Page 95 of All of You

He narrows his eyes at her but agrees and Mom whisks him away while hollering for Dad to join them.

Delia collapses on a stool at the kitchen island while I bust out a bag of popcorn to microwave.

“So, are you okay? What’d she say? Where was she?”

Delia plays with the candy in the big bowl. “She gave me some bullshit about past trauma and needing to heal alone.”

My eyebrows hike up my forehead. “That’s it”

She shakes her head. “No I mean, she had things to say, but she also just breezed right in and was all you look great! We need a picture of this costume and blah blah, like nothing was wrong. Like she didn’t fucking abandon me with a stranger in a strange town for months. I don’t know Lang, I just… I couldn’t be there. I couldn’t look at her.”

I rub her back while the popcorn pops.

“I’m sorry. I don’t really know what to say. And I know that the things people normally say in shitty times are useless platitudes.”

“Platitudes eh? Big word buddy,” she quips, a small smile tugging the corners of her mouth upward.

“Are you saying I’m not smart enough to know big words?” I tease.

She gives a small smile. “You’re a popular jock.”

“Ouch. I’m offended.” The microwave beeps. I tug open the bag and dump it in a bowl. “Come on brainiac, let’s find something to watch.”

We snuggle on the couch together. I want to ask her more but she doesn’t seem to want to talk about anything so I’m left flicking through horror movie choices while stealing glances at the plunging neckline of her dress.

“This one,” she says. I put it on.

She adjusts and lays her head in my lap. I play with her hair and wait for the doorbell to start ringing.

Forty Seven

Delia

The doorbell rings, waking me. The credits are rolling on the TV. I missed how it ended. Langdon grunts and squeezes me tighter. My head’s on his lap and he’s slouched down, head lolled back, arm slung over me. He’s still asleep.

It rings again. I slip out from his arm, grab the candy bowl, and open the front door. Three middle school aged kids sing trick or treat. I hold out the bowl.

“You’re costume is really good,” one of them says as he fishes his fist around in the bowl searching for the right candy.

“Thanks.”

The kids walk away and I close the door and put the bowl back down. Langdon snores lightly on the couch. He looks peaceful and really handsome. I never get to intentionally check him out. His gaze usually so intense that I have to lookaway, but now, I can take my time and study the features of his face. Of his body.

He’s so attractive it’s almost annoying. I memorize the little details, the line of his jaw. A A scar is partially hidden in his left brow, the way his lashes flutter as he dreams. His arms, the sinew, the veins, and taught tendons. He is beautiful. And mine. From the back of the couch, I lean down and press my lips to his. It’s a Spiderman kiss, upside down and awkward but sweet. He wakes slowly, his lips moving against mine a little and then a little more.

I smile down at him. “Hey, sleepy head.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“The doorbell woke me up. We got a baseball player, a witch, and a ghost,” I tell him.

“I meant to ask earlier…what are you?”

I mock gasp. “You can’t tell?”

Langdon’s eyes crinkle as he grins. “Dead prom queen?”

“As if. That’s so basic. I’m Meryl Streep from Death Becomes Her,” I say and pout.