One Last Time (Loveless Brothers 5)

Vera adjusts her purse again, then looks from Delilah to me like she’s thinking.

“Actually,” she says, that familiar, genteel smile on her face again. “Could I trouble you to use the ladies’ room before we go?”

“Of course,” I say, and point the way. “Can’t miss it.”

Vera thanks me, smiles again, walks away.

Suddenly it’s just us, Delilah and I, alone together in this room.

It’s the first time we’ve been alone in two years. Two years, three months, and sixteen days, but who’s counting?

“How’s it going?” I ask, as good a question as any.

“It’s all right,” she says, hands in her coat pockets. “You?”

“About the same,” I say, nonchalantly as I can muster. “Nice day, huh?”

It’s a lie. Every single piece of what I just said is a lie. Delilah’s in the same room as me and I feel a thousand different ways, not one of which is just all right or nonchalant.

But two years and three months ago, we made an agreement, by God I’m sticking to it.

“It’s kind of cloudy,” she says, glancing at the windows. “Hopefully tomorrow is nicer. Ava’s itinerary has us doing pictures outside.”

“You’re a bridesmaid?” I ask.

“Yup,” she says. “Third time’s the charm, I guess.”

There are so many things I want to say to her. I want to ask how are you, really? I want to say these weddings are insane, right? I want to tell her I know you’re worried for your little sister.

“Vera driving you crazy yet?” is what I settle on.

Even that’s probably too familiar, but I have to say something and we already talked about the weather.

“I’ve seen her worse,” she says. “I guess she’s getting the hang of wedding planning after three.”

“Four,” I say.

The silence from Delilah is expansive. Total.

“Unless she didn’t —”

“No, you’re right,” Delilah says, her voice suddenly brittle. “Four.”

“Just giving the woman her due,” I say, standing up a little straighter. Like I’m bracing for a fight.

Delilah just gives me a simmering look, then takes a deep breath.

“Sure,” she says, and looks away. “How’s your family?”

Just like that, we’re back on safe ground.

“They’re well,” I say. “Eli got married. Levi’s getting married this summer. Daniel had another kid, and Caleb is…”

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.