she got all the good genes it seems
I grin.
God, I grin like an idiot.
I type out a response and then backspace it. Twice.
What I want to say is I’m glad you’re coming.
What I want to say is I’ve missed you. Even though I’ve seen you, I want to see you more.
What I send is:
7 sharp. Don’t be late, Mittens. I’ve got peppers to cook
Delilah’s sittingon the floor, cross-legged between Tara and Alex, laughing at something Ethan just said. Really laughing, head tilted back, mouth wide open, her cheeks pink from the heat and the sangria.
And I am so far gone, it’s embarrassing. I swear I must have puppy eyes watching her. Delilah came over a couple hours ago just to grab her bike. Just the bike, she said.
She even stood awkwardly on the front step, hands shoved into her coat pockets, insisting she couldn’t stay—something about emails and laundry and “not being kidnapped by extroverts.”
Then Tara opened the door, took one look at her, and physically dragged her inside.
The next time I saw Delilah, she was halfway through doing her makeup in Alfie’s room—sitting at his desk like sheowned the place, curling her lashes with terrifying focus while Tara talked a mile a minute beside her. Poor Alfie, he had no idea what getting involved with my sister meant. His room is full of pink, glitter and makeup.
Delilah caught my eye, silently pleading for rescue.
I just raised my hands in surrender.
You're on your own, Greer.
Then came fajitas. And laughter. And now we’re sitting around on the floor with drinks, trying to cheer up Ethan—who, for the first time inweeks, hasn’t ghosted the group dinner to sulk in his room.
That alone feels like a win. Now Delilah’s here on my rug in my house, laughing.
“Okay, okay,” Ethan says, holding up a hand like he’s conducting an orchestra. “New game. Everyone’s had food. Everyone’s relaxed. Time to get to the good stuff.”
Alex eyes him. “This isn’t one of your weird improv games, right?”
“No.” He grins. “We’re doing classic Never Have I Ever. Everyone grab your drinks.”
“Oh no,” Alfie mutters from the couch. “This never ends well.”
“Exactly,” Ethan says, pouring himself another half glass of wine. “And that’s the point.”
We circle up—Tara pulls the coffee table out of the way with a flourish, and suddenly we’re ten years old again at a sleepover. Except there’s tequila. And significantly more thigh on display from Delilah.
Delilah shifts to sit back against the couch, her knee brushing mine. I lean into her and give her a smile.
Alex starts us off. “Never have I ever… cheated on a test.”
I roll my eyes. I love her but she’ssucha nerd.
Half the group drinks. Ethan whistles dramatically.
“A bunch of delinquents, I say!”
Tara jumps in next, “Never have I ever…kissed someone in a university building.”
