Page 52 of All of You

I feel like an intruder. I try to slide toward the dining room to give them some privacy but Heath holds up a hand, gesturing to me to stop.

“I talk to you.”

Delia’s eyes flash hurt as she shakes her head. “No you don’t. Not like that.”

“I have a different relationship with Langdon. You can’t compare the two,” he says.

I try not to stare but I can’t help the way my gaze fixates on Delia. Her cheeks are flushed and she looks like she’s getting mad. Or embarrassed.

“We don’t have a relationship at all do we?” she snaps.

“Who’s fault is that?” Heath barks back.

My mom steps next to me and coughs.

“Are you implying that it’s my fault? Cause it’s hard to know you should have a relationship with someone who you don’t know exists!”

“Heath. Let’s step outside, get some fresh air,” Mom says.

“No. I will not be shamed or disrespected in my own house. Delia, go to your room.”

“Heath—” my mom says. Delia looks shocked. Her eyes well with tears.

“I mean it,” Heath says. “My house. My rules.”

Delia pushes off the wall and storms down the hall and upthe stairs.

I clear my throat. “I can go check on her.”

“Like hell, you will,” Heath says. “Let’s eat.”

I look to my mom who looks absolutely mortified but also says nothing. She shakes her head in that I’m-so-disappointed-way at him before grabbing the plate of chicken off the counter and carrying it to the table.

At dinner, Anderson asks where Delia is and Heath looks him dead in the eyes and says she misbehaved and was sent to her room. Anderson immediately shuts up and doesn’t speak another word for the remainder of the meal—much like myself. Mom and Dad try to keep the conversation light but there’s enough tension in the room that you could suffocate.

I skip dessert. Very unlike me but enjoying something sweet doesn’t feel right. Anderson, Dad, and Heath are working on the puzzle. I nod upstairs to Mom. She hands me a plate quietly and shoos me away before anyone can notice.

Upstairs, I crack her door open slowly. She’s fidgeting with a CD on her bed.

“What’s that?” I ask and hold a dinner plate out to her as a peace offering—hopefully.

She doesn’t look at me but I can tell she’s been crying. I set the plate on her dresser and sit on the window seat across from her bed.

Looking up at me, CD still clutched in her hand she asks, “What’s the Olivia playlist?” My eyes widen with embarrassment. I didn’t realize I left that one on the iPod. I thought I deleted it.

“Nothing.” I shake my head.

“Tell me? An ex-girlfriend? I mean the songs are so sad.”

I shake my head at her. “What’s in your hand? I haven’t seen a CD in like… ever… besides my mom’s car a million years ago.”

Delia glances down at it and smiles. “It’s a mix CD. Look,” she says holding it up.

I hop off the window seat and sit next to her on the bed.

It’s labeled in girly writing. Tori Amos, Pearl Jam…

“Who the hell is Sophie B. Hawkins?” I ask.

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