Page 96 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

I shake my head at her dramatics, smiling at my ceiling, not wanting to hang up. “Thanks for calling tonight,” I say softly.

“Thanks for listening, and for giving me the space I needed.”

“Whenever you need to talk, I’m always here,” I murmur, imagining her head is cradled on my chest, her arms wrapped tightly around me. “That’s what friends are for.”

That’s what relationships are for too. Being a sounding board, instead of forcing your wants and opinions on your partner. Being there to learn, not just lead. Attributes I hope Delilah considers before I return to Windfall and ask if she’ll give us another chance.

THIRTY-THREE

After two unsuccessful weeks searching for Desmond, I’ve resumed my Head of the Family spot, standing in front of my TV. The faces turned toward me are resigned. No one knows when or how we’ll find Des. I’m starting to think Sandra wasn’t grinding my gears with her advice to quit looking for him. If someone doesn’t want to be found, the best way to find them is to wait. Do nothing, because doing something might push them further away.

“So,” I tell my family, less firm and confident than the last time I usurped this spot of power. “I’m leaving today, heading back to Windfall.” Where I may or may not have my heart rebroken. “Before I go, I have something to show you.”

“If it’s that beard,” Lennon says, “we’ve all seen it, and it’s pitiful.”

I don’t react. He’s pissed I ask him to play truth or dare daily. I also refuse to shave until I have Delilah back. “You’re just jealous I can grow a better beard than you.”

He scoffs. “In your dreams.”

“E’s beard is definitely better,” Cal says, “but you’d still win a hipster contest.”

Lennon crosses his arms and glowers.

I massage my dark beard, smirking. “While I do have an exceptional beard, I also have a new graphic novel to show you all.”

“E, that’s so great.” Mom isn’t facing the window, giving us her back. She sounds pleased for me and my professional progress, but she looks tired.

“Does that mean Sathya’s not still avoiding you like the plague you are?” Lennon gives me his best suck-on-that face.

“Better question,” Jake says, butting in, “why do you look as nervous as the time you asked me if getting a rash on your dick after shaving it means you have syphilis?”

First, I was fourteen and had a fear of STDs. Avett told me, while privately laughing his ass off, that his cousin’s penis shriveled and fell off from syphilis. Second, I read an article that said women only liked men who manscaped, and I was determined for Delilah to like me. The article didn’t say shit about some men having sensitive skin and needing to moisturize.

To Jake, I say, “Fuck off.” To the rest of them, I say, “Sathya and I are cool. She didn’t want to do the prequel and has some family stress. Long story, but she backed out of our contract, which left us in a tight spot. My new project will smooth those waters, but I won’t publish it if you don’t give me the okay.”

Sathya knows the deal. We’ve talked a couple of times this week, mostly so I can ask how her mother’s doing. While her prognosis is good, bills are piling up. I want nothing more than to help her and her family, but I can’t throw mine under the bus in the process.

I hold my satchel against my chest, my laptop tucked safely inside. Sharing newly finished work is always daunting. Having my family read the depths of my despair in those early days and learn about Delilah’s suffering is extra tough, especially when I don’t know where Delilah and I stand.

For the past week and a half, we’ve talked daily, laughing together and sharing more about tougher times. I ache with how much I miss her. I know we’ve made progress, but neither of us has broached the topic of our future. Regardless of our undeniable friendship, I might always remind Delilah of her worst days.

Either way, I told her I couldn’t talk again until I returned to Windfall. The rest of what needs saying has to be said face to face. Before any of that happens, I need to share my graphic novel with my family.

“The story I wrote is about me,” I tell them, forcing my spine straight. “It’s about all of us.”

Silence drops. Actually, no. Jake’s wheezy breaths from the time he broke his nose on Desmond’s fist fill the room. That fun-filled Bower boys’ night was the eve of Desmond’s first date with Sadie. Jake thought it would be funny to superglue Desmond’s jar of hair gel shut.

“Publish whatever you want,” Jake says. “Better you get in the last word than our piece of shit father.”

Lennon smirks his hipster smirk. “Publish that baby. At least your tell-all will come with pictures.”

Mom’s cheeks have more color in them. “One hundred percent.”

Cal stands, walks over to me, and grips my shoulders. I obviously opened the door to this move. Now we’re all arm grippers. “I’m proud of you, E. Writing that down couldn’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t, and there’s stuff in here that will upset you all. Stuff about me and about Delilah. Please read it before you agree.”

They trade wary looks. The last thing my family needs is another painful shock, but they’ve had two weeks to acclimatize to the Desmond bomb. It’s time they learn about this.