Chapter 4 Daisy
Daisy
It is not time or opportunity
that is to determine intimacy;
—it is disposition alone.
~ Jane Austen
“... and then Patrick and Cody ran straight into the barn!” Winona flails her hands with every animated word, telling the story for what feels like the twentieth time.
Only this time it’s to our friends sitting around our usual table at The Pizza Den. All day yesterday and today she’s been recounting the event to the customers at Moss and Maple.
Carli hands her plate across the table to me. “Another slice, please.” She looks at Winona. “I thought it was Patrick and Dustin who ran into the fire.”
“It was,” Emberleigh says quietly.
“Right. Right.” Winona shakes her head. “My bad—Dustin.”
Carli turns to Emberleigh and says, “Oh, sweetie.”
“It’s okay,” Emberleigh says. “I need to adjust to being in a relationship with a man who runs into burning buildings for a living. Thankfully, around here the calls are usually medical or a lock-out … or something non-life threatening. Dustin fights fires, but not ones like the barn fire—at least not regularly.”
“They’re all so brave.” Winona’s voice turns dreamy. “Whatever gene makes you run into fire? I definitely missed out on that one.”
“It’s impressive,” Carli agrees.
She silently reaches next to her and places a hand on Emberleigh’s back. “Do you want to go see Dustin?”
“I think I might.” Emberleigh smiles at each of us in turn. “Do y’all mind?”
“Go. Go.” Cass, Winona’s older twin, tells Emberleigh. “If I had a man and he just fought a fire and saved the farm, I’d have told you to eat some pizza for me tonight. I can’t believe you even came out.”
Winona jumps up, runs around the table and wraps Emberleigh in a hug. “Love you!”
“Love you too,” Emberleigh says. She waves goodbye to our table.
Winona takes her seat next to me and continues to gush about the way Patrick downplayed his bravery when he came to pick up Maeve’s books.
“I admire them,” I say.
“Them, or him?” Winona asks.
“Patrick did a good job. I’ll admit. But he wasn’t alone in the rescue. From what I heard, Dustin did the rescuing. Patrick just held the hose. He even said so himself.”
“At least give him credit for the part he played,” Winona says.
“I just did.” I sigh. “Sorry. I get a little bristly where he’s concerned. I didn’t mean to snap at you, Win.”
Cass stares at me. I can tell she’s got something to say.
“What?” I ask her.
“It’s okay to admire a man for his work.”
“A man’s character boils down to more than one act of bravery.
He’s the sum of his choices. Patrick cost me more than I like to admit.
I still hear the voices of the judges—the sound of my feet on the linoleum floor in the exam room—the one I walked out of alone.
And given the chance, he’d leave me high and dry—again. ”
“Can’t argue that,” Carli says. “I love Patrick, but I’m team Daisy when it comes to how he did you wrong.”
“Well, that knocks Patrick out of the running,” Winona says.
“The running for what?” I ask.
“For your dating life,” she says as if it’s obvious.
I choke out a laugh. “Newsflash. Patrick O'Connell never was in the running for anything remotely romantic with me.”
“All single men are in the running,” Winona says.
“Not him. He could be the last man on earth, the future of civilization depending on our union, and well … sorry human race. It’s been real.”
My friends laugh. I’m dead serious where Patrick’s concerned, but I laugh along with them.
Cass clarifies, “Let’s narrow the list of eligible candidates down to all single men between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five … with jobs … and decent personalities …”
“That bar’s so low it’s subterranean,” I argue.
“Agreed,” Carli says. “I saw this post on social media where the mom took her boys into the yard and picked up a garden hose. They lined up. She’d list off things like, ‘Buying her flowers,’ or ‘Holding her door open,’ or ‘Taking her on a special vacation,’ and the boys had to answer ‘bare minimum’ or ‘princess treatment.’ If any of them said ‘princess treatment’ to any of her statements, she literally sprayed them, and good! ”
We all crack up.
“I promise Child Protective Services did not need to be called,” Carli adds. “This woman was doing the girls of her boys’ generation a massive favor.”
“And her boys,” Cass adds. “Think of all the future nights in the dog house she spared them.”
“Happy wife, happy life,” Winona adds. And then she yawns.
I look at my phone. “I’d better call it a night.”
“Me too,” Winona says. “I open tomorrow.”
We say our goodbyes and I drive home. Patrick’s car is out front of my duplex—a painfully poignant reminder that he’s trespassing in my life.
His Mustang GT makes my blood boil hot enough to burn off any trace of drowsiness before my key even hits the lock.
I pad upstairs, brush my teeth and put on my pjs. Then I make myself a cup of tea and snuggle into the pillows against my headboard. I pull up the podcast app and turn on my favorite bookish podcast, Burning Through the Pages.
The host’s voice is low and soothing. It doesn’t hurt that he’s a man who loves books. On a previous episode he confessed that he uses a voice disguising app to do the podcast so that he can be what he calls “a civilian by day and a bookworm by night.” I’d give anything to know who he is.
“Tonight,” he says in his warm, comforting voice. “I thought we’d talk about the theme of loneliness in literature. Specifically, I want to dive into Fredrik Backman’s book, A Man Called Ove.”
I sigh. It’s a favorite of mine.
The host continues, “I could say so many things about this book—about how life circumstances can shape a person. I could do an episode on grief. And maybe I will in the future. We could consider how one kindness can have the power to actually save a life, or how there’s more to a person than what meets the eye at first blush.
I almost feel remiss not digging into the nuances of Backman’s use of metaphor. He’s a master, am I right?”
“You are,” I answer quietly into my tea before taking a sip.
“But tonight,” the host continues. “I want to talk about loneliness, which, I think, is significantly different from solitude or singleness. A person can be comfortably alone—even in a crowd. Many can live fulfilling lives of singleness by choice. Loneliness at its heart doesn’t have to do with solitude.
It is the experience of feeling disconnected, unseen, or lacking meaningful companionship.
And for Ove, in his story, he experiences deep loneliness after the passing of his wife and the loss of his best friend. ”
The host goes on to discuss loneliness in light of Backman’s book. I hang on his every word. I know a lot of men. None of them are as articulate or passionate as the host of Burning Through the Pages.
After forty minutes, he closes with his standard sign-off. “Thank you for listening. And remember, you can always reach out through the show’s email, or leave a comment on your podcast app. And remember to subscribe as that helps keep the lights on. I wish you a good week filled with great books.”
The episode ends.
I set my cup on the side table and stretch my arms overhead.
Those last words softly echo in my brain: you can always reach out.
I’ve never been one to even comment on podcasts or book reviews. Something about tonight’s topic has me itching to write an email—just something simple, thanking the host for his thoughtful treatment of a vulnerable subject.
I stand up, walk across my room, grab my laptop and return to bed.
After I power it on, I open my email app and hit “Compose.”
I stare at the blank screen, and it stares back, daring me to take the leap.
“He won’t ever know who you are,” I tell myself out loud.
I start typing:
Dear Burning Through the Pages,
Dear? What is this, the 1900s? I delete that line and start over.
Hey!
Hey? Hey? Seriously, Daisy? Delete.
I wish I knew his name. I’ll just skip addressing him and hop right into my message.
I listen to your show every week. It’s my favorite. Tonight I stayed up past my usual bedtime to listen to your episode on A Man Called Ove. Your discussion on loneliness was thoughtful and insightful. I’m not usually lonely, though I do live alone.
I delete that last sentence and keep typing. He doesn’t need to know if I’m ever lonely. I’m just complimenting him on his excellent podcast.
I listen to your show every week. It’s my favorite. Tonight I stayed up past my usual bedtime to listen to your episode on A Man Called Ove. Your discussion on loneliness was thoughtful and insightful. I just wanted to let you know you’re appreciated. Keep up the good work.
- M&M
I sign my note M&M for Moss and Maple. If he’s anonymous, I will be too. Not that he’s even going to be the one to open my email. He probably has a production team or assistant who answers all listener messages.
Before I can second guess myself, I hit send. And then I panic.
“Keep up the good work?” I groan. “What am I, his fourth grade teacher?”
“Stop it, Daisy,” I tell myself. “You sent a nice note to a man who talked about loneliness with a familiarity that says he’s not only drawing from Backman’s story, but his own life experience.”
“Exactly,” I answer myself.
Why does his response matter so much to me? Maybe because of our shared love of books. No. It’s more than that. He talks about books the way I wish someone would talk about me—like I matter.
I’m about to shut down my email when I see a notification pop up in my inbox.
My heart rate picks up just the slightest when I see it’s from Burning Through the Pages. I click the email and read:
Dear M&M,
Thank you for loyally listening to my show. You don’t know what it means to have someone say it’s their favorite. Since you listened past your bedtime, you probably won’t get this until morning. I just wanted to say thank you and to let you know you matter.
What do you think? Should I tackle grief next? Or should I go into my planned content, which is a critique of Pride & Prejudice?
- BTTP (Burning Through the Pages)
Seeing Patrick’s car dominating the front of my duplex woke me up in a not-so-fun way.
This email has the same effect, but not because I’m too agitated to sleep.
I’m wide awake, buzzing over getting a response from the host of Burning Through the Pages.
Despite my instinct not to bother him with more fan mail, I sit up, composing a response.
He did ask me questions. I’m taking that as a green light.
Dear BTTP,
Criticizing P&P? Are you out of your mind?
You do know that’s a classic, right? I’m not saying all classics are automatically amazing. We both know that’s far from true. But P&P? Darcy? You don’t mess with perfection.
- M&M
I hover my cursor over the SEND button, close my eyes, and click the mouse.
The email whooshes out of sight and I question my life.
Was that too argumentative? Arrogant? Overstepping the boundaries?
I just wanted to tell him thanks for the podcast. Now I’m defending Jane Austen and Darcy.
Not that Darcy needs a defense attorney.
I stare at the screen, waiting for the next email response to come through.
A minute passes and I start to wonder if I went too far.
Two minutes and I’m lifting the computer off my lap and setting it on my bed so I can pace.
Three minutes and I’m ready to compose an apology.
Not retracting my thoughts on Pride & Prejudice, but apologizing for coming across so boldly to a total stranger.
Only, he doesn’t feel like a stranger. I curl up to his discourses on books once a week.
On harder weeks, I revisit favorite episodes.
My computer pings with a notification. I click the email.
Dear M&M,
You’re making me think grief might be less controversial. But I’m not one to shy away from controversy. I have some serious things to say about how Darcy handled the misunderstanding between himself and Elizabeth Bennet. As a man, I’d like to give my thoughts on Darcy and his choices.
It seemed like a good idea at the time. Now you’ve got me thinking the women in my audience might take up pitchforks if I, as you say, mess with perfection.
- BTTP
I don’t waste a minute. I write back:
Dear BTTP,
You’ve got me intrigued. Is it too late to retract my previous scolding and tell you to go ahead?
Tread lightly. Pitchforks may be inevitable when you come for Darcy.
We women tend to hold him up as the epitome of romantic men.
He’s just so … unexpected. Anyway, have at it. I can’t wait to hear your thoughts.
- M&M
When no reply comes, I close my laptop and set it on the nightstand. Eventually, sleep finds me—though my mind is still buzzing with Darcy, pitchforks, and a voice that makes loneliness feel a little less lonely.