Page 60 of And Now, Back to You

I sigh. “Fair enough.”

Delilah and I haven’t had a live broadcast since that first one at the studio, but we’re supposed to hit the air today. Twice.

I’m trying not to think too much about it.

“So? Tell us. How many days of school are we going to miss? We have a bet going.”

Pots clank in the background. Maya darts by with a box of pancake mix above her head and Aiden’s hand reaches out, snagging it without turning from the stove.

“Who bet what?” I ask.

“That’s cheating,” Penelope says, chin tilted up. “Just tell us what you know and let the chips fall as they may.”

“Have you finalized those bets?” I ask. “This feels like insider trading.”

Adeline and Penelope immediately descend into a spirited argument about what constitutes cheating and how this is just like that summer three years ago, when we were at the beach, and Adeline thought that the ice-cream place would take ten minutes, but Penelope thought it would take fifteen and—

I zone out a bit. I let their happy chatter fill the space around me and drink the rest of my coffee. I’m content. Relaxed. It’s why I don’t notice my critical mistake until it’s too late.

With the way my phone is propped up, there’s a clear shot of the bathroom door in the background. The door creaks open and Delilah shuffles out, wrapped in a thick white towel, her hair wet and loose around her shoulders. Her pajamas are bundled in a ball against her chest, and she tucks some of her hair behind her ear, kicking her suitcase back open.

“I used your shampoo,” Delilah declares, her back to me as she pokes around in her suitcase. I can see the smooth column of her spine where she’s bent over. Pale, pale skin. The stretch of her thighs beneath the terry cloth of the towel.

“It smelled good and I think I forgot mine. Is it sandalwood?” she babbles on as I sit unmoving, my coffee mug raised to my mouth. “Never mind. I don’t know what sandalwood smells like. It was more—oh.” She turns halfway. “Are you on the phone?”

She’s lowered her voice to a whisper, but it’s already too late. On the screen, both of my sisters are open-mouthed. They remain motionless for a beat, and then matching delighted smiles light up their faces.

“Is that a woman?” Penelope asks.

“Is that Delilah Stewart?” Adeline’s question is approximately sixteen octaves higher, shrieked at a volume that is earsplitting.

Delilah cuts a sharp look at me, waiting for instruction. I am frozen, immobile. Entirely unhelpful.

She rolls her eyes and straightens, clinging to her towel so hard her knuckles are white. Her wet hair paints rivers down her skin, tiny droplets of water tracing along her collarbones.

Delilah gives a wobbly smile. “I am both a woman and Delilah Stewart, yes. Um . . . hello.”

I flinch. Aiden’s stupid, smug face immediately fills the screen. “Something you want to share with the class, bud?”

A hand pushes his forehead out of the way and it’s Lucie, smiling like a maniac. “Hi, Delilah! Good to see you again.”

Delilah gives me a faintly pleading look. We have a brief conversation with our eyes.

What’s happening right now?

I don’t know.

What should we do?

I don’t know.

Are you going to say anything?

I don’t know.

Delilah huffs and moves closer so she’s fully in the screen. She stands behind my chair in her towel, smelling like my soap and warm skin. Fuck.

“There was something in the closet,” she explains. “At the other hotel.”