Delilah Green Doesn't Care(Bright Falls #1)(91)

“Yeah,” Claire said. “We remember.”

Astrid sighed. “She never asked me if I wanted to play. Never even thought about asking me, if I had to guess.”

Claire rubbed circles on her back.

“She never asked me about French lessons or what color dress I wanted to wear to all of her events. Never asked me what kind of cake I wanted for my birthday. She just always bought angel food.”

“God, I always hated your birthday cakes,” Iris said.

“Iris,” Claire hissed, but Astrid just laughed.

“No, she’s right,” Astrid said. “Angel food cake is the worst. But it was what my mother wanted, just like everything else, like taking over Lindy Westbrook’s business, like—”

“Whoa, wait, what?” Iris asked. “I thought taking over for Lindy was what you wanted?”

Astrid sighed, waving a hand. “My point is, she doesn’t ask. No one ever fucking asks, and Spencer never asked me either.”

Claire’s heart ached for her friend. She tucked a piece of blond hair behind Astrid’s ear. “About the house?”

Astrid shrugged. “About the house. About moving to Seattle at all. He just assumed I’d say yes, because I always say yes. Don’t I?”

They sat silently for a bit, Claire totally unsure how to answer that. Because Astrid wasn’t wrong.

“I don’t want to go to Seattle,” Astrid finally said.

“Then don’t,” Iris said. “You don’t have to.”

“I . . . I don’t know how . . .” Tears finally welled in Astrid’s eyes, spilling down her cheeks so quickly, it was as though they’d been waiting for years to be set loose. “I don’t know how to say no. I don’t know how to do it.”

“We’ll help you,” Claire said. “We’ll do whatever you need us to do.”

“I’m awesome at saying no,” Iris said.

Astrid cracked a smile, but it faded quickly, and she wiped her eyes. “God, my mother. She—”

“Will get over it,” Iris said. “This is your life, not hers.”

“Jesus, what a mess,” Astrid said, then her posture went ramrod straight. “There’s so much to do. I need to call the caterers. And the florist. God, Delilah. I need to—”

“Stop,” Claire said, pulling her friend closer. Her heart flipped at Delilah’s name, but she ignored it. “We’ve got time. Right now, just . . . just sit here with us, okay?”

“Or,” Iris said, “if you wanted to get some practice in saying no, you can tell us to go fuck ourselves right now and we’ll get going on these phone calls stat.”

Astrid laughed, then shook her head. “No. No, taking a minute is good, I think.”

“See?” Iris said. “You just said no to me telling you that you could say no. An expert already.”

Astrid laughed again, then flopped back onto the bed, her arms splayed above her head. A very un-Astrid-like motion, and it made Claire smile. She lay back too, followed by Iris, and the three friends hooked their arms together, relieved tears running down all of their cheeks and splashing into the thousand–thread count duvet.





Chapter Twenty-Eight




DELILAH WAS WAITING outside the Kaleidoscope Inn, something like worry coalescing in her chest at how late Claire was in picking her up and the three unanswered texts Delilah had sent her, when her phone rang. Already gripping the device in her sweaty palm, she slid her finger across the screen, relief filling her up at the sight of Claire’s name.

“Hey,” she said, pressing the phone to her ear. “Are you okay?”

“Hi,” Claire said. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Where are you?”

“We’re . . . well, we’re heading over to Wisteria House.”

“What?” Delilah frowned, hitched her camera bag higher on her shoulder. “Why?”

“They broke up. Astrid and Spencer. About thirty minutes ago.”

“Oh.” Delilah sagged against the inn’s exterior brick wall. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah. Apparently, he bought a house in Seattle without telling her, showing her pictures, anything.”

“And that was the straw, huh?”

“I guess so.”

Delilah nodded, even though Claire couldn’t see her. She waited to feel relieved, happy, even. This was what she’d wanted, what they’d all wanted, though Iris and Claire had different motivations from her. For Delilah, she could go back to New York now, get ready for her show at the Whitney. Fifteen grand richer, too. Per her contract, she still got paid in the event of a cancellation, and Isabel would fork over the money without a blink. Her stepmother would be too busy losing her shit on Astrid anyway, the called-off society wedding of her perfect daughter and a bona fide golden boy the stuff of Isabel Parker-Green’s nightmares, no doubt.

Delilah was done.

Free.

She never had to set foot in this town again if she didn’t want to.

So why was her back glued to this red brick wall like it was the only thing holding her up?

“What happens now?” Delilah said, her voice embarrassingly small. She cleared her throat, like a little bit of phlegm was the only reason for the near-whisper.