Chapter 87 Deli #2
“Trey.” She said his name in the way she always had when she needed him to hear her.
“You haven’t answered my texts or my calls.”
“So you . . . flew to Scotland?”
“I needed to see you.”
She threw her hands in the air. “Why, Trey? What do you need from me that you don’t already have? What more could you possibly need from me?”
A peal of thunder rumbled above as Trey Evans did the last thing she expected. He dropped to one knee with a small box in his hand.
“Marry me.”
The vintage wedding ring that his mother had once carefully shown her—passed from daughter to daughter—sparkled against red velvet.
Deli’s eyes moved between the ring and Trey’s face, over and over, trying to understand. She saw him do a micro eye roll as he waited. He cleared his throat.
“Alright, alright. You were right. We’ve never been just friends. Only, I didn’t realize how serious your—my feelings were for you until you were gone, and it was like someone had severed my arm overnight.”
A picture of someone axe-chopping Trey’s arm off in his pristine bedroom bounced around her brain.
“I missed you. I told you that, to be fair—I think I texted you? It doesn’t matter—not important.
Then I saw that photo of you with someone else and I just .
. . I knew. I knew something was different.
I knew I loved you. And then a few days ago that article about you and him came out, I knew I couldn’t let you get away from me. ”
Trey dropped his head. When he looked at her again, finally sure of what he wanted, with the eyes made of ice and sky she’d loved for so long, Deli was sure, too.
“Will you marry me, Delilah MacDonald?”
Everything she’d ever wanted, finally hers for the taking.
She felt so much relief as she told Trey, “No.”
His smile turned brittle. “What?”
“Umm . . .” Deli tried to read his expression. He may not have heard her. It was getting windy. “Did you really not hear me, or . . . ?”
His nostrils flared. “What do you mean, no?”
“Is that . . .” She paused, squinting. “Is that a real question?”
Trey stood in an abrupt jolt. He waggled the ring in front of her face, then snapped it closed and shoved it in his coat pocket with an almost comical frown.
“I mean, seriously, Deli—what are you thinking?”
She was thinking so many things. He wouldn’t like most of them. “I’m thin—”
“Do you even know how many girls would kill to be in your position right now? And you said you loved me! That you’ve”—he mimicked her voice and air quoted—“‘always loved me.’ What happened to that, huh?”
He paced back and forth on the small walkway and ran his hands through his hair. There was so much product it stood in highlighted peaks after he pulled it through his fingers.
“I’ve been good to you, okay?” Trey’s voice was turning high and needy. “You know, I’ve turned down Chloe like three times!” He held up three fingers. “Three!”
As soon as he said it, it all made sense. Chloe had never been good at being happy for Deli if Deli had something Chloe wanted. Of course.
“And it’s like—what? Am I not good enough for you? You get a little attention from an inbred country giant and you think they’ll be lining up for you out there? Well, trust me”—he snorted—“they’re not.”
Trey tried to slice through her with his eyes, to level her with the look that always made her take it back, talk him down.
“Think about this, Delilah.” He poked himself very hard in the temple, many, many times. “Think.”
But Deli didn’t need to think. She finally, finally knew. She chuckled, and the look on his face turned it into a laugh.
“Don’t laugh!”
Trey squared his shoulders bravely and angled himself to look up at her with desperate, sad eyes. He delivered his line. “I don’t even know who you are anymore, Deli.”
“I know.” She put a hand on his cheek and kissed the other. “Isn’t it great?” She spun around, reaching for the handle.
“Wait . . .” Bravado leaked out of his voice. “Where are you going?”
“Trey, when I come back out here, I don’t want to see you anywhere near my house.”
“But!” He was the most baffled looking man alive. “We can still be friends, right?”
Deli stared in open astonishment at Trey and his . . . everything. She couldn’t believe, after so mortifyingly, heartbreakingly, unbearably long, she was free.
“Absolutely not.”
Then she turned to face her mother and slammed the door on Trey Evans.
“Have you lost your mind, Delilah?!” Lorraine’s face was turning red. “Trey has been magically convinced to propose to you, and you turn him down?”
Deli walked straight past her.
“Grandma?”
Rosemary McDonnell wrapped a hand around each of her forearms, pressed her forehead to her granddaughter’s, and whispered, “You still have time, Delilah.” Deli saw her grandmother cry for the first and the last time. “Don’t waste it.”
Deli nodded. “I love you. So much.”
Grandma Rosemary beamed and cupped Deli’s cheek, brushing a thumb across the freckles beneath her eye. “Oh, darling. You have no idea.”
Deli turned to Aunt Mo as the tears began to gather. “Aunt Mo?”
She stepped forward with a wicked grin. “Yes?”
“Sir Beans will be expecting postcards. Lots. With palm trees and shit.”
Aunt Mo tossed Deli a small, silver key ring. “Everything you need is already written down.”
“What are you talking about?” Lorraine snapped. “What’s going on?”
Then Deli faced her mother and took her in—a scared little girl who hated the cottage for everything it took from her. She wished she could take that pain away, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t go back and undo the things that had happened in her mom’s life.
She could only choose her own.
She closed the gap between them in two strides and wrapped her arms around her mother, who went completely stiff. Deli breathed in the smell of her shampoo. It had always been the same, her whole entire life.
“Mom, I love you. I love you.” She placed her hands on her mother’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “But I deserve better.”
“Well, I don’t know what you’re talking about, Delilah, but—”
Grandma Rosemary cut her off. “Oh, Lorraine, would you give it a rest?”
Deli opened the door as her mother spun on Grandma Rosemary. She slipped the keys in her pocket and peeked over her shoulder at her aunt, who was waiting with a grin. The air smelled like rain. Aunt Mo shooed Deli away and winked, mouthing, Go go go!
She got so far before her mother noticed, Deli could barely make out the sound of her voice.
“Delilah MacDonald, get back here!”
But Deli wasn’t listening.
Not anymore.