Traces of Delilah

Eighteen

That was when they'd exchange a smile. At least, that was something genuine about their time together.

"You keep looking over there. I don't know if it's intentionally. But she looked over here a few times too."

"What? She did?" My eyebrows shot up. Skylar's words were rolling around in my head. I was sure since our one and only meeting, Silvia wouldn't have acknowledged me ever again. I didn't even know she recognized me. We didn't have a reason to talk anyways.

"Yeah. When you turned your head, her eyes were on you. I don't know, maybe you two have seen each other before? She must recognize you or something."

"Yeah, that's probably—" I paused mid-sentence, my eyes finding Silvia's, tables across from us. She had only glanced up for a moment but that was enough to pull me in. I was no longer making brief eye contact with her but a pair of green eyes.

"You and Thomas what!?" Oliver nearly shouted. Some of his soda spilled from his mouth onto the table. It leaked through the round picnic table's holes. The large roof over his and Delilah's head blocked the sunlight from roasting their skin. I could see the date in the corner of his phone's screen as he dropped it on the table.

Oh, it would seem they were no longer in March. It was the beginning of April. Dry winds sucked the circulation from the air leaving little room to breathe properly in the awfully high temperature for an April day.

"Olly, quiet!" I waved my hands in front of him. This was yet another thing I hadn't experienced before. It was a memory between Oliver and Delilah, but there should have been some sign of Silvia here. She was the one who triggered it. Yet she was nowhere to be found from what I could see.

That was really weird.

By the looks of it, Delilah and him were eating lunch together. They didn't have on work uniform so they must've been outside the work environment, hanging together. I couldn't stop fidgeting in my seat. My thumbs were twiddling and my calves were twisted together, like a knot.

After Oliver finished coughing, I looked down at my fingers, mumbling, "Him and I . . . we almost had sex."

"Wow," was all Oliver could say.

"What?" I urged.

"Oh, it's just . . . nothing. It just feels weird to hear. How long ago did this happen?" Oliver's smile had barely crossed his face. His voice certainly didn't match the cheery demeanor he was trying to pass off either. If I stared hard enough, I could see the hurt pooling his face.

I wasn't sure if Delilah noticed, but I did. It sucked big time when the person you liked didn't like you back. I knew he'd been crushing on her thanks to her very first memory. However, seeing him so broken was just a reminder. The way he brushed it off, ignored the pang of hurt I was sure was centering his chest, and smiled anyways, was what best put it into perspective.

Delilah could either feel it or she was oblivious, but she knew something was off. Because I hesitated before the next words came out of my mouth.

"I know. . . It feels weird to say. And this happened almost over a week ago."

"Hmm, so—" Oliver's eyes drifted to the right. I turned my head, confused.

It hadn't taken long to figure out what distracted him. The culprit was walking from behind the garbage can on the side of the building. She tossed her empty ice cream cup into the can then strutted past our table, without eye contact. Her long brown sheer cardigan was inches away from dragging against the floor. They were the same shade as her short-heeled boots. All of her outfits were the blueprints for expensive living.