Astrid’s expression went from questioning to hurt in two seconds flat. Delilah could feel Claire’s worry radiating next to her, the warmth of it like a homemade quilt.
“We were so excited for you, I guess we forgot to ask for proposal details,” Claire said, trying to save the moment. She reached across the table and squeezed Astrid’s hand. “Tell us now.”
Astrid relaxed, but only a little. She sighed and took two gulps of wine before waving her hand through the air. “He asked and I said yes. That’s about it.”
“That’s about it,” Iris said, her voice flat. “And you let him get away with that? You, who once dumped a guy, at prom, mind you, because he forgot to get you a corsage?”
Jesus, Iris did not understand the concept of a gentle hand.
“Oh my god, I remember that,” Claire said, laughing in what Delilah assumed was an attempt to lighten the increasingly darkening situation. “Poor Henry Garrison didn’t know what hit him.”
“A boutonniere in the face, that’s what hit him,” Iris said, and she and Claire cracked up.
Astrid didn’t laugh, but her cheeks reddened, and Delilah didn’t know if she was getting flustered or pissed or if the wine was kicking in. And then, like a storm rolling across a plain, Delilah could see it happening—the famous Astrid shutdown.
“You know, I’m actually a little tired,” she said, scooting her chair back. “I think I’ll head to my room.”
“What?” Iris said. “Our food isn’t even here yet.”
“Yeah, I’m not all that hungry anymore.” Astrid stood, glass in hand, and managed a smile. “Too much bread.”
“Astrid,” Claire said, taking her hand. “Come on, sweetie, sit down. What’s wrong?”
But Astrid shook her head. “I’m just exhausted, that’s all. I’m fine. Just . . . wedding stuff, you know? I’m going to call Spencer and try and get some sleep. See you in the morning for yoga?”
Claire nodded as Astrid kissed her on the cheek, then came around the table to do the same to Iris. Delilah, she completely ignored, and then took the half-full wine bottle with her as she left.
The three of them sat there for a few minutes in silence, letting what happened settle around them as the evening grew darker.
“Well, that was a disaster,” Claire said. Her voice was small, thick-sounding.
“Train wreck,” Iris said, collapsing back in her chair with a sigh.
“Are you both kidding me?” Delilah asked. “That’s exactly what you wanted.”
Claire stiffened, her thigh moving away from Delilah’s. “No, it’s not. We wanted . . . we—”
“Wanted her to question what the hell she’s doing with Spencer when he’s the complete opposite of everything she’s ever dreamed of?” Delilah said.
Claire’s whole body slumped, which sent her leg into Delilah’s once again. “Yeah, but not like this. Not like . . . like she’s hurt.”
“Honey,” Iris said softly, leaning forward. “If Astrid realizes she’s made a mistake with Spencer, it’s going to hurt.”
Claire’s face crumpled, but only for a second before her expression cleared and she nodded. “I know. I just . . .” She groaned and rubbed her eyes under her glasses. “Goddammit, why do men have to suck so much?”
“Not all of them do,” Iris said.
“Most of them do,” Delilah said.
Iris tapped her chin in thought for a second, then blew out a breath. “Okay, yeah, you’re right. Most of them do. Thank fuck I’m bi.”
Claire laughed, leg pressing more firmly against Delilah’s. Delilah had to fight to keep her hand in place, the desire to reach out and squeeze the other woman’s thigh almost irresistible. Claire was ridiculously adorable. And sweet. Jesus, how did she get so sweet? Being a teenage mom, raising a preteen daughter mostly on her own, running a business, dealing with her half-assed ex—Delilah would be a complete disaster if she was in her shoes. And yet, here Claire was, agonizing over her best friend’s heart.
Iris lifted her glass. “To shitty men and the women who put them in their goddamn place.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Delilah said, raising her own glass.
Claire followed suit, and the three women clinked over the lilies and drank, then dug into their food, which arrived a few minutes later. They proceeded to talk about easier things—movies, books, how they could cut through the filet mignon like it was butter. They laughed about how every time Iris drank even just one glass of red wine, her face blazed bright red and with the heat of a million suns, always leaving her with a wicked headache, but she loved the stuff anyway. They talked about Ruby and how she still slept with the stuffed purple unicorn Iris had given her when she was born and Claire was dreading the day she stopped.
Delilah had completely cleared her plate and drained her third glass of wine before she realized it.
She’d been laughing.
A lot.
With Claire and Iris.
Like they were actually friends and not a tangle of complicated histories simply tolerating each other for the night.
Chapter Thirteen
CLAIRE FLOPPED ONTO the bed, her head pleasantly fuzzy, a smile still on her lips from the fun night.
Well, mostly fun. Thinking about Astrid made her stomach hurt, but the wine was helping keep the ache at a distance.
So was the fact that Delilah was in the bathroom right now, changing into . . . whatever she slept in. Pajamas? A nightie? Nothing at all?
Claire squeezed her eyes shut. She’d already completed her nightly routine—teeth, face, lotion—and was now keenly aware that she was wearing a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top with no bra. She hadn’t even thought about it when she was changing in the bathroom a few minutes ago. The wine, the constant laughing at dinner, it had all distracted her from this very moment when she and Delilah would both slide in between the sheets, their skin inches away from each other, and—
Ruby.
She needed to call Ruby.
It was only ten thirty, and she was almost positive her daughter would still be up, probably stuffing her face with raw cookie dough and watching an R-rated movie. For once, she was glad for Josh’s lax rules. She sat up, ignoring the sound of running water in the bathroom, and tapped Josh’s name on her phone’s favorites list. Ruby didn’t have her own phone yet, and Claire refused to cave to her whining about it. She shuddered to think of her daughter on social media, but knew it was coming, looming like a storm just offshore.