Page 30 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

“If they need me to be their punching bag, so be it. If you need me to be your punching bag, then please take your shots. I knew you were hurting back then. I saw those early social media posts, but hearing from everyone and your mother—I didn’t realize the full repercussions of my disappearance.” Our knees are too far to touch. I do the next best thing and move my foot until my socked toe nudges the tip of her blue running shoes. “Please tell me about that time. I need to know what happened.”

The blackout years. Zero social media posts, aside from two pictures on other people’s timelines. In one, Delilah was grinning, sandwiched on a couch at someone’s house. In the other she was blurry and off to the side, holding a SOLO cup, eyes drooping like she was tired.

Like those suffocating days, I need to learn the extent of Delilah’s downward spiral. I need to understand how hard I have to work to replace those bad memories with better ones.

She presses her hand to her stomach, closes her eyes briefly. “I’ll say this once, because it needs to be said. Then I don’t want you ever asking me about that time again. No questions about those couple of years after you left.”

It’s a tough ask. I’ve spent a decade obsessing over the possible what-ifs of that time. Her mother’s fury only inflamed my need to understand what Delilah endured, but if this is what she needs to let me back into her life, I don’t have a choice. For now. “You have my word.”

She nods once and focuses on my face. “Losing you wrecked me. Not knowing what happened to you broke something inside of me so epically I shut everyone out. I started partying, drinking a lot, and making a lot of bad decisions. I wouldn’t listen to my mother, and my grades dropped. I—” She firms her jaw. “It wasn’t good. What happened wasn’t your fault, but it’s hard for me to separate all that pain from the relief and happiness of seeing you alive and well. I’m not sure why you came back here, but if it’s for us, to rekindle what we had, I can’t go back there again. It’s too hard for me. And I’m engaged. Happily,” she adds, punctuating the comment with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

I understand her engagement vehemence. She clearly needs this boundary to deal with my reappearance, but adding the happy part and fake smile is overkill. She’s forcing cheer. For her sake or mine, I’m not sure. Either way, my abdomen hollows out to make room for her confession, a place for her upsetting admission to sink in—Delilah drinking, lashing out, hating everyone and everything because I vanished from her life.

I have no doubt I’ll relive those details and how firmly she said I can’t go back there again. I’ll give those moments their fair due and run later like my life depends on it. Right now I need to erase that broken look from Delilah’s face. Which makes this the perfect time to cross off numbers four and nine from my Win Back Delilah list:

4. Reinstate our BFF status.

9. Unleash my endearing humor to make her laugh.

Clinging to the one positive thing from her confession, I say, “So you’re relieved and happy I’m okay?”

She sniffles and rolls her eyes. “Of course you focused only on that.”

“It was the best part of what you said.”

“I’m engaged, E.”

“I know.” Even though she’s lying now, that ring at the airport was real. She loved someone else enough to offer him forever. The awareness is another boulder shoved into my hollowed stomach, as is the fact that I can’t console her. If we weren’t playing her I’m Still Engaged game, I’d tell her she made the right choice. She deserves better than a man who steamrolls over her and usurps their relationship.

Since she needs this safety net, I say, “It’s a lovely ring.”

She doesn’t reply, just keeps her eyes on the fake jewelry. She looks a bit angry and a lot sad and hasn’t even sipped her beer.

Keeping my distance from her is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Distance I need to bridge. “The past ten years, I’ve learned how precious time is. I know being around me again is hard. And trust me when I tell you: being everyone’s human dartboard is no fun. But after seeing you at the airport, I couldn’t go back to pretending you don’t exist. I can’t continue living that lie. If you’re happy with your fiancé”—if she’s happier being without me—“then I understand. I won’t pretend I don’t want more. I wish we could try again, see if there’s still something between us, but I won’t push for that. Not while you’re engaged. I will, however, push for this.”

I drop down to one knee and hold out my hand for hers.

Have you ever watched those horror movies where the main character realizes the scary dude on the phone is actually in her house? That’s the best way to describe Delilah’s horror-struck expression. And I love it. I still have the power to take her mind off her sadness and replace that pain with indignation.

Doing my best impression of a nineteenth-century nobleman, I say, “Would you, Delilah Mars, do me the honor of being my friend again?”

She fumes my favorite fume, gives me her squinty face—like she hates that nickname and the stupid stunt I’m pulling—but she doesn’t tell me to take a hike. (Exactly why I left “call Delilah by the nickname she hated but secretly loved” on my list.)

She stands, ignoring me on my bended knee. “I should get going.”

“But you barely asked me any questions.”

“Yeah, well. It’s been a long day.”

I jump up when she moves. Both a bad and excellent decision. Light headed from jumping and having Delilah this close, I stumble. Delilah tries to dodge me and winds up grabbing my arm. Some might call this an awkward kerfuffle. (Mostly ninety-year-olds who love watching I Love Lucy.) I call it Life finally giving me a break. My hands come to Delilah’s hips, steadying us both. Her hands move to my chest. She breathes harder. I barely breathe at all.

“Be my friend,” I whisper. “Please.”

Her fingers move over my pecs. Just a smidge. And yeah. She’s feeling my body, the harder lines that weren’t there ten years ago. Abruptly, she shoves past me, her cheeks pink. “Fine, E. We can be friends. I’ll see you around.”

It doesn’t take her long to reach my door and yank it open.

I, of course, can’t leave well enough alone. Even after our tough conversation, my default setting is Flirt with Delilah. Before she leaves, I call, “Just so you know, from one friend to another, I have a six-pack now.”