Page 12 of Just the Tipsy
“No, I just moved here. My great aunt Gloria passed —”
“Oh, you’re Miss Gloria’s great-niece,” she says, putting her hand to her chest. “I’m so sorry for your loss, honey.”
“Thank you.” I take a larger swig of my drink than I probably should.
“So you’ve moved into her house?” Delia asks. “Is that how you two met? Through arranging things with Sadie?”
“Yep.” Waylon slides his hand up my back to squeeze my shoulder. Tingles erupt up my back along the path his hand took. “We’re going to head outside, actually.”
“I’ll walk with you. Come this way,” Delia says, waving us away from the sliding glass door and toward a little hall. “We’re trying to keep the dogs out of the kitchen. They’ll rush this door if we open it.”
“Wait, Mom…” Waylon hesitates.
“Here’s our family photo wall,” Delia says as we round the corner.
The long hallway is absolutely plastered in photos — family photos, individual photos, paintings of labradors.
“It’s more or less in chronological order,” she says, slowing down and blocking us from going out the door. “Look at how adorable Waylon was.”
“Mom, please,” Waylon says, his cheeks red. “This is Bianca’s first time here.”
“There’s no reason to be ashamed of your accomplishments.” Delia shrugs as if Waylon didn’t say anything at all.
I look at the wall because Delia is looking at me expectantly.
At first there are wedding photos of Delia and Mr. Stryker. The wedding fashion is aggressively of the era, but she still looks stunning. I can see where Waylon got his strong build and the rest of his height, now that I’ve seen his dad.
Over the years, his two older brothers are born, then eventually, Waylon and Wes. Once Waylon hits kindergarten, it’s like a parade of achievements. Delia must have saved every single award he’s ever gotten, and there are aton. They crowd out his brothers’ achievements by far.
Academic awards. Recognition for volunteering. Ribbons for winning some animal husbandry competitions, whatever that is. Football trophies. Everything from when he was little all the way through veterinary school.
Holy shit. Is he good at everything? Thank god this is just a single date or everyone would question why a guy like him would be with a low-tier model who was an average student at best.
“C’mon,” Waylon says, taking my hand and guiding me past his mother. “We’re going to say hi to people, Mom.”
Someone calls Delia’s name down the hall and she looks over her shoulder.
“Okay, fine.” His mom finally moves. “It was so lovely to meet you, Bianca. I hope we can get together again soon.”
“Nice meeting you too,” I say.
Waylon pulls me outside onto the huge back patio, tension leaving his shoulders but his cheeks still flushed.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t think she’d whip out the photo wall right away.”
I have so many questions now — like how did he have the time to do all of that, and why does his mom have a whole ass shrine to him, basically, when he has three other brothers — but I can sense his discomfort and stay quiet.
The party outside is in full swing already, with a few grills going on one side and some seating and tables peppered throughout. Dogs are hanging around too, some laying down with their humans and others playing in empty spots.
“Waylon!” a woman yells, her voice traveling way over the sound of the crowd. “C’mere!”
I spot the source of the voice — a black woman wearing a super cute printed jumpsuit and cat-eye glasses, who’s waving at us. Next to her is a black man who seems to be just as tall and muscular as Waylon, who nods, then looks at me in confusion.
“Those are my best friends, Jada and Jeremiah,” Waylon says in my ear.
I nod, taking another long drink of my drink. The warmth of a buzz is starting to spread through my veins, thank god. I need something to loosen me up.
“Jada, everyone at this party heard you,” Waylon says with a smile when we get to the table. “No need to point at us like we’ve committed a crime.”
