“It gets my attention,” I say, and grab my phone to turn it off.
When I glance at the phone, I freeze.
THE WITCHI clear my throat, still looking at my phone, thumb hovering over the decline call button.
“Butt dial?” Daniel asks, his voice grim as he looks up at me.
“No idea,” I say, evenly.
“Seth —”
“I’ll be back,” I say, and stand so fast I nearly knock the chair over.
At the screen door to the back porch, I clear my throat, then answer.
“This is Seth,” I say, as if I’m expecting a business call.
As if I deleted her number from my phone and don’t know exactly who this is. Caleb wanted to but I wouldn’t let him, so he just changed her name to THE WITCH.
“Hi,” she says, after a pause. I can hear background noise, but I can’t put together what it is. “It’s Delilah.”
I think about hanging up on her, just to let her know I’m still angry. I think about demanding to know who the fuck she thinks she is, calling me. I think about telling her that she must have the wrong number, I’ve never heard of a Delilah in my life.
But there’s a tiny, flickering glimmer deep in my heart that just came back to life, and it doesn’t allow for any of those responses.
“Can I help you with something?” I ask, casual, neutral, politely curious without betraying the agonizing clench behind my breastbone.
“Do you remember what you said to me at the Whiskey Barrel?” she asks, her voice so quiet I have to strain to hear it.
“At the Whiskey Barrel?” I repeat. I need to know that I heard right.
“Yes.”
Of course I remember. We got kicked out of the bar. We screamed at each other in the parking lot. I’d have punched her fiancé if Levi and Caleb hadn’t been there.
“I remember,” I say.
I can hear her inhale on the other end, street noise behind her. A car going past. Voices.
“Nolan and I are getting divorced,” she finally says, the words rushed. “It’s, um — it’s over, I guess? I moved out, I filed, we’re separated, he texted me that he got served his papers at the office and how it was just like me to embarrass him like that, as if I put any fucking forethought into how he got his papers. Sorry.”
She says it all in one breath, and at the end she exhales like she’s coming up for air.
Delilah’s not married anymore. She’s not married anymore and she’s calling me to tell me that she’s not married anymore —
“And you’re calling me?” I ask, staring out at my mom’s back yard, the sun going down behind the trees. It’s early August and the past week has been brutal. Real scorchers, my dad would’ve said.
“Do you want to come get a drink or something?” she asks, and she sounds nervous, terrified, or maybe it’s just the connection. “I know we didn’t really end things on good terms, but I wanted to just… talk it out, maybe?”
Yes. My heart thumps, pounds in one syllable: yes, yes, yes, with a fervor that surprises even me because I thought maybe I was getting over her.
If nothing else, I’ve definitely moved on.
“Tonight?” I ask.
“It doesn’t have to be,” she says. “I mean, I don’t really have plans —”
“I can make tonight.”
“Then yeah, tonight.”
I’ll have to cancel on someone else, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t think Abby will care, and if she does, so what? She’s not my girlfriend, just a way to pass the time.
“Where? Are you still in Leesburg?”
“Don’t come here,” she says quickly. “It’s not a good idea, someone might see us and it’s not a good look and Nolan might drag things out.”
“Where?”
“The Marriott in downtown Harrisonburg,” she says. “There’s a bar in the lobby, Harrisonburg is about halfway between us, it looks like it’s pretty nice.”
I go silent for a long moment. The pit of my stomach swirls, ebbs. That deep-down glimmer grows and burns.
“You want to meet in a hotel?” I ask.
“In the bar. In the lobby.”
“A hotel bar, in a hotel lobby.”
Delilah says nothing. I fantasize about saying no and keeping the plans I’ve already got because Abby’s a nice girl. Eager to please. Likes it when I talk dirty. Doesn’t mind that I don’t spend the night, says she doesn’t care that I see other people.
It’s just a fantasy, though.
“Downtown Marriott,” I say. “Harrisonburg. I’ll look for you in the bar.”
“Thank you,” Delilah says before I hang up, then put both elbows on the wooden railing around the porch and cover my face with my hands.
A moment later, I straighten, slide my phone into my pocket, go back inside.
“Something came up,” I tell Daniel. “I gotta go. Talk about this tomorrow?”
“No,” he says. “Seth. Are you kidding? Don’t fucking —"
He glances at the living room, lowers his voice.