With Delaney asleep and Gram asleep, I went back to my bedroom.
I went to the side window and opened the curtains and blinds. I took a flashlight and started to flick the light on and off. I did it ten times and waited.
The light in the bedroom directly across from me turned on.
The curtains opened, followed by the window.
I waved.
Lilah rubbed her eyes and waved at me.
I didn’t feel all that bad for waking her up. She had done it to me a million times.
Out of all the girls at school who thought I was cute because Delaney was cute… it really didn’t matter. I liked the attention. Lilah knew that. She pretended like it didn't bother her, but it did.
But for me, it was simple.
Those girls at school could smell like flowers and all that. And they could look how they look.
But they weren’t Lilah.
She wasn’t just the girl who lived next door.
She was the girl I loved.
Chapter 32
Say It All Again
NOW
(Amelia)
… if there’s a chance to love you, I’d risk my life. If I could find the right words, I would repeat them every day until I could no longer speak. If I could just touch you… to know I feel whole…
I had spent the better part of the day putting together a story based on the letter to Delilah. I had nothing to lose. I told Bel I wasn't interested in offering anything to her about the letter. This was for me. This came with no pressure. This was for fun. Just to write and get something done. All these visions in my mind about the letter and I wanted to do something with it.
When it was done… well, I had no plan and that was okay.
But those last few words of the letter rang in my mind.
There came a point in the day where I needed to decide what to do. Go for more coffee. Or switch to a different kind of drink.
Josh made the decision for me when he asked me to come over.
Just seeing his words on my phone screen made my heart jump.
He was forever the greatest story. The story I would never write. The story that I would keep to myself or keep between he and I.
I had no idea what was happening between us. Or what I wanted it to be. Or what he wanted it to be. What I did know was that when he touched me, it felt good. When he kissed me, it felt good. When I got to see his artwork, it made me feel good about my writing. And maybe in some way, I wanted to write something for him to read. Nothing about an animal with wings that could talk. But a real story. Something for him.
Maybe he would read my story about Delilah and enjoy it.
There was always an anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach as I knocked on his door. I suddenly worried about how I looked. I touched my hair, wondering if my messy bun was too messy. I touched my cheeks, wondering if a little makeup wouldn’t have been the worse thing in the world. Of course, I was in an old hoodie and old jeans.
Couldn’t have worn something nice, Amelia? Something with a low-cut neck maybe?
The door opened and Josh stood there looking as messy as me.
It was instant relief and I smiled.
He wore a gray t-shirt with black and white splotches on it. His jeans had rips in the knees and paint stains on the thighs. His left arm was in the air, leaning against the open door, a beer bottle in his hand.
He was everything dangerous and wild.
He was everything I’d ever wanted.
“Is that new?” I asked and pointed to a large piece of paper that hung from an easel.
“Just a concept,” he said. He twisted off the cap on two fresh beers. “I’m always trying to outdo myself. To challenge myself.”
“I like it. I like that it’s dark. Like penciled sketches.”
“Too bad everyone likes color,” he said. “Color catches the eye and attention. The black and white makes you stop and think.”
“Something tells me you don’t care though," I said.
“Never do,” Josh said with a wink.
He slid the bottle to me.
I caught it and took a drink.
“I started writing something new,” I said. “Nothing good or concrete, but something.”
“That’s good to hear. What’s it about?”
I shook my head. “I’ll show you when it’s done.”
“Is it about a beaver that swings a sword?” Josh asked.
“Are you making fun of me?”
“Maybe a little.”
“And that makes me want to tell you what I’m writing about?” I said. “Sure.”
Josh laughed. “Well, maybe I’ll just take the lead here, love.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Follow me,” he said.
He walked through the entire apartment and went right for his bed. I was okay with that for both the right and wrong reasons.
The apartment was dimly lit. It was so comfortable and cozy.
Josh sat down on the edge of the bed.
“You know small pieces of my life,” he said. “And what you saw the other day just…”
“Delaney,” I whispered.
“Yeah. You saw the dates too.”
"I did,” I said. “Three years old…”
“Delaney was my sister,” Josh said.
“Oh, Josh.”
“Just wait a second," he said. He stood up. “This was a time even before you, love. My grandmother took care of me. I told you about me and her. I was a tough kid. She was painting. What it did for me. I also told you about her Parkinson’s. How one day she just started shaking and could no longer paint. But there was something in between all of that. I never talked about it. That was Delaney.”
“And you’re going to talk about it now?" I asked.
“I don't know what there is to talk about, Amelia. My father would come and go as he pleased. I think in my grandmother’s heart she truly believed one time he would just show up and be different. Because when he’d come back, he would be different.
