Page 76 of Deliah
There was a pause. One of those comfortable, girly silences where you just breathe and exist in each other’s energy for a second.
Then I looked at her. “What about you and Tommy? Still shagging in between death matches?”
“Oh, you know.” She sighed, waving a hand. “Just usual me and Tommy things.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What does that even mean?”
She shrugged. “We argue. Then we fuck. Then we argue some more. Then have makeup sex. Then laugh for the rest of the night like we didn’t just try to kill each other over who left the fridge open.”
I stared. “You sure that’s healthy?”
Cherry hesitated for a second longer than usual. “Yeah. I mean… mostly. Just one thing, though.”
“What?”
She dropped her gaze to her wine glass. “We’ve been together, like, nine months now. Living together, practically in each other’s pockets, sharing toothbrushes and all that gross couple shit…”
“And?”
She looked up at me with a slight frown. “He still hasn’t told me he loves me.”
My chest tightened a little. “Really?”
“Not once,” she said. “I keep thinking it’s gonna happen. Like when we’re in bed or when I bring him coffee or when I’m in one of those slutty matching sets he secretly loves but pretends not to notice.”
I offered a weak smile. “Maybe he’s just… patient. Some people take time with that stuff.”
Cherry nodded but didn’t look convinced. “Yeah, maybe. Or maybe I’m just a placeholder until something better comes along.”
“Hey,” I said sharply, reaching over and grabbing her hand. “Don’t talk like that. You’re not a fucking placeholder. You’re Cherry. You’re a fucking legend in lingerie and glitter. If he doesn’t love you yet, that’s his delay, not a reflection on you.”
She smiled, but her eyes were glassy. “You think so?”
“I know so,” I said. “You’ll sort it out. You two are made for each other. You fight like enemies but look at each other like soulmates.”
She sniffed, then grinned. “Ugh, stop. You’re gonna make me cry into my rosé.”
I laughed. “And stain this posh sofa? Not a chance.”
We both giggled, the moment softening again as she reached over and snatched a croissant from the coffee table like she owned the place.
“Still can’t believe we’re out here living the dream,” she said, mouth full.
I leaned back and smiled. “Neither can I.”
But as I glanced towards the hallway, I felt something else stir in my chest. Because the dream was beautiful. But real life? It was waiting, and I wasn’t going to ignore it.
Anyway, I decided to change the subject before we both spiralled into overthinking about men and all the things they did—or didn’t—say. “I’ve got a proposal,” I said, sitting up and flashing Cherry a look.
She narrowed her eyes. “That sounds suspicious already.”
“No, seriously. Hear me out.”
“I’m listening.”
“Well,” I said, drawing it out dramatically, “I know you’re bored playing housewife. And I am too. So I think we should get a job.”
Her head snapped towards me. “A job?”
