Delilah’s mouth drops, and Chris’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “That’s my cue to leave,” he says, and he walks off down the hall.
Shaking her head, Delilah sighs. “Oliver,” she says, “you and I need to have a little talk about slang.”
Delilah drives Jules home after school, so that she can pick up some things before the double date. Then we continue to Delilah’s house, with Jules sitting in the backseat, fidgeting. “This isthe stupidest idea you’ve ever had,” she says. “I don’t even know why I said yes.”
“Because you don’t want to die alone and surrounded by cats,” Delilah replies.
“You know my track record,” Jules mutters. “He’ll probably be gone by dessert.”
“Maybe Chris will be the exception,” I suggest.
Jules snorts. “Easy for you to say. You’re lucky. You already found your dream girl.”
“Actually,shefoundme.” Delilah catches my eye, and I grin at her.
“This is really helpful, you guys,” Jules says. “Now all I have to do is stuff Chris inside a book and try to pry him out.”
“Those are just details,” Delilah tells her, pulling into the garage of her house. “The point is you never know who’s going to be the one.”
“She’s right. If I’d given up, I never would have bothered looking when Delilah opened the book. I might never have known that she could hear me. Just be yourself,” I suggest. “Or perhaps a slightly gentler version of yourself.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jules argues.
I turn in my seat and raise a brow.
“Ugh. Fine,” she says. “I’ll try to tone it down.” Jules gets out of the car. “It’s not my fault that my awesomeness intimidates people.”
We both watch her carry her bag upstairs. Delilah slips her hand into mind. “She’s right. Wedidget pretty lucky.”
What if Delilah hadn’t opened the book that day? What if I hadn’t looked up?
What if this isn’t permanent?
What if wedidget so lucky that we’re due for something terrible?
I drop a kiss on the crown of her head. “I know.”
It seems silly to me, but Delilah insists that when it comes to a double date, she and Jules are incapable of dressing themselves alone. Delilah says it’s a girl thing; I wouldn’t understand. To that end, Jules has come to Delilah’s house with a suitcase full of enough clothes to last her for a month, although she is only staying overnight. I’ve been exiled to the living room, where I wait with Frump. Upstairs, there is a symphony of squeals and shrieks. I’m not certain if they are doing each other’s makeup, as Delilah has said, or if they are murdering each other.
The doorbell rings, and Delilah calls down from her bathroom. “Can you get that?”
Chris is standing on the threshold, holding a bouquet of flowers.
“Oh,” I say, reaching for them. “Thank you. I’m so sorry. . . . I didn’t get you anything. . . .”
Chris rips them back out of my hand. “I didn’t getyouanything,” he says. “These are for Jules.”
I lead him into the living room. “Delilah says they’re almost ready,” I tell him. “Of course, she said that about an hour ago.”
Chris claps me on the back. “Thanks for doing this, man. I didn’t expect to have as good a friend as you once I movedhere.” At that, Frump leaps off the couch, his teeth bared, and is about to sink his fangs into Chris’s calf. “What the—”
I grab his collar. “No!” I yell. “Baddog!” Frump whimpers as I drag him away from Chris, scoop him into my arms, and put him on a chair as far away from us as possible. I lean down on the pretense of patting him. “He’s just an acquaintance,” I whisper. And then, more loudly,“Stay.”
Frump snorts.
“Are you quite all right?” I ask Chris.
“This is why I have cats,” he says.
