Whisper

“Do I have to Delilah? I don’t want to do this,” I whine.

She’s trying to get me to be a client with her matchmaking business. After everything I’ve been through, the last thing I want is a man. I just turned eighteen two weeks ago, and she’s been hounding me ever since.

“Come on, I found you the perfect man. I know you went through some shit, but this man would be perfect for you. He’s a cop and everything with his tests came back that he’s a good solid man,” she all but begs.

“Why are you doing this to me? You know why I ran from the last group home I was put into. I can’t let myself be with a man again, any man,” I sigh as the tears build in my eyes.

My story is one of heartache and miracles, to say the least. I was born to drug-addicted parents who didn’t really want me. I mean they named me Whisper because I didn’t cry when I was born, I merely whimpered. Dad beat my mom and me on a daily basis and there was never food in the house so I was all skin and bones. My teachers tried getting involved, but somehow my parents knew when CPS would show up because we acted like the perfect family, only to get a beating afterward.

Once, I was actually taken from them for a few months when I was twelve. I was placed in foster care, but my foster family was worse than my own. They were very loud, louder than my own house. At least my dad passed out eventually, my foster dad never seemed to lose steam. It would give me flashbacks to my parents. So, one night, I left. I was sleeping in a park when a cop found me and rescued me. I lived with him for a few months, but sadly that came to an end too. He promised to check in on me, but I never should’ve believed his lies. All men do is lie to everyone.

“Whisper, listen to me. This guy is going to be so good for you, I can feel it,” she says, pulling me out of my memories.

“If I do this and it doesn’t work out, you have to promise to never bring it up again,” I say finally giving in.

“Yes! I knew you’d come around,” she cheers from her booth in the diner where I work.

I get several looks from the few patrons and most look annoyed. I shake my head in disbelief that I’m agreeing to this crap. True love and fairy tales don’t exist. Delilah is the only person in the world who would get their happily ever after. True love is for fools.

“When am I meeting this guy,” I ask, knowing it’s probably going to be soon.

“Tomorrow night,” she states matter of factly.

“Uh, are you forgetting I have a job? I work tomorrow night,” I tell her, thankful for an excuse not to go. “Where’s Keith tonight? Never thought I’d see you without him,” I say hopefully that talking about her baby is a good distraction.

“Don’t use my adorable baby as a conversation change. Besides, he’s having daddy/son time. They’re bonding, however, you do that with a three-month-old I’ll never know. Now, I’ve already talked to your boss and he’s giving you the night off,” she says with a smirk.

Fuck, I guess I have a date tomorrow night. Ugh, I really don’t want to go. After seeing what men in my life did to women, I’ll be happy being single forever.

“You know I have nothing to wear on a date, right,” I ask her. I look at her and she has this look on her face that I’m not liking. “Why are you looking at me with that little smirk on your face? What did you do,” I ask.

“Well, I knew you’d use any excuse you could to get out of this date so I bought you a dress to wear for the night. It’s in my car, I’m gonna run out and get it,” she says as she gets up and walks out of the diner before I have a chance to stop her.

I’m so thankful to have Delilah in my life. She saved me a few months ago when she and her husband, Kyle came into the diner I worked in for one of her weird late night cravings. I remember seeing them and thinking that that’s what true love looked like. You could just see the love he had for her pouring out of him. I was in the back getting her mashed potatoes with pickles and I heard her yell that her water had broken. I ran out to see if I could help them, and he just picked her up and took off to his truck.

A few weeks later she came in with her newborn son to pay for the food she never got to eat. I tried to tell her that it was fine and I covered it, but she wasn’t having it. Ever since then she comes in about once a week to check on me. She even got me a cupcake with a single candle on it for my eighteenth birthday. I can honestly say that was the first birthday cake I have ever gotten.

I’m taken out of my thoughts when she comes running back in the diner. She’s holding a garment bag and her eyes are dancing with mischief.

“Aren’t you going to open it? I picked it out especially for you,” she says as she wiggles the bag in front of me.

I sigh and unzip the bag. She knows I hate it when she buys me things. When I see what’s in the bag, I gasp. It’s beautiful.