Page 95 of Reggie and Delilah's Year of Falling

“I don’t want to be like Mom!” I wail.

“Okay, I was following you, but you lost me there, sis. Back up—what does Mom have to do with this?”

“I mean—I mean—I want to be like Mom, but not the part where she wasted all this time on the wrong person. She’s so much happier now! And I don’t want to make the same mistake and be with someone who doesn’t see me as I am.” I wipe my dripping nose on my comforter and Georgia is kind enough not to call me on it. “He thought I was perfect, that’s whyhewas trying to be perfect. I feel like—like he’s been putting me on this... pedestal, not even seeing the real me. And I can never be that perfect person,not without losing myself. So it feels like it’s better to end it now before I get even more attached to him, and this—this just hurts even more.”

My body shakes in another sob, and it feels good, like I’m cleaning out my insides, purging all the hurt I’ve been feeling this week, and maybe also a lot longer. Georgia sits next to me, hugging me close, until the crying slows into intermittent blubberings and then just little sniffles.

“Can I tell you what I think now?” Georgia asks. “I can also sit here with my lips zipped, too. I won’t be offended.”

“Give it to me,” I say, leaning against her.

“It seems... well, to me at least, that you were both putting each other on pedestals,” she started, tentatively. “The way you always talked about him, likehewas perfect. It was like he was your guru, or something. Very Jean Valjean and Cosette—or no,My Fair Lady! Yes, definitely some Eliza vibes there.” My eyes flare and she gets back on track. “Anyway, it’s okay and all, to admire him. And I like Reggie—I like you two together. I liked how you kept being your best self around him and taking risks, instead of losing who you are. But you don’t need some guy’s permission to do all that. You can be that for yourself.”

My mind reels trying to take in what she’s saying. Did I put Reggie on a pedestal? I definitely thought he was perfect, which I now know is not true. Would I have liked—loved—him the same if he’d been straight with me from the beginning? If I wasn’t so focused on learning from him, being more like him?

“So you’re saying we shouldn’t be together?” I ask, and I wince, scared to hear her answer.

“No!” She bats at the air, like that idea is a pesky fly. “You know I love me a pact, but it really shouldn’t be up to me, not really. It should be up to you!” Her playful grin turns a little more serious. “But I do think maybe you two need to readjust your expectations of each other... and just, like, let the other person be human instead of perfect.”

I chew on that for a bit. What would me and Reggie be like if we saw each other for just who we are? Flawed, with a lot to learn, but also authentic and capable of change... together.

“But what if he’s the wrong person? Again? Like—”

“Charlie? Oh, D, he’s not as bad as Charlie.No oneis as bad as Charlie. I don’t know what you were thinking there.” I give her my best big sister glare, and she wrinkles her nose and smiles.

“Back to your question, though. You just, won’t know now. You can’t. Like Mom didn’t know until she went through it, and I know it was hard for her, for all of us, but still—she got us in the deal. I think she would say it was worth it.”

And I know Georgia is right. Mom’s happier because of what she went through. She knew it was right with Andre because it was so wrong before. So maybe you can’t protect yourself from the wrong. All you can do is be yourself—fully, authentically—until the right person sees and loves that.

“How did you get so smart?”

“Musicals.” She shrugs. “So, in conclusion, there’s no way to see the future. So, stop trying!” She swats my shoulder, and I fall back, pretending to be hurt. “But what you need to decide is, does he make you happy now?”

I’m definitely not happy now. I’m the lowest I’ve been in a longtime, since Mom and Dad were in the worst of their fighting. But Iwashappy, really happy. Performing at The Echo and knowing he was in the audience, talking about my deepest insecurities at the Juneteenth barbecue and being completely validated, laughing so hard I almost peed myself at Ostrichland... playing him my song.

“I don’t know,” I say to Georgia. And I really don’t know how to put this all into words, so someone else can understand.

“I mean, you know what you should do then.”

“Cry and watch Netflix Christmas movies?” I try.

“Yes, that. Definitely that.” She smiles, hugging me tight. “But after that... well, WWTD?”

“T?”

She rolls her eyes at me, and points at my speakers, which are still playing “All Too Well” on a loop.

“Oh! T!”

I don’t pick up my guitar for a few more days. I’m scared that nothing will come out, that I won’t have anything to say.

But once I give myself permission to try, to just play for fun, the notes come and the right words arrive soon after.

And it has Taylor Swift’s vulnerability and Poly Styrene’s power. It has the technical skills that I learned from Ryan, and the unapologetic boldness I learned from my mom. It has Georgia’s dramatic flair. But it doesn’t sound like them.

It sounds like me.

Reggie

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