Page 9 of The Obsession

Delilah nodded, still not meeting my eye. “Yeah, that’s my house right there. Do you live around here too?”

“No, I’m actually from out of state. I board at Draycott.”

Delilah’s eyebrows rose. “I didn’t know they let you have pets at the dorms.”

Thank god for Daddy. Look at him, sniffing his own balls, not realizing he’d just provided me with the perfect conversation starter. I gave Delilah a small smile.Don’t wanna creep her out with a full-on grin.“They don’t. He’s from the shelter. I volunteer there once in a while, and they let me take him out on walks.” I was careful not to sound like I was boasting; people did that so often—they talked about their time volunteering like they were Mother Teresa or some shit. Delilah wasn’t the kind of girl who’d fall for that, so I made sure to keep it short—no biggie, just something I do.

“That’s really cool of you,” she said. The ghost of a smile reached her lips—cherry lips, maybe raspberry, I love berries, Dee—and she was finally seeing me, really seeing me. She liked what she saw, I could tell. But before I could capitalize on the moment, she glanced back at her house and her mouth tightened into a thin line. “I gotta go to the store.”

“I’ll walk you there,” I said.

“No, I—I’ll be fine.”

I cocked my head to the side. “Come on, I gotta walk Daddy anyway.”

“Daddy?” Delilah grinned, and I caught a glimpse of the old Delilah, the one I’d seen in her pictures. It made my heart glow. “That’s such a cute name.”

Daddy perked up at the sound of his name, and I had to haul him back before he could pounce on Delilah and lick her to death. “Where are my manners?” I said. “Daddy, this is Delilah. Delilah, this is Daddy.” I leaned closer to her and lowered my voice. “Careful, he’s a bit of a perv.”

Delilah laughed and crouched down to scratch Daddy behind his ears. I got a whiff of her scent—something that reminded me of pure, white petals. I had to stop myself from scooping her into my arms and inhaling all of her.

“Hey, big guy,” she murmured.

Daddy sagged against her, panting happily. “See, he likes you,” I said. “Come on, Daddy, let’s walk Delilah to the store.” I turned and started walking in the direction of the supermarket before Delilah could answer. She was a natural follower. I knew this much, at least. But part of me still crossed my fingers tight and prayed she’d follow my lead.

I smiled when I heard her footsteps walking toward mine. Phew. I searched for something to say. Again, I was faced with a mountain of information I’d so patiently gathered about her, none of it usable. I couldn’t ask her about volleyball, nor could I ask her about Tan Jing Xu, nor could I ask her about Singapore—

Or maybe I could. I mean, it was no secret she was half-Singaporean. Most people would know stuff like that about their classmates, right?Quick, before the silence overwhelms everything.

“Singapore,” I blurted.

Sweet Jesus, if I could only punch myself in the face.

“Sorry?” she said. The walls had clapped up around her, and she was looking at me warily.

“I just remembered—I think I overheard someone mention you’re half-Singaporean,” I said. I was babbling. I was a train veering off the rails and I had to save it, steer myself back, or I was going to end in a massive crash.

“Yeah…?” she said. Still with so much caution.

“My mom—” Great, I’ve brought up my mom. This could not get any worse. “She’s one of the deans at Duke. Have you heard about the Duke-NUS program?”

It was a desperate last grasp at straws. Her dad was a graduate of NUS. Maybe it was dirty to bring up this connection, but love and war and all that…

Her face lit up, and it was worth it. “Yeah, I know about the Duke-NUS program.”

“Cool,” I said, joy rising through my chest. Her smile, I swear. “My mom’s in charge of that program. Well, not in charge, but like, she’s on the team, and she travels back and forth to Singapore quite a bit. She loves it there.” Now I sounded like I was boasting, and I had to reel it back in, because I didn’t want to boast, I just wanted to make a connection.

“Wow,” she breathed, her eyes wide. “No way. That’s amazing, Logan. Wow,” she said again, and her gaze was fully on me, her attention all mine, and I was flying, flying into the stratosphere. “I love it there,” she said. “My dad’s Singaporean, and he took me a few times.”

I didn’t wait for her to realize she’d said “my dad’s Singaporean” instead of “my dad was Singaporean.” “Did you have roti prata? My mom’s always raving about it.”

Now she was beaming hard and I could die happy, I really could.

“Yes!” she said. “Oh, man, I love roti prata so, so much. I’ve been trying to find it here, but none of the Indian restaurants I’ve been to make it. The closest thing they have is paratha, and it’s just not the same.”

“That’s cause it’s more of a Peranakan dish than an Indian one, right?” Shit, now I was mansplaining and whitesplaining, and back the fuck up, Logan. “I mean, I don’t know, I think I remember reading somewhere about it—”When I looked it up because I saw so many pictures of it on your Instagram.“I’m probably wrong.”

“No, that makes sense,” she said, appraising me. “I’m impressed you know so much about Singaporean food. Most people here don’t know anything about Singapore. You know what people usually say when I tell them I’m half-Singaporean?”

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