When I came out to my father, he looked at me for a long time. His bushy eyebrows knitted together and he crossed his arms over his round belly and narrowed his serious dark eyes. My father’s a businessman, and I felt as though he were analyzing me, taking apart the pieces of me that he understood and trying to right them against the pieces of me that he didn’t understand. It was the longest ten minutes of my life. Finally, he unfolded his arms, waved a hand at me, and said, “I’m just trying to figure something out.”
I tried to reassure him. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Dad. This isn’t some big failure on your part.”
He got angry, pressed his full lips into a firm line, and spoke in the fatherly tone that always gets my attention, and when he pointed at me, I knew I was in for harsh words. I never expected that they would be the most supportive harsh words I could ever hope for.
“Now, you listen to me, young lady. I don’t think I did something wrong, and don’t you ever let anyone tell you you’re doing something wrong either. I’m sitting here thinking about how your mother and I did something right. This can’t be easy for you, stepping out into the world where people are ass backward and judge based on their own cockamamy beliefs. I’m proud of you, baby girl. When you love someone, you don’t tell them who to love—you support who they are.” He folded me into his arms, and I knew that whatever I faced in my life, I’d always have their support.
My parents’ reactions taught me a very important lesson. Acceptance and tolerance are two totally different things. I want Delilah to feel accepted, not tolerated. But Delilah has to want that, too. And that isn’t something a person can force on someone else.
All I can do is hope that I mean as much to her as she does to me.
~Delilah~
AFTER WORK I went home and took a really cold shower, hoping it would help temper my anticipation of seeing Ashley. After last night, I’m not sure how I’ll react being close to her when we’re having drinks tonight. Before going to her house last night I told myself I was going to take things slow. Slow, slow, slow. Then I saw her, and all bets were off. I didn’t need slow, and I definitely didn’t want slow.
The walk to the Taproom is only a few blocks, and it gives me time to think, which is good and bad. There’s a lot of foot traffic on Main Street. Summer brings tourists, and tourists love to meander through the shops in the evenings. There’s a line out the door at Pepe’s Pizza. A group of kids are sitting on the curb with an open pizza box as they scarf down pizza and laugh about who can take the biggest bite. Habit draws my eyes to Endless Summer Surf Shop. I’m looking for Ashley even though I know she’s off work. The shop is lit up like it’s midafternoon. Bikes are lined up in the bike rack, and guys in board shorts and girls in bikini tops and skimpy shorts are talking out front. I feel ten years older than them, although I’m sure I’m about their age. Losing your parents will do that to a person. Suddenly I’m working a more-than-full-time job, and the fate of an entire business is in mine and Wyatt’s hands. I don’t mind working at the Taproom. I actually really enjoy the work and dealing with the customers and the staff, but some days the responsibility definitely weighs on me.
As I cross the parking lot and the beach comes into view, I am reminded of watching Ashley learning to surf this morning. I didn’t go just because I missed her, which I did. I went to see how my body would react to seeing her. It was a test. If I could see her and not feel like my heart was going to climb out of my throat to get to her, I knew I’d be okay. Then I could go out with her tonight and not want to rip her clothes off right there in the Taproom. But it was an epic failure. The minute I saw her, I lost all ability to think about anything else. My pulse sped up, my palms got warm, and just seeing her in her bikini turned me on so much I had to leave.
I. Had. To. Leave.
Leave.
As in, come home and take my first cold shower of the day. I thought only guys took cold showers, but apparently it’s about the only thing that takes the edge off of naughty thoughts. My body reacts to her in ways I’m not used to. By the time I got in the shower, I was wet. Down there. Wet. Not just damp, but totally turned on from thinking about what we’d done last night.
It’s sick.
Depraved.
Gloriously depraved.
I smile to myself, fiddling with my silver bangles. Tonight I put on several silver rings, too. Wanting to dress nicer is new to me. I’m such a comfort girl, and all of a sudden I want to look hot. Scorching, I-can’t-resist-you hot. I want to look so hot that Ashley has to take two cold showers.