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“Are you serious? I’m going to go,” I say, getting up before I start screaming.
“You’re going to move home," she responds. “If it's the last thing I will do. I won’t have my daughter shame the family."
“I won't. Because I might be a whore but like I said, I'm an adult. And at least in Landon, you won’t have the rest of your church friends seeing what a disgrace I am.” I shoot back.
"Delilah—“
“And if you’re going to keep talking to me like this, don’t bother calling me anymore or expecting me to come here to see you anymore,” I look her in the eyes, hold her gaze despite her indignant expression. “I’m serious, Mom. I love you, but I’m going to live my life. And if you’re really that embarrassed, then so be it.”
I turn and walk out of the restaurant stomping back to the bus station. The next bus back to Landon doesn't leave for thirty minutes, so I just keep walking. I have nowhere to go but I’m itchy and restless. The hurt is expanding inside me. Especially because there might be some truth to the words.
What if that’s Oliver's end goal in helping me? To have easy access, someone to warm his bed? It's not like he would have to try very hard to get me in there, as humiliating as it is.
What if my mom is right and this is how it starts, but then eventually I’ll become someone who gets used to the comfort of wealth, like visiting fancy restaurants at the drop of a hat and being carted to the front of the line without any issues? What if when it's time to let go, I can't and I'll do anything to stay with him?
No, I tell myself, wiping my tears. I won't let myself get there. I need to get a job and get out. At the end of the month. No matter what, I’ll be leaving and that's that.
Chapter Ten
Oliver
Irapthecottagedoor, waiting for the answer. I could just walk in but I don't. I still feel unsettled by everything Melly said yesterday.
Creepy old man.
Is that how Delilah sees me? Like a creepy old man who offered her a place to stay in hopes of somehow taking advantage of her?
The very thought of it makes me sick. I’d rather put myself through the worst, torturous death before doing that to anybody. Especially Delilah. And the thought that that might be what she thinks kept me up most of the night.
It's nearly noon but that's because I almost didn't show up. I initially wasn't going to, giving myself time to think about how to deal with the situation, but the thought of soggy coffee shop doughnuts and tepid machine coffee for the rest of the day was unbearable. I was already dreaming about her food and eating anything else for the rest of my life seemed like a nightmare.
And I know I can't eat her food forever, but I can at least enjoy it while it lasts.
Besides, I'm a grown-ass man. I can control myself.
I'll simply tell myself that I won’t notice how pretty she looks in the sunlight, or how warm or homey. No long conversations and nothing too personal. Just eat and get out.
Although, when the door pulls open, it’s hard to remember that.
She’s wearing another sundress, damn it, and this one has honest to god sunflowers all over it. Combined with her hair, and those hazel eyes, she looks like every man’s fantasy come to life. A nice, soft woman to come home to, to relieve all the harshness of life. And she smells good too, a little like nutmeg and vanilla, but a lot like home.
Damn, this is going to be harder than I thought.
Parts of my body are already responding, and I’m pretty glad I wore my thick jeans today.
“Hey,” she says quietly, and that’s when I see the expression on her face. There’s something sad about her eyes even before she turns around to let me into the home.
“Hey yourself,” I say as I walk in after her, frowning at her back. “What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head, but I already figured that she wouldn’t tell me. I nearly sigh. If there's one flaw this girl has, it's that she gets moody and won't communicate why.
“Right,” I say, and I plan to find the best way to get her to part with her secrets.
And then I remember that I’m not supposed to care. This is precisely the problem with our relationship—if I keep asking her all kinds of questions about herself, I'm going to start getting attached, too involved with her problems. And then she might start expecting me to fix them all too.
While usually I would balk at the responsibility, I find I don't mind the expectation. Truly, she makes me want to fix the world up for her, fuck all my misgivings.
But I can’t do it. Because if it becomes a habit…then I’ll start to care more about her and that will be a disaster.
