Page 98 of Reggie and Delilah's Year of Falling

“Yeah, well, that’s not always the message I get around this house,” I say, stealing a glance at Dad. His eyebrows are furrowed.

“Yeah, I’ve kind of been a dick to him,” Eric cuts in.

“Language.” Mom gives him a warning look.

“Sorry! I mean, I’ve been... making fun of him and stuff. And it’s made Reggie scared to be himself, you know what I mean? He thinks we all look down on him because he likes these dragon games and all the other nerd sh—stuff.”

“You think wealllook down on you?” Mom asks, blinking fast.

“It feels like you do.” This time, I look straight at Dad when I speak, and he stares back.

“Are you talking to me, son?” he asks.

“Not just to you, no,” I say quickly, but I stop myself. I can’t let myself backtrack here. I take a deep breath. “But I definitely feel it from you. A lot. You’re always trying to push me toward sports, and it feels like that’s because you’re ashamed of how I prefer to spend my time instead. Like... like... you’re ashamed of me.”

Dad winces, like my words physically hurt him. “I’m not ashamed—I could never be ashamed of you, my boy.”

My voice is smaller than I want it to be, but I get the words out. “Well, that’s not the message I get from you.”

He lets out a long exhale and rubs his hands over the top of his head, like he’s searching for the right words. I steel myself for something that’s going to hurt, but when he finally meets my gaze again, his eyes are watery and wide. “I’m really sorry for that. I love you, Reggie. Even if I don’t always understand you, I love you. Fully. I guess I just want there to be more we can connect over.”

Our eyes are locked, and it’s like he can read my mind.

“But I can try and understand what you like, too, to make that connection happen. Instead of trying to make you like sports like me... to try and change you. Maybe we can meet in the middle more.”

“We all can,” Mom says, squeezing my shoulder. “Because you’re our baby, and we love you just the way you are. We’re gonna learn to love your dragon games, too. I’m sorry there was even a question in your mind about that, Reggie.”

“I—I appreciate you both saying that. And I love you too.”

“Come here,” Dad says, pulling me and Mom into an embrace. Eric crashes in too, wrapping his arms around us. “Group hug!”

And it’s not perfect. It’s not like every hurt is erased. But that’s okay. I said what I was feeling—boldly, clearly—and I was heard. I was accepted. It feels like hope.

From the speakers, Marvin Gaye starts singing about purple snowflakes, and Dad steps back, looking my outfit up and down again.

“You gotta have real confidence to pull off green tights,” he says, letting out a hissy laugh. “I’m impressed.”

“But now where did those things even come from?” Mom asks. “I know I didn’t buy them for you!”

“Delilah’s sister hooked me up.” I smile and pose for them.

“Back to the game plan, though, bro,” Eric says, rubbing his hands together. “Aren’t you running behind?”

“No, I’m good.” I hold up my phone. “It doesn’t start until I send this, um, text. And I’m not going to do that until I drive over to her house.”

“In your car?” Dad laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, nah! I can’tlet my boy show up in a hoopty! We’ll drive you. Where are my keys?”

So that’s how I end up outside of Delilah’s apartment building in the back seat of my dad’s car with my entire family, finger hovering over a button that’s going to determine what happens with the greatest girl I’ve ever known.

There are lights hung on every balcony and staircase, casting the night in a warm, festive glow that makes anything seem possible—even Delilah forgiving me and giving me another chance.

I take a deep breath, in and out, and tell myself that I’ll be fine either way. But I can’t lie to myself. I know I won’t. I push send on the text anyway.

Can I send you something?

Delilah

It’s funny, because I’ve been wanting to text Reggie the exact same words for over a week now, but I kept talking myself out of it. He might think it’s strange, when there’s so much we would need to talk about first. And even though I think I know that I want to be with him now... he might not feel the same anymore. When I finished recording my new song, though—just a rough version on the voice memo app on my phone—he was the first person I wanted to share it with.

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