17
Delaney
Nicole marches along the cobblestones, stops in front of me, and shoots me a dagger stare outside Jen and Dena’s Wig Emporium in Greenwich Village. A mannequin head sporting a leprechaun green bob cut peers at us with unblinking eyes.
Nicole parks her hands on her hips. “What do you have to say for yourself, missy?”
“I’m in the market for a fun new wig?” I offer tentatively, hoping to deflect a lashing from one of my closest friends even as I brace for it.
The only saving grace will be strength in numbers, since Penny’s on my team. But she’s not here yet, and these bodiless heads in the display window aren’t going to save me from Nicole’s ire. I gird myself for the verbal whipping.
Her green eyes narrow. “Let’s talk about why we’re getting two wigs.” She taps her toe on the sidewalk, the leather boot beating a rhythm of frustration. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
She opens her mouth wide, but words seem to fail her. I smirk. Nicole is rarely speechless. But the dialogue desertion doesn’t last long. “You have some serious explaining to do.” She pokes my shoulder. “How did one drink turn into a morning jog, and then another date? A date we need to go wig shopping for, of all things?”
I break down her question into the easily manageable parts. “I try to run every morning, and you’re allergic to six a.m. starts. So Tyler went with me, and then we ran into a client in the park, and she invited us to her party.”
Yes, there. Blame it on Gigi.
Nicole huffs and wags a scolding finger at me. “Now you’re trying to talk circles around me, when all I’m trying to do is protect you from getting hurt.”
“Nicole,” I say plaintively. I know she means well. I know she’s only pissed because she’s looking out for me in a super protective, mama bear, slash-anyone-who-comes-near-her-cubs way.
She heaves a sigh and then softens. “‘Laney-girl, exes are bad news. Do I need to remind you of the top five reasons you should never get back together with an ex even if he blows your mind in bed?”
That was the title of one of her recent columns. I read it, but I didn’t memorize it. Seems I didn’t need to, though, because she holds up her index finger, and I’ve got a feeling she knows this quintet cold.
“Number one. You broke up for a reason.” She stares me down.
I hold out my hands, admitting that much.
“Number two.” She counts off with two fingers. “He hurt you like a son of a bitch.”
I screw up the corner of my lips. “I don’t think you said son of a bitch in your column.”
Like I can catch this woman on a technicality. But hey, I have to try.
“I write online. You bet I used ‘son of a bitch,’ and if I have to use ‘motherfucker,’ too, I will.”
I raise my hands in surrender. “Wouldn’t want to run into you in a dark alley.”
“Damn straight. I know Krav Maga. On to number three. They often have new bad habits, and the new ones can be even more disgusting than the old ones.”
I scrunch my brow. “Seriously? That’s a reason?”
She nods. “What if he hogs the bed now? What if he cuts his toenails in front of you? What if he expects you to pick up his dirty socks?” She cringes to emphasize the horror of this parade of possible gross behaviors. “Burps? Picks his teeth? Doesn’t text back in a timely manner? Leaves cabinet doors open? Sucks annoyingly on a water bottle?”
I give her a look like she’s insane. Because, seriously? “Leaves cabinet doors open? That’s a thing?”
Her eyes blaze with anger. “Has that ever happened to you? Because it is a living hell. Shoulder bruises. Smacked eyes. Scratched temples. It’s like evil elves booby-trapped your home.”
I lean my hip against the store window, where a rainbow-colored head stares at me. I point at Nicole. “I’m feeling like that might be something someone did to you.”
“And it drove me insane,” she says, gripping her head.
“Nicole, anyone can do those things. Why is that uniquely annoying with an ex?”
“My point exactly. Everything, literally everything”—she slashes an emphatic hand through the air—“is more annoying with an ex. It’s all amplified, especially bad habits. That’s the nature of a second chance. You already gave him a first chance. Everything is in stereo the second time around.”
“Tyler never did those things before, though. No cupboard doors swinging madly and no slurping of bottles. So I’m not biting on the habit issue.”
She huffs. “Number four. The sex might be different.”
I laugh and shake my head. “That one is not an issue. Whatsoever.”
She stalks me, backs me up to the window, and sets a hand against the display, breathing fire. “You did not sleep with him.”
“There was no . . . penetration involved,” I say, then I clasp my hand over my mouth. “Oops. Wait. There was.” I waggle my fingers.
“You dirty girl,” she says, but her lips twitch, and it’s clear she’s reining in a smile.
I wiggle my eyebrows. “Also, the penetration was even better than before, and that’s saying something.”
She inhales through her nose again and stares through slits of eyes. “Fine, you lucky bitch. Then, how’s this? Number five. The two of you want different things.”
I have no rebuttal. I can’t protest because I don’t know the answer. He might want different things. I might, too. I don’t know yet what he wants, besides me. Tyler has shown he wants me intensely, but what does that mean? Does he want the same type of future we mapped out once upon a time, or just someone to spend the night with now and then? Does he want a girlfriend, a playmate, or a partner? More than that, what do I want from him? Sure, I agreed to go to a party in a week. But what am I opening myself up to by buying wigs and wearing them? What comes after the party, and am I even ready for that?
Bells clink lightly against glass. A pair of thirty-something women stumble out of the store. But it’s the fun kind of stumble, the one girlfriends do as they laugh and wrap arms around each other. One of the women sports a strawberry-blond bob and the other wears a lemon-yellow shoulder-length do. I vaguely wonder why they have wigs. For fun? For necessity? For a party? But the answer’s not apparent as they walk on by.
Just like the answer to Tyler and me.
I turn back to Nicole. “We might want different things, but I don’t know what he wants. And more important, I don’t yet know what I want. That’s actually why I said yes to the party. To try to figure that out,” I say, speaking plainly now. No teasing or hard times, just the truth.
Nicole reaches for my arm and circles a hand softly around it. “It’s hard, to know what you want.” She squeezes. “It’s the hardest thing, isn’t it?”
“And to know if going for it is worth the risk.”
“It’s insanity out there,” she says and sweeps her arm in an arc encompassing everything but us, I suppose. “It’s all a big complicated sea of garbage and madness and magic all at once, and sometimes you can’t separate one from the other.”
“Garbage and madness and magic?” I arch a brow and laugh. “Is that your next column on dating and mating in the online, Snapchat, Plenty of Fish, sexting, dick pic, no-one-knows-what’s-true-anymore world?”
“Maybe it should be. But then, that’s the basic premise of what I do—navigate the sea of shit and dating.” She shades her eyes with her palm like she’s checking out the rolling waves from the deck of her ship.
“Captain Nicole, aye aye.”
Her eyes shift to the end of the block, landing on the couple strolling in our direction. Penny waves. Her beau, Gabriel, is by her side. He’s tall and lean, with longish hair and tattooed arms. The two of them are a perfect pair. He’s crazy for her, and she’s mad about him.
Nicole nudges my shoulder. “But I’m not done. Here’s the final point—people don’t change.”
I gesture to Penny and her man as my evidence. “Penny’s with Gabriel. He’s changed.”
“Their story is different. Fate intervened and prevented them from seeing each other.”
Before I can answer, the pair in question arrives at our side. Ever the sophisticated European, Gabriel drops cheek kisses on Nicole then me.
I can’t deny that I adore his classy side. And him too, because he’s made Penny incandescently happy. Ergo, he gets gold stars from me. “Gabriel, tell me something. Do people change?”
He chuckles, then squares his shoulders. “Of course they do.”
Nicole casts a doubtful look his way, and Gabriel places his hand on his chest as if to say who me? “I’ve changed. I’m not the idiot I was when I was twenty-four.”
Nicole rolls her eyes then waggles her fingers, dismissing him. “You’re disqualified. Be on your way.”
“As a matter of fact, I will. I’m heading to my restaurant. Where I will create a delicious dessert for my lovely fiancée.” He roams his eyes over Penny possessively. “Something I would have done for her years ago, and I do now. Perhaps some things don’t change.” He winks and kisses Penny good-bye.
Penny turns to us. “He wants me to have something when I get home tonight from our night out.”
I sigh happily. “He’s so sweet.”
“And sexy,” she adds, with a naughty glint in her eyes. She gestures to the store. “Are we going in, girls? Or are we going to stare at the leprechaun wig in the window all night? Incidentally, if you can get Tyler to wear that wig I will buy drinks forever and ever and then some.”
I yank open the door. “Don’t leprechauns have red hair, though? Isn’t it more a Jolly Green Giant wig or an Emerald City wig?”
Nicole pipes in. “Or a Wicked Witch wig.” Nicole taps her finger on her chin. “Hmm. Now that I realize we can truly torture your ex by making him wear any wig we choose, I might actually approve of this date with him.” Nicole spins and points to Penny. “I know I’ve already lost your support.”
Penny laughs as she fiddles with a cherry-red hairstyle. “I just don’t happen to agree with your more—how shall we say—strident position?”
Nicole spots a long blond wig. “I’ve always wanted to see if you blondes have more fun,” she says to me, then asks the shopworker if she can try it on. The woman brings us thin nylon caps to cover our hair under the wigs. As Nicole adjusts the blond locks, she says, “Look, I don’t know if people can change. I just worry. I know you all think I’m a hard-ass—”
“Gee,” Penny interjects, placing her index finger on her temple. “Why would anyone think that?”
Nicole sighs. “And I don’t deny being a practitioner of tough love. But the reality is this—I’m a witness to the hazards, pitfalls, and potholes of dating in this decade, and I’ve seen much more of the bad and the ugly than the good. I don’t want to see Delaney get hurt, and I’m not convinced men can change.”
She peers into the mirror, tugs the bangs down lower, and spins around, showing us her new look.
“But hairstyles can definitely change,” I say. “And you look good as a blonde.”
Penny fiddles with her new fire-engine ’do and meets our gazes in the mirror. “But see, I do think people can change. Maybe it’s because I work with animals, but just hear me out. I’ve seen what adopting a pet can do for a person. How it can soften hearts and change priorities and turn you into someone who loves another creature nearly as unconditionally as that creature loves you.”
I wrap an arm around her shoulders and squeeze. I adore the dog-loving heart of my bestie. “You’re right.”
Nicole tilts her head back and forth, like she’s weighing Penny’s observation. Then she utters a quiet, “That’s true.”
“Why don’t we let Delaney find out for herself?” Penny asks us through the reflection. “Go out with him and see how much he has changed.”
As I adjust a sapphire blue wig, I don’t just marinate on Penny’s questions about Tyler. I turn them back on myself. Sure, I want to know how he’s different, but I already see signs of that. What I also want to know is this—how have I changed?
I’d like to think I’ve changed for the better. I want to believe that my career shift from the sharp edges of law to the more peaceful waves of massage made me a better person. But, did it? A pebble wedges into the corner of my heart. Irritating and completely unpleasant, it’s a reminder that I didn’t tell Tyler the whole truth about my change of heart regarding my career. I didn’t open up fully to him about the phone call with my dad, even though Tyler seemed patently honest with me.
Do I need to share that detail with him? It’s not like I hid something terrible from him.
But even so, I didn’t tell him the full truth at the time, and I haven’t told him now either. I know why I hold back—if I don’t share everything I might not be fully hurt. By keeping parts of myself just for me, I like to think I can guard them from hurt.
I know that’s not true though.
We can’t ever protect ourselves from hurt, from broken hearts, from damaged love.
But we can try to live our lives differently.
If people do change, I sure as hell ought to be looking at myself first. It should start with me.
As I run my fingers through the blue hair, I vow to tell him the full story about why I didn’t go to law school, even if I feel like I’m taking off all my armor with the mere mention of my father’s words—words that had sent my future into a whole new direction.
This chance with Tyler isn’t only a romantic one. It’s an opportunity to face the past and deal with the future.
I raise my chin and stare at my friends. “One week. I’m going to give it a week.”
Penny shrieks and claps. Nicole nods solemnly then drapes her arm around me.
“Group hug,” Nicole says, and we all join in, setting aside our differences and coming together.
They might come at my love life from opposite sides, but in the end I have what any girl wants from her friends—solidarity. Maybe it’s odd, maybe a tad controlling, that my friends have so much say in my love life. But they’re my family, we’re as close as sisters, and I need them in the same bone-deep, always-there-for-me manner. We stick our noses into each other’s lives more than most, but we do it out of love.
Theirs is a love I never worry might leave. That’s why they are my inner circle. That’s why they have my unconditional trust.
“One week,” Nicole echoes. “You have my full support. But you need to decide at the end of the week. If you keep giving him more and more time, then you’re giving him the keys to breaking your heart, and trust me on this—a broken heart the second time around doesn’t just hurt twice as much. The pain is exponentially greater.”
Human beings always have the keys to breaking each other’s hearts. One week, one year, a lifetime—doesn’t matter. We can always hurt the ones we love. Even so, I do understand why she wants me to be wise, and on this time limit, I have to agree with her. “I’ll give it a week.” Then my tone lightens, and I shrug like this is no big deal. “What’s the harm in a week?”
Neither replies, and I hope I don’t answer my own question the hard way.
“We’ll be here no matter what.” Nicole grips my shoulder, then whispers, “Especially if you decide at the end of the week you really want Trevor instead.”
I laugh. “Yeah, about Trevor . . .”
Nicole arches a brow. “What about him?”
I update my friends on the latest as we find a perfect wig for my ex-boyfriend, who’s now jostled his way to the front of the dating pack. I buy the wigs and drop them in a canvas bag, then we head to our Girls’ Night Out, enjoying dancing, drinks, and friendship, as I reflect on whether people can change.
I think about my mom and how strong she was after my father left. She was always a tough woman, but she had to shore up that foundation when she became a single parent, remaining sturdy for us. That’s change, too—it’s the kind that intensifies your core. I think of my brother and how easy it would have been for him to turn into a fuck-up, a messed-up teenage boy who skipped school after his daddy left. Instead, he doubled down on his studying and, like me, he won a scholarship to college.
We were forced to change.
But do we only change when we have no choice? A fault line had split our lives into before and after, and we had to shed our old selves. Can men and women, wanting to win back an old flame, choose to change in a deep and true way?
I don’t have the answers to that, but as I rewind to the morning, and the night before, and the massage table earlier in the week, and the phone calls, I know Tyler and I are more than two elements in a beaker that combust on contact.
We are more than the physical.
We combust for so many reasons. Because of history, of emotion, of connection, of respect, of need, of understanding.
Because of a once-great love.
And because of who he is now, the man I’m spending time with these days.
That’s why at the end of the night, after I find my way home and settle into bed, I write back to Trevor.
Dear Trevor,
Your trip sounds amazing, and I know you’re going to have a great time. I want you to know that while I’m confident we would have a fantastic date, I need to cancel before we even start. In the last few days, after we went out, someone has come back into my life, and I’m going to explore what’s there. It wouldn’t be fair to keep you both in play.
That’s why I need to send this email now, before I give it a go with him. Rather than hedge my bets, even though I know you’d be a great guy to bet on and you’ll make someone ridiculously happy, I should say thank you and good-bye.
My best,
Delaney
After I hit send, the stone in my heart shrinks, claiming less of my real estate. There’s more to say, and more to do, but I’ve taken one important step.
I was patently open with Trevor. I need to do the same with my ex.
The next morning, my phone dings with a jackpot full of notes. A sweet reply from Trevor, thanking me for my honesty. A Facebook message from Tyler, asking me if I’m free for lunch. And an email from Joe Thomas telling me my father now lives in Vancouver, Canada, that he’s still married, and he’ll have an email and a phone number for me shortly.
Do I want the address, he asks?
Nerves skate over my skin. I do, and I don’t. I don’t, and I do. But I also know if I have his address, I’ll just google it over and over.
I tell Joe I’ll wait. I’ve been waiting for years.
I make plans with Tyler, and I do the one thing that makes the most sense.
Since I want him desperately, I decide not to sleep with him yet.
To prove to myself that I can change.