Delilah Green Doesn't Care (Bright Falls, #1)

by Ashley Herring Blake

Delilah glanced over her shoulder at the sleeping white woman next to her. Dark blond pixie cut, creamy skin. Nice mouth, full thighs, phenomenal hands.

One of the things that hooked me immediately was what Delilah sees as attractive about other women. I think men and women find different things attractive. Descriptions like these resonated with what I also find beautiful about women.

in her defense, she was a useless sack of skin lately,

Same, girl, same.

Delilah was nearly thirty years old, and college girls . . . well, she’d been there already, lived that part of her life. She preferred women her own age, always had, and was happy to leave behind all the fumbling and fluttering lashes she remembered from her early twenties.

I love seeing characters' romantic tastes changing as they get older. Who's the same person at 30 as they were at 20?

Don’t you turn into a bat after midnight?” Delilah snorted. “I do. Now if you’ll excuse me I’d like to get back to my cave.”

If I don't remember some of these one-liners, I'm rioting. Against myself.

She wasn’t in love with him; she knew that. But her body got stupid around him. Always had.

I love this about Claire. Life is messy! We don't always make decisions with our brains. This added a lot of humanity to a character who can come across as perfect. Gorgeous, smart, driven, hard-working, responsible, loving parent, etc. And also a woman who sometimes sleeps with her ex even though she knows it's not a great idea.

You’re not wired for casual, and that’s okay. Hence, a phone number. I know you hate Tinder and Her and Salad Match.”

1) I feel like sometimes there's no middle ground in romance between people who are highly sexually active, and outright virginity. I love that Claire enjoys sex, has had sex with multiple partners before, and also isn't "wired for casual." 2) SALAD MATCH OMG

taking in dark high-waisted jeans that hugged curvy hips, soft arms, and nails painted lavender, chipped at the tips.

Again with the descriptions of women. One of the first things I notice about another woman is her arms. Don't ask me why, but I'm a sucker for good arms. And I feel like most arms are good arms. Soft, muscular, tattooed, whatever. Give me all the arms.

Claire had been curvy and nerdy-sexy, and Delilah could see she still was, her hips and ass a little wider than they were back then. She looked amazing.

YES. People's bodies change as they get older, and that doesn't make them any less beautiful or sexy. Hell, sometimes it's even more beautiful because it's a body that's lived a life.

Delilah Green, the Ghoul of Wisteria House.

Of, to have a title like this. What an honor.

Delilah had turned to face her, knees spread wide and taking up all the space in the world she wanted.

I love that Delilah takes up space like this. Why do I sometimes feel the need to make myself smaller? I'm a person, just like any other person, and I am deserving to take up space.

She doted on Ruby and was Aunt Iris in every way. But she didn’t want her own kids. She never had.

I love seeing childfree characters like this. It's one of the reasons I'm so looking forward to Iris's book. People don't need children to be happy. WOMEN don't need children to have an HEA. Sure, if they want them, great! But my god, it's like it's a requirement in romance. Give me more Irises.

Delilah hadn’t felt anything about the news then—other than maybe a slight morbid glee that Claire’s decision meant she wouldn’t get to attend Berkeley with the rest of the coven.

I think it's important to see things like this. Is it mean? Yes. But who doesn't have a mean thought every once in a while? It doesn't make you a bad person. I love that Delilah is prickly and imperfect like this.

Like any event photographer worth their salt, hardly anyone noticed her, while she noticed everyone, everything. Every laugh. Every time Isabel put her hand on Astrid’s back or smoothed a hand over her hair. Every chair filled, not even an extra one in a corner in case Delilah might like a break. Every I’m so proud her stepmother uttered. Delilah captured it all, just like she was supposed to.

Again, Delilah on the outside looking in. The quiet anguish of these moments was so powerful.

She slipped her hands in her pockets and started walking backward, her eyes still on Claire.

Why is this so goddamn sexy?!

Delilah remembered thinking, through her own sad haze, that Isabel might actually die of a broken heart and then she and Astrid would be left truly alone or maybe even sent away. But Isabel survived, and as she slowly came back to life, Delilah kept waiting for the mother she needed. The parent.

Isabel (along with Spencer) is my least favorite person in this book, but moments like these make me look forward to Astrid's book even more.

She closed her eyes for two seconds, breathed in some lavender-bleach air, and ordered her feet to move. Before she could, though, before she even opened her eyes again, she felt soft fingers curl around her arm. Delilah blinked to find Claire, one hand still holding on to Astrid and the other . . . smoothing down Delilah’s tricep to her elbow.

I loved seeing Claire intentionally try to bridge the gap between Delilah and the triad. She saw that Delilah was on the outside looking in, and tried to bring her into the fold.

Honestly, in another life, she probably would have liked Iris a whole hell of a lot.

Facts.