Delaney James was wearing Chanel the night her husband told her he didn't love her anymore.
In an instant, her picture-perfect Manhattan life-complete with a brownstone on the Upper East Side, a blossoming career as a fashion journalist, and a devas...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Greyson has been looking forward to tonight for weeks.
Two of his closest friends from his years in professional baseball are flying into Wilmington after finishing a series against the Braves in Atlanta this afternoon. They have an off day before the Cubs start a series against the Phillies in Chicago on Monday, so instead of flying home tonight, they decided to spend one night in South Grove.
The minute they booked their flights, Greyson made plans for all of us to meet at Jenkin's for drinks, and he's been talking ever since about how excited he is for me to finally meet them.
He's told me enough stories over the last few months that I already feel like I know them. I've heard about impossible road trips, clubhouse pranks, and the kind of friendships that can only be built by spending half the year chasing the same dream.
I wish I could say I'm approaching tonight with the same confidence.
It's not that I expect them to dislike me. Greyson has never given me a reason to believe that they'd be anything by welcoming. Still, they met him during a chapter of his life I wasn't part of. They came into the picture after we fell apart, after I'd chosen New York. By the time they met Greyson, I was already part of his past, and whatever they learned about me came secondhand. It wasn't based on their own experiences. It came from watching one of their closest friends navigate a heartbreak they hadn't witnessed from the beginning.
If the people who loved me had watched me go through something similar, I know they'd probably have strong opinions about the person responsible before ever meeting him. I imagine Greyson's friends are no different, and I can't blame them for that. I just hope they leave tonight knowing me for who I am instead of for a story they only witnessed from the outside.
The Cubs have a noon game, so the guys won't make it to South Grove until later this evening. To keep myself from dwelling on all the what-ifs swirling around in my head, I throw myself into the rest of my day. I squeeze in a run, film and post a couple of videos, then upload what I think might be the strongest blog post I've written yet.
By the time Greyson calls a little after five-thirty to tell me the game ended on schedule and they've boarded their flight, I've managed to burn through enough nervous energy that heading upstairs to get ready finally feels like something to look forward to instead of another opportunity to overthink.
I spend a little longer than usual doing my hair and makeup, smiling at myself in the mirror when I realize the extra effort has nothing to do with impressing Greyson. He'd think I was beautiful wearing one of his old T-shirts. Tonight, I simply want to make a good first impression on the people who have been important to him for so many years.
I'm leaning over the kitchen counter flipping through the latest issue of Vogue while my mom cleans out the pantry, muttering to herself about my dad's inexplicable obsession with canned tuna, when two familiar hands land squarely on my ass.
