in syrup, Emmett has to fight the instinct to reach up and touch their fingers to their lips at the memory.
No one had ever kissed them before.
“Emmett? You okay?”
Emmett snaps their head up. “Yes. Sorry. What?”
Delilah’s eyes sparkle behind her glasses, amusement clearly written in her smile. “Distracted?”
They kick her gently under the table in admonishment, and she laughs. “Eat your breakfast,” Emmett reminds her.
“Mm-hm.” She props her elbow on the table and rests her chin in her hand, watching them thoughtfully. “I’ll eat my breakfast if you let me ask you things.”
Emmett leans back, fingers curled around their mug of tea, soaking in the heat that seeps through the ceramic. They’ve never really noticed the cold before, but they don’t seem to be able to get warm this morning. “Go ahead. I’m an open book.”
“And you’ll definitely say no if you don’t want to answer it?”
Their heart twists. Delilah talks about herself with such casual cruelty, and Emmett can’t understand why. She might be a little sharp around the edges, might have a sense of humor that borders on mean, but she’s kind to the core, and they don’t know why she can’t see it. “I promise.”
“Good. Okay.” Delilah mirrors their posture, settling back with both hands wrapped around her coffee cup. “Okay. How old are you?”
“Twenty-one,” Emmett says promptly, and then, “Or several centuries. Depending on how you count.”
Her eyebrows pop up. “Okay, you can’t just say that and not tell me more.”
Emmett can’t help a smile. “The clay Jacob used to make me goes back a long time.”
“By that logic, we’re all millions of years old,” Delilah points out. “I mean, it’s been a while since I watched any Bill Nye the Science Guy, but isn’t that how matter works?”
Emmett shakes their head. “It’s clay that was used to make previous golems. Some of it, at least. It has—memory, I guess you could say?”
Her eyes light up. “Really?” At their nod, she leans forward. “What’s that like?”
Strange. Disorienting. Wonderful. Emmett swallows. “Pass?”
If Delilah is disappointed, it doesn’t show on her face. “Pass,” she agrees. “That’s fair.” She gives them a considering look. “If you’re made of clay, can you get wet?”
Emmett blinks, amused. “Yes.”
“How does that work?”
“By…not being literal?” Delilah frowns, and Emmett shrugs. “I can only tell you what I actually understand. Water doesn’t affect me.”
“Huh.” She studies them, eyes curious. She seems to be considering a question, but then she shakes her head, as if to herself, and says, “How much did Jacob’s family know about you?”
“Very little.” Emmett rubs a thumb over the rim of their mug. “His daughter Dana, from his first marriage, knew, because it was…kind of obvious. She studied Jewish folklore, she knew all her father’s stories, and she put two and two together when I turned up.”
Delilah’s expression falls. “I’m guessing she didn’t take it well.”
“No.” The fight had been horrible. Dana had accused Jacob of trying to replace her brother, had all but dared him to try replacing her mother too, and then demanded that Jacob get rid of Emmett, whatever it took.
When he’d refused, too caught up in his grief and pain to hear hers, she’d cut off all contact.
Jacob had only been allowed back into Dana’s life after her son was born, because she’d wanted baby Isaac, named for the uncle he’d never meet, to know his grandfather.
She’d made it clear that Emmett was not invited to any family reunions.
They blink to clear away the memory. “No one else knew. Not until just before he died. He wasn’t quite—all there, in those last days.
I was in the room with him, with his wife and his younger daughter, and he started talking to me about—about what he wanted me to do.
I tried to stop him, but he was insistent, and when they asked me if it was true… ”
“You couldn’t lie,” Delilah guesses.
“No.” And if Emmett has to think too much about the bewildered hurt on Ruth’s face, they might break down completely, for all they’re not actually even sure they can cry. “Can we do an easier question?”
“Yes. Absolutely.” Delilah sips her coffee, puts her cup down, and says, “Was last night your first kiss?”
Emmett nearly drops their own mug. “Delilah.”
She laughs, bright and brilliant. “What? You said to ask an easier question. Do they come any easier?”
Cursing whatever mysticism had inspired Jacob to give them the ability to blush, of all things, Emmett says, “No comment.”
“Is that a yes?”
“It’s a no comment.”
Delilah grins. “Okay.”
To Emmett’s relief, their waitress drifts back toward them, and they busy themself with finishing their tea while Delilah takes care of the check.
The air is crisp and bright outside when they leave the diner, and Delilah, shivering a little, loops her arm through Emmett’s.
She looks up at them as if waiting to be shaken off, her uncertain expression so at odds with the confident way she’s tucked herself into their side, and Emmett can’t think of anything to do other than pull her a bit closer.
The sun slips out from behind a cloud, but Delilah’s beaming smile is even brighter.
“Do you want me to drive again?” Emmett asks as they reach the van. Delilah slips her arm out of theirs so that she can dig through her bag for the keys. “So that you can keep working on your songs?”
“You don’t mind?”
Emmett shakes their head. “I enjoyed it yesterday. And I like listening to your friend’s podcast.”
“She’ll be delighted to hear that, once she’s done yelling at me for hooking up with you in the first place.
” Delilah unlocks the van, then hands the keys to Emmett.
“But sure. That would be great. Thank you.” Emmett nods, reaching for the driver’s side door, but Delilah catches their hand. “Wait a sec?”
Emmett turns back toward her, a question already on their lips, but it’s lost in the soft press of Delilah’s mouth against theirs as she slips her other hand around to the back of their neck and draws them down to her.
If Emmett thought that last night’s long, lingering kisses had been enough to make kissing Delilah anything less than a breathless surprise, that first brush of lips proves them wrong.
It’s a sweet kiss, slow and careful, but Emmett still feels almost dizzy when Delilah finally steps back, looking up at them with a hesitant smile.
Emmett has to swallow twice before they manage, “What was that for?”
Delilah shrugs. “I just wanted to see if I could.”
They reach out and tuck a few strands of dark hair behind Delilah’s ear, her skin flushed and warm under their fingertips.
“Consider this permission,” Emmett says. “You can.”