Page 9 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

When people hurt, you absorb their pain. My mother’s words rang in my ears as I gathered the pieces Delilah dropped, unable to leave them on the road. I took them home, glued them back together, and left the mutated-looking horse in the grass by the chicken coop, where Delilah went first thing in the morning.

I hadn’t memorized her schedule because I liked Delilah Moon. Enemies needed to keep track of their rivals’ schedules. Ensure they didn’t catch you by surprise. I certainly didn’t like watching her mimic the rooster’s crows every morning. I hated when she’d stop to watch the sunrise, the candy-floss glow breaking over her upturned face.

The morning I left Little Gracie by the coop and Delilah’s head whipped to my house, her squinty eyes traveling up to my window, and she bit her lip, I definitely didn’t like the swooping feeling in my stomach.

Later that morning, she caught up with me on the walk to the bus and said, “Edgar sucks. I’m gonna call you E.”

Definitely a solid four on my Top Ten Best list.

Today, as I chew my cuticles bloody and test how deep I can dig my nails into my palm before my eyes water—the answer: as long as it takes to quit stumbling down Delilah Memory Lane—I do my best to blank my mind. This flight can’t end soon enough. The second I get home, I’ll be going for a three-hour run. Maybe a double marathon. But as the plane hits the runway and taxis to our arrival gate, I suddenly don’t want to unclick my seat belt.

I pull out my phone and message Lennon: I don’t want to leave her again.

He blows out a rough breath.

Him: I know. I’m sick about this for you.

Me: We were supposed to be forever.

Him: And you would’ve been. I have no doubt about that. I wish I could say something to help besides this sucks.

Being this close yet far from Delilah more than sucks. In mere minutes, this fleeting glimpse of her will be gone. She’ll drive from the airport to Windfall, clueless to the fact that Lennon and I have been behind her for one hour and forty-eight heart-crushing minutes. We’ll grab our connecting flight to Houston, where the US Marshals stashed us. A big city with big action, where a family with five pissed-off boys could vanish into thin air.

I don’t want to go back to that fabricated life. I don’t want to leave this narrow airplane seat that has zero back support and smells like an old lady’s plastic-covered sofa. I’m behind Delilah Moon and don’t want to go back to pretending I’ve forgotten her, when my memories and feelings are as strong as ever. Except that isn’t quite right, is it? My feelings aren’t as strong as ever. My love for Delilah is stronger than ever. Every precious memory has marinated for ten long years. Gained nuance, flavor.

The captain’s talking, but it’s tough to make out the words over the sound of my rib cage caving in. To make matters worse, it smells like Orange Jeans Guy applied Eternity on his last bathroom trip. No big deal, you might think. He could smell like Desmond’s jockstrap after one of his football games. Wouldn’t that be worse? The answer is a resounding no. Eternity is the same cologne I stole from Desmond to impress Delilah for our first time together—our final, perfect night. The absolute best and worst night of my life. And this space-invading guy is bringing it all back.

The seat belt sign shuts off. Passengers stand and reach for the overhead bins. Delilah’s still sitting, saying something to her nice neighbor, and I make a flash decision.

I nudge Lennon and shoot him a message.

Me: I’m doing this. Talking to her after.

Him: We already decided you weren’t.

Me: WE didn’t decide anything. Not talking to her will make me feel even worse, and I’m calmer now.

Him: What about the fact that she’s having a pretty shit day? You think now’s a good time to be all . . . surprise, I’m not dead!

He makes an annoyingly valid point. One hour and forty-eight minutes of a flight, and I didn’t spend one second of that time figuring out how to approach her without making this tough day tougher for her. I bounce my knee. Sweat gathers under my armpits. Rationally I should let sleeping dogs lie, but I just . . . can’t. There’s too much history to let this moment escape.

Me: Even if seeing me is rough, she’ll finally have some closure. How can I deny her that?

Lennon grunts, then sighs.

Him: For the record, I think this is a mistake. Nothing good will come of it for you or her, but you’re gonna do it no matter what I say. Just be quick and discreet.

Damn straight, I’m doing this. I’m going to speak to Delilah Moon after all these years. Say her name and see those blue, blue eyes up close. And this could be good for her. Insight into our past might give her clarity for her future.

Nervous but pumped, I try to come up with a killer opener so she doesn’t crumble or dick-punch me. All I think is gray. Why did I wear my gray Coca-Cola shirt today? I don’t even like Coca-Cola, and there isn’t a worse color on this planet for sweat stains.

Thanks again, Life.

Delilah’s up and quickly moving out of her row. Too fast for me to fall in behind her. I do the only logical thing and dive across Orange Jeans Guy. He curses. My hand touches something it shouldn’t.

“Sorry, sorry,” I say as I get into the aisle. “But serves you right for hogging my space.”

He glowers at me.