When we get our beers, I hold mine up.
“To having a job,” I say.
“Also to having a job,” Levi says.
“To… declaring a major,” Caleb says, somewhat less enthusiastically, and we all drink.
It’s Friday night, the summer after college. Levi finished his Master’s degree in forestry the week before I graduated, and two months later, we’ve both managed to find gainful employment. He’s even renting his own place, some tiny cabin out in the woods, though I’m still staying at my Mom’s house, along with Caleb for the summer and Daniel and his kid Rusty indefinitely.
God, it’s fucking weird that Daniel’s got a kid.
We drink. After a bit, we head over to the pool tables. None of us is all that good at pool, but none of us is all that bad, either. Levi wins a game, then I do. Caleb’s mildly annoyed but hiding it well.
He sees her first.
I’m trying to line up a shot, half-assedly calculating angles that will only work if I hit the cue ball flawlessly, when he whispers something to Levi. I ignore it, take the shot. The ball bounces off one side, then misses the pocket.
When I look up, they’re still muttering to each and giving me weird looks.
“What?” I say, picking up my beer.
Levi just shakes his head and leans over the pool table, but Caleb’s eyes flick over my shoulder.
“Nothing,” he says, too quickly.
I turn.
It takes a moment: The Whiskey Barrel is pretty popular, dive-y, fairly crowded on a Friday night. I think maybe it’s nothing. I think maybe they’re just being weird.
Then I see her. Standing there, at a cocktail table with one glass-enclosed candle burning in the middle, the bar’s attempt at class. She’s alone, leaning on her elbows, her shoulders up around her ears as she looks around like she’s waiting for something.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her since the night I fled her parents’ house the week before Christmas.
Delilah looks different. Her hair’s cut short, above her shoulders. She’s wearing heels with jeans, a light-colored tank top, lipstick. I keep staring, dumbstruck, and then her gaze finally makes its way to me.
She’s surprised. Somehow, I’m surprised I got caught, but I’m frozen in place, can’t stop staring at her. Behind me, I hear the dull clack of balls knocking into pockets. Caleb says something, but I’m not paying attention.
At last, I nod. Once. I don’t know what else to do. I spent the winter feeling like she’d kicked a hole through my chest. I got my first-ever C in a class. I felt a little better with spring, but not much. Every bit of progress felt like I was sewing myself together with a dull-tipped needle.
Delilah nods back, and the moment she does a man materializes next to her. He sets a drink down on the table, and she looks up. Smiles at him.
It feels like a hole opens in the floor, and I fall through.
“Seth,” Levi says, and there’s a hand on my shoulder. “Your turn.”
We finish the game. I lose catastrophically and couldn’t care less as I drain my beer, wishing there were more.
“Next round’s on me,” I say. “Anyone else want something stronger? I could really use one.”
“Sure,” says Caleb, grinning because he’s nineteen and not even supposed to be here.
“No thanks,” Levi says, his face closed off, his beer only half-gone. “I drove you two, remember?”
At the bar, I order three well whiskeys, drink one on the spot, take the other two back to the pool table where I lose again, even more catastrophically. More whiskey. Another game. I’m not a big drinker, so it doesn’t take long before I feel like I’m swimming through the bar, missing every shot, shouting at my brothers who are standing a foot away, slurring my words. Always keeping one eye on Delilah and that man, over at the table.
And then he gets up. Goes to the bar. I put my cue stick down on the table and then Levi’s there, in front of me, sober and rational.
“Don’t,” he says, quietly.
I grab both his shoulders.
“It’s fine,” I say. I sway. He doesn’t. “I just want to say hi. Make sure she’s doing well. Wish her all the best in her new life now and all that shit.”
“Seth,” he says, but I’m already steering around him, aiming myself at her table.
She’s got both hands around and almost-empty glass, mostly ice left. Even in the low light, I can see she’s slightly pink, a little unsteady.
“You seem well,” I say, nothing bothering with hello as I use the table for balance. “Good.”
“Hi. I’m pretty well,” she says. She looks at me like I’m a cobra, ready to strike. “I guess you graduated?”
“Yeah, I guess you didn’t?” I say.
“Not yet,” she says, her words edged.
She plays with her glass, staring at me, moving it from hand to hand. Something clinks, and I look down.