Page 25 of Will to Run

Her smile lights up the dim bar, and she nods her head.

I hand out the dollar bills and pull a cup of dice out of my back pocket to excited cheers from Molly and Hazel. When I went to grab the water, I asked the bartender for the dice cup. Ship, Captain, Crew is a popular game around here, and every place worth its salt keeps a couple cups of dice behind the bar to loan out. I give Della the most basic rundown of how to play, and she nods as if she’s understanding everything I say. When the game gets underway, six more people join, and she is pushed up against me. One of my arms is reaching out to hold the table, and she’s tucked into it. With the closeness, my mind wanders to what the hell is happening here. Sexual chemistry? Physical compatibility? Gravitational pull? Before I have time to land on the word for what my insides are doing, she rolls the Ship, Captain, Crew, and gets nine points on her first roll.

“That’s good, right?” She looks at the dice and then at me to make sure. “Like, really good?” She let’s out a happy laugh, and the crowd around us groans at her success. Chances of beating that roll are slim to none.

“Yeah, that’s real good, Del,” I say, smiling.

After officially winning the round, both her hands go up in the air, and she turns her body to me in unbridled excitement before wrapping her arms around my neck and jumping up and down as if she just won a new car on a game show. In reality, it’s eight bucks. I don’t hesitate to put my arm around her waist and pull her in for the celebration.

“I really won!” she smiles, pulling away and pecking my cheek before turning back around to shit-talk one of the people that joined us to play. My sister gives me a give me a break face before rolling her eyes, and my brother just shakes his head, laughing. But they can’t be mad at me, that was all her.

Della collects her winnings just in time for two pizzas to be placed down.

Her eyes zero in on the food, and she can’t get into her purse fast enough to put on the hand sanitizer, which draws a laugh from us, before digging in. After taking a huge bite, she makes a noise of appreciation. “This is so fucking good,” she says.

“You liar,” Molly calls her out. “Isn’t Chicago known for its pizza?”

“Yeah, but I couldn’t eat it. As it stands, I was told not to gain a single ounce of weight for our wedding. In fact, my ex’s mother told me I could stand to lose ten pounds. Bitch,” she says, shoving a slice in her mouth in spite.

“Shut. Up.” Hazel says in disbelief.

“Oh yeah, I was bound by a lot of Worthington rules. I had to learn them real fucking quick.”

“That’s crazy. What were some of the other ones?” my brother asks. I admit, I’m curious too. Maybe Della has had her share of tavern pizza after all.

“Well, let’s see,” she puts her food down and holds up her hand to count on her fingers. “Appearance over everything; so hair, nails, wrinkles, body shape, the whiteness of your teeth. Everything had to be meticulous. Today, I found dirt under my fingernail, and I almost panicked. Then I realized I don’t give a fuck anymore, so I picked up more because I could, and now I have dirt under a few of them.” She holds up her nails, showing off her proud defiance.

Hazel, Molly, and Everest are hanging on her every word like she’s a zoo attraction, and to be fair, someone on the ranch who didn’t want dirt under their nails kind of is.

Then she continues. “In public, I was expected to be quiet, demure, never crass or loud. And I fell into that to some degree, but I could never quite keep that facade up completely,” she laughs as if it’s funny. But my heart breaks a little more for the woman in front of me.

“And above all, never… ever… air out your drama. Theres’s so much shit and drama in those high-society circles, but it’s especially important to be discreet and sweep it all under the rug. The fact that I left Tripp the day of our wedding? You guys don’t even know. There’s nothing discreet about that. Everyone is talking about it, no doubt. I’m surprised he didn’t track me here and come beat me for the embarrassment I’ve caused him.”

The record scratches, and I catch my brother looking at me out of the corner of my eye.

“Beat you? Della, did he hit you?” I ask. Awaiting her answer, I have already mentally begun heading to Chicago to find Tripp Worthington.

“Oh no, he never put his hands on me. That would mean he would have to touch me, and he made it abundantly clear I repulsed him,” she waves her hand flippantly, like it’s no big deal.

Before I can form words, my sister is already responding. “Who in their right mind could be repulsed by you, Della? You’re stupidly gorgeous.”

“Stop,” she says with her mouth full.

“No,” Molly chimes in. “Don’t downplay how beautiful you are. Not even a little. That man is a fucking fool. I mean, are you a weirdo? Let’s say you were staying here for months. What weird-ass things would we find out about you?”

“Molly,” I scold her because I’m feeling defensive of Della. That’s not an appropriate question at all. No one around this table has any right to know those things.

She looks thoughtfully at my sister, then at me, and shrugs.

“I am not the neatest of the bunch. I mean, I’m not dirty, but I don’t always see the clutter. I listen to songs I love on repeat. That or I can’t stick with a station to hear an entire song, even if I’m actively singing it. I hate calling places to order food. I mutter to myself all the time. I mean, like all the time, but I’ve heard it’s a sign of intelligence, so I’m going to go with that.”

So far, she’s named cheeky and fun quirks, but she turns in the next sentence.

“I’m too sensitive and cry too much. I perseverate on things and struggle to let them go. I am a people-pleaser to a fault. It’s why I said yes to Tripp in the first place… because my father insisted I do. I still live under a bit of a dark cloud since my mother died, and sometimes I play some voicemails I have saved from her when I’m feeling extra lonely.” The half-hearted smile that accompanies those words pulls at something inside of me, and the world falls away as I look at her. I realize I don’t even have words for what I am feeling.

When she sees everyone staring at her, she nervously laughs and keeps going. “Apparently, I need to add word-vomiter to that list because I’ve said too much again,” she says, looking at me. “Sorry for the overshare.”

“Della, if I asked you to say things you love about yourself, could you so readily come up with that list?” I ask because she just rattled off almost a dozen things in a snap.