I trail off, because right now Caleb is heartbrokenly building bookshelves in my living room. He’s a math professor and an idiot who had an affair with a student that didn’t end well, and of course, I’m picking up the pieces.
Actually, his girlfriend called me yesterday, and I’m supposed to let her into my place so she can see him in an hour. Hopefully they don’t break any of my stuff, either by fighting with it or having sex on it.
But none of that qualifies as small talk, so I just say, “Caleb’s doing well. Yours?”
“The usual,” she says. “Winona’s already strategizing on how to get Bree and Callum into Harvard, Olivia’s pretty much running the Junior League —"
We both hear the door shut, and Delilah’s looks over her shoulder. I make myself relax my arms, take a deep breath, and I can see her shoulders move as she does the same.
Just like that, another casual encounter is over. We didn’t kill each other. We didn’t burn anything down. I’ll feel hollow for the next week, but that’s all.
“All right, Delilah,” Vera calls. “You’ve still got plenty of time to do your hair.”
Thirty minutes later, my phone rings. I ignore the first two rings, still staring at the wall like I’m trying to burn a hole in it. There are a thousand things that I still need to do today, and I haven’t started any of them.
I’ve replayed our conversation over and over again, even though there was almost nothing to it, and that’s what kills me. I hate that we talk about the weather like we’re strangers, that there’s so much silence between us. That I never get to make her laugh, see her smile.
Sometimes, I think this is worse than fighting.
The phone rings again. I grab the receiver and close my eyes.
“Loveless Brewing, this Seth,” I say, hoping it’s a telemarketer or a wrong number or something I don’t actually need to deal with.
“Oh, thank goodness,” Vera answers.
My eyes pop open in alarm.
“I was beginning to think perhaps you’d already left for the day, and I don’t think I have your personal phone number,” she goes on.
“Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind about the wedding order again,” I say, and even though I’m trying to sound lighthearted my voice sounds like dead weight to my own ears.
“No, no, nothing like that,” she says. “I’m actually calling to ask a personal favor.”
I swear the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“And what would that be, Mrs. Radcliffe?” I say, making myself smile at the wall of my office so she can hear it in my voice.
“Well, seeing you today gave me an idea,” she says, the hint of genteel drawl to her voice suddenly a little more pronounced. “You see, Delilah’s date to Ava’s wedding had to cancel on her at the last minute, so now the poor thing is planning on going alone, and I just feel so awful about it.”
I hold my breath, and I have the sensation that I’ve just stepped into quicksand and I’m slowly going down.
She had a date.
“I know this is terribly last-minute and probably quite a surprise, but is there any chance you would be Delilah’s date tomorrow?”
I get deja vu so hard I have to close my eyes, because I know this sensation. Not from Vera, but I’ve been here, done this, been on the other end of the phone when Delilah suddenly needs male companionship. It feels familiar, like being punched where I’m already bruised.
I still have to bite the inside of my lip so I don’t say yes.
“Tomorrow?” I echo.
“I know this is so sudden, but the man she intended to go with was called away on family business,” Vera confirms. “The ceremony is at five o’clock at Pinehall Manor, reception to follow, of course.”
She had a date.
It shouldn’t feel like anything, but it feels like betrayal.
I have to fight the urge to say yes. I want to show up, just to see Delilah’s face, get into a fight with her because it feels better than nothing.
And then I have the opposite urge. I want to show up and sweep her off her feet and steal her from whoever the fuck she’s dating, even if only for one night.
My heart beats into the empty space on the phone line.
“Seth?”
“Sorry, I’m still here,” I say.
I clear my throat.
“I’m afraid I have a prior commitment,” I say.
Vera sighs across the line.
“Well, darn it,” she says. “That’s too bad, I’m sure Delilah would have loved catching up with you.”
“Another time,” I tell Vera.
“Well, it was lovely to talk to you anyway,” she says. “And Seth, could you do me one small favor?”
“Is this one going to be about beer?”
Please, God, let this one be about beer.
“Not at all,” she says, laughing. “But would you mind not mentioning this to Delilah? If she knew I’d tried to find her a date, I think she might be angry with me.”
“Not a problem,” I say, and remember my manners at last. “And I’m sorry I can’t help you out, but I do appreciate the invitation, Mrs. Radcliffe.”
We exchange a few more polite statements, and then finally hang up. I’m sweaty despite the season, my palms clammy like I’ve just escaped danger, heart thumping so loudly I was afraid she could hear it.
“What invitation?” says a voice from the door of my office, and I jump.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I say, pushing a hand through my hair. “What the hell are you doing? Do you listen in on all my shit?”
“Only if it sounds interesting,” says Eli, who looks much too comfortable in the doorway to my office, leaning against the frame as if he owns it.
“It was nothing,” I tell him, grabbing some papers on my desk and pulling them in front of myself, then pretending to examine them like they’re the Rosetta Stone and I’ve recently come upon a Pharaoh’s tomb.
Unsurprisingly, he does not take the hint.
“Did you need something?” I ask, still not looking up at him.
“No,” he says, and doesn’t leave.
I tap a pencil on my desk, rest my head on a hand, and consider my options.
I have four brothers. Eli is the second-oldest. I’m the second-youngest. Daniel’s in the middle; the oldest is Levi, who loves trees and camping, and the youngest is Caleb, who loves math and also camping.
Actually, we all like camping, though I admit I like it the least. I don’t mind sleeping in a tent on the ground, but what’s wrong with a bed?
Anyway, the four of them are the nosiest assholes who’ve ever lived. Maybe some families understand the concept of keeping information to oneself; mine doesn’t seem to.
Regarding the invitation, that gives me two options where Eli’s concerned: tell him and get him out of my hair for now, surely setting up some further questioning in the future, or refuse him and never get him out of my office.
“Vera Radcliffe invited me to her daughter Ava’s wedding,” I say. “I didn’t think going was a good idea, so I declined.”
Eli is silent. He’s silent for too long, and I don’t like it.