“Like you have to what?” Delilah asked softly.
Astrid looked down, trailed her finger along the beer can’s rim. “Say yes. All the time, no matter what. Be calm and poised and controlled and just say yes.”
They sat in silence for a few seconds, Astrid’s confession hovering between them. Delilah thought back to their childhood, their teen years, all the attention Isabel lavished upon Astrid with her grades and track, her monthly trips to the salon, balanced diets and French lessons, debate team in high school and early admission and a bachelor’s degree in business. All the things Isabel had never bothered to push for Delilah. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. Isabel had hounded her about her homework, made sure she ate a decent dinner every night, but regarding everything else, right down to Delilah’s wild hair and disdain for anything resembling a sport, Isabel let her be. She accepted Delilah’s refusals so easily, like they were a relief and she could focus her attention where it really mattered, on her perfect Astrid, who never put up a fuss about slipping into a satin gown and parading around a fundraiser like a princess.
Astrid was right. She never said no. But Delilah had always assumed she’d never wanted to.
“Astrid—” Delilah started, but her stepsister cut her off when she stood up abruptly.
“You don’t care about any of this,” Astrid said, waving her hand and offering Delilah a plasticky smile. She wrapped the blanket more tightly around her shoulders and swept off toward her tent before Delilah could say anything else.
Chapter Twenty-Five
CLAIRE DIDN’T TALK to Astrid or Delilah for the next two days.
Saturday morning at the campsite had been quiet, all of them except Josh and Ruby either hungover or sleep-deprived or, in Delilah’s case, still zonked out in the tent by the time they were all ready to pack up. Astrid and Spencer left before Josh had even finished making breakfast over the fire, giving Claire and Iris zero chances to talk to her, and then Delilah slept the entire drive back to town.
Now it was Monday evening and Claire felt like she was coming out of her skin. She and Iris had texted a lot over the weekend, but it was mostly about how neither of them could get in touch with Astrid. Claire would’ve driven over to Astrid’s house and confronted her there, but both she and Iris had been swamped with work at their respective shops, making up for the time off they’d taken for the spa and the impromptu camping trip. Plus, she didn’t want to ambush her best friend. It was time to be honest about their worries, yes, but she and Iris agreed that they still had to approach the whole situation gingerly, particularly now that Astrid was clearly avoiding them and wouldn’t make it easy.
All of that stress might have been manageable—after all, she’d been worried about Astrid ever since her best friend got engaged—but now there was Delilah, who had definitely not texted or called or come by the store since they got back from Bagby Springs. Granted, Claire hadn’t called or texted her either. Calling or texting had a decidedly dating tone to it, and they definitely weren’t dating. And since they weren’t dating, reaching out in any form seemed more like a booty call, which didn’t feel right at all.
Nothing felt right.
She knew this was what casual looked like, and she told herself over and over again that she was fine with it. She told herself she was fine with it when Ruby asked if Delilah could come over for pizza on Saturday night and she had to say no. She told herself she was fine with it when she rolled over in her bed on Sunday and could still smell Delilah on her pillow. She told herself she was fine with it as she scrolled through Delilah’s Instagram on Monday evening while she lay on her couch and the rain came down in sheets outside, ignoring how the ache in her chest bloomed bigger and brighter with each beautiful image.
She was feeling particularly broody as she looked at a photograph of a gorgeous Black woman in a formal tulle-skirted dress standing barefoot in the watery rush of a New York City fire hydrant, a graffitied stone wall behind her. The hydrant’s red popped against the woman’s neutral clothes, the gray and muted blues and greens of the wall, the water droplets that looked like bits of crystal suspended in midair.
It was a lovely photograph. Wall worthy. Gallery worthy, even.
She’d just tapped on a new breathtaking image, really settling into her self-pity, when the doorbell rang. She shoved off her cocoon of blankets, cursing Josh for being early for once in his life. He was taking Ruby and Tess to a movie tonight, followed by a sleepover at his apartment, and wasn’t due to arrive for another fifteen minutes. She pulled up the strap on her tank top that kept slipping down her arm, but didn’t even bother to fix her hair, which she’d put up into a messy bun on top of her head once she got home from the bookstore but had now slowly given way to gravity.