9. Daisy
CHAPTER 9
daisy
Thirty minutes later, we’re merging onto the interstate, each of us sipping from the travel mugs I fixed. I’d offered for him to join me in a rosary earlier, since it’s a LaFleur tradition to start a longer drive that way, but he politely passed.
“So, uh, I was thinking we could just take turns asking one another questions, but that we could answer our own questions, too,” I begin once I put my rosary away.
“Okay,” he agrees hesitantly. “Are we doing the full transparency thing now, or are we allowed to pass on some of these?”
“We might as well base this fake marriage on honesty, right?” I offer, and he huffs out a laugh.
“Might as well,” he agrees, and I adjust my position in the passenger seat to face him.
“First question, what’s your middle name?”
“That’s an easy one,” he mumbles. “It’s Nicholas.”
I smirk. “We have the same name.”
“What?”
“I’m Daisy Colette, named after St. Colette, who was named after St. Nicholas.”
He hums. “How ‘bout that.”
“Yeah.” We’re both quiet for a second, and I whisper a prayer for the intercession of our patron saints. “Your turn to ask a question,” I say once I’m done.
“I’m not sure I’m …” He frowns and coughs lightly. “Why don’t you handle the questions for now?”
“Isn’t there something you’d like to know about me before giving me your last name?”
He shrugs. “I don’t really do relationships, so I don’t bother asking about this stuff most of the time. And the only questions that come to mind now are related to your medical history.”
“Oh,” I reply thoughtfully. “Well, ask away. I don’t mind. You have a right to know exactly what you’re getting yourself into.”
“It’s not that. I just … I’m not sure I know how to care about anything else.”
I turn to regard his expression again. His eyes are on the road ahead of him, but I can see the wheels turning in his head.
“Landry, have you ever been in love?”
He flinches and glares at me. “What?”
“Have you ever been in love?” I repeat. “It’s my next question.”
“I thought we were asking about favorite colors or candy preferences,” he mutters.
“Mint green, obviously, and candy corn, specifically the pumpkins. But you know I don’t eat candy often because processed sugar makes me more susceptible to seizures. You?”
“Uh,” he flounders for a second, apparently caught off guard again. “Dark green, I guess. And I don’t eat much candy, either. But I used to like those little caramel jellybean things. Sugar Babies?” I nod, and he glances my way before he goes on, “Not the ones on the stick, though. I’m not a fan of eating anything on a stick.”
I smile at the way his lip curls up in disgust. “Why not?”
“I don’t know. Apart from it being slightly emasculating, there’s something about the idea of waving my food in the air as I eat it that just …” He pauses to shiver. “I also hate reusable straws. No way those things get completely clean.”
“Are you a germaphobe?”
“No, I just have a few specific sensory things, especially when it comes to food.”
“Is that why you don’t like your toothbrush being near a menstrual cup?”
“Yeah, I guess,” he replies with a soft laugh. “I’m not afraid of bodily fluids or anything natural, but I am weird about my toothbrush.”
I hum in affirmation, thinking about whether I want to ask about his aversion to physical affection. But I decide not to push my luck, since I haven’t even gotten him to answer the first personal question.
“My mom was always in favor of developing natural immunities, so I imagine I’m a ‘rub some essential oils on it’ kind of girl,” I say instead, and he nods appreciatively. “Okay, your turn again.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Did you really give me a free pass on that other question, or are you just trying to distract me long enough to bring it up again later, while my guard is down?”
I bite my lip and stifle a smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He shakes his head, but he looks more impressed than upset. “I meant what I said the other day about not buying into that crap. Love, marriage, soulmates … none of it is legit. You can’t convince me it’s nothing more than a combination of lust and codependency.”
“Wow,” I say on a sigh. “The cynicism runs deep.”
“Yeah. I earned it.”
I pull my hair over my shoulder and idly begin braiding it, trying to resist the urge to push him too far. “Can I ask about that?” I venture after a while.
He runs his tongue over his teeth and stares at the road again. “My parents got pregnant and married young. My dad realized a little later that he wasn’t interested in following through with most of his vows, but my mom never stopped trying to win him over. Her disappointment led to depression, which led to alcoholism and some light drug abuse, which led to me and my siblings basically raising ourselves while my dad kept his head in the sand. It wasn’t until after my mom went through a few rounds of rehab and we’d all moved out on our own that she finally gave up and asked for a divorce.”
I reach over and squeeze his forearm, and his jaw muscles tick, but he waits a full second before he tugs his arm away.
“Is that why you’re so protective of Loren?” I ask softly.
“Mostly.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I don’t need your pity,” he retorts.
“It’s not pity,” I reply, frowning. “I’m genuinely sad to hear you never got to experience the kind of love I’ve always known in my family. Just like you’re sorry I’ve missed out on stuff because I was a sickly kid, right?”
He clenches his jaw tightly again. “Yeah. I guess.”
“Unless you think I’m pathetic because I never went to prom or a high school football game or any of the other things you probably enjoyed doing as a normal teenager,” I go on.
“I don’t think you’re pathetic because you never went to prom,” he grinds out after a while. “But there’s no excuse for never having gone to a high school football game.”
I can’t help it when a laugh bubbles up, and I notice the way his lips twitch, as if he’s fighting a smile of his own.
“Did you play football?”
“Yes. And my dad coached.”
“Oh, right. I knew that. What position did you play?”
He turns and smirks at me. “Would you know the difference?”
“Not really,” I reply, making him chuckle.
“I was the backup quarterback, and I alternated at wide receiver and linebacker.”
I frown. “Your dad didn’t make you the starting quarterback?”
He clicks his tongue. “He let me start for one year, until this other guy who was just a little better got to high school.”
The realization hits me, and I cringe. “Let me guess, he had a younger brother who was also good at football?”
“Bingo.”
I stare at his profile as I continue. “Did you love it? Playing ball?”
“Yeah, I did,” he says thoughtfully. “Despite my dad and the Bourgeois brothers nearly ruining it for me, I still loved the game. And I was good at it, even if I wasn’t as good as Blake or JD.”
“I bet you were better. I imagine it was hard being the coach’s son and getting held to a higher standard,” I tell him.
But he shakes his head and smiles wistfully. “Having something to prove only made me work harder. In the end, the competition was good for me. I enjoyed being a part of the team. And as much as it hurts to admit it, I still claim some of the bragging rights I earned from playing alongside a kid who ended up in the pros.”
We laugh together before I start again. “Landry?”
“Hmm?”
He turns to look at me for a second, and my stomach flutters. He really is a handsome man, and I’d be lying if I said he doesn’t make me feel things I’ve never felt before. But I’m not here to throw myself at him, especially when he’s so far out of my league. Not to mention, I’ll never become self-sufficient without his help, as ironic as that seems.
I swallow hard. “Will you take me to a game? You know, at school, and teach me how it all works?”
His smile grows wider. “Yeah, sure.”
“Thanks,” I breathe, looking away when I feel my cheeks flush.
“All right, enough about me,” he says after a second. “Why don’t you just do me a favor and tell me all the rest of the stuff you think I need to know?”
I perk up. Not for the chance to talk about myself, but because I get to coerce Landry into spilling the same details later. “Okay, let’s see … I love plants and gardening. I can’t cook or bake all that well because my mom and sisters thought it wouldn’t be safe to let me near the stove with my epilepsy, so they assigned other chores to me instead, like tending to the animals and some of the smaller gardens, washing the dishes, and folding the laundry. I prefer homemade to store-bought gifts. I enjoy reading, but I’d rather do it outside. My dad always played John Denver around the farm, so his music makes me happy. My faith is very important to me, although you knew that already. And my sisters are great, but Rowan has always been my favorite sibling.”
He hums. “If you enjoy that whole homesteading-Jesus-hippie lifestyle so much, then why are you out here in Camellia all by yourself?”
I try not to let him see how much his question deflates me. “Because it’s a good opportunity.”
“Opportunity for what?”
“To prove I can make it on my own, like I said before,” I tell him, but I can’t bring my eyes up from my lap. “And even though I miss my family, I guess I was tired of being the only one left at home.”
“Do you even want to be a teacher?”
“What?”
He clears his throat. “I like baseball and football, but golf is my favorite sport. It’s relaxing, and I’m good at it. And since I’m not a big drinker, I usually beat the pants off everyone when I play in a group, because I’m the only sober one left by the back nine.”
I turn to stare at him with wide eyes, and he gives me a sad smile. “Even though Lo and I mostly fended for ourselves as kids, I never really learned to cook, either. We ate a lot of sandwiches. I love my Jeep.” He pauses to stroke the dash before he continues, “but besides that, I don’t really care much about material possessions, because efficiency and utility are more important than beauty. Country music annoys me because it’s too sappy; I listen to medical podcasts instead. Your brother is the only real friend I’ve ever had.”
He stops again and sighs, as if this next part requires more courage to say. “I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was a kid, and I’ve always struggled to balance the anxious overthinking with actually thinking before I act. You already know I get mean when I’m overstimulated or stressed. I wanted to join the military, but I was afraid of failing the psychological eval, and I couldn’t bring myself to leave my family. It ended up being for the best, though, since I enjoy being a pediatrician. I’m horrible in most social situations, except for when I get to work with kids. They’re honest and blunt, and they accept my help. And helping people is the only thing that makes me feel good.”
My heart swells when I realize what he’s doing, and it takes all I have to keep my eyes from watering as I pick up where he left off. “I don’t mind teaching, but I don’t love it, either. I’m only doing it because no one believes I can handle anything else. My family never supported my plans to move out or start a career, but when Rowan suggested I come to Camellia to take Loren’s place for a while, my parents actually encouraged me to give it a try. They said this would be a perfect fit, since teachers get such great health benefits and all that time off. But I think they only backed me this time because it’s a temporary setup. All they saw was the chance for me to get this out of my system without leaving as big of a mess behind when I fail.”
He frowns. “What do you really want to do with your life?”
I lift a shoulder. “I guess I haven’t thought that far ahead. I just want to be self-sufficient for now.” It’s only a half-truth, but I’m not confident in any other answers.
“Okay, then. That’s what we’ll work on until I move out,” he says, his voice firm but gentle.
Warmth spreads throughout my chest, and a smile overtakes my face. “Only if you let me help you, too.”
He sighs as if he’s unsure whether to acknowledge my offer. “How could you possibly help me?”
“I’m not sure yet,” I answer honestly. “But don’t worry. I won’t force you to accept a payment toward my marital debt.” I feel myself blushing again as I deliver the last part, especially when he doesn’t laugh. I glance over and see him looking confused as he pulls into a gas station parking lot.
“Need anything inside?” he asks gruffly, and I shake my head, still embarrassed because my suggestive joke fell flat. He returns a few minutes later, empty handed.
“You didn’t get any snacks at all?” I ask, my voice laced with disappointment.
“No. Because you said you didn’t want anything. And I didn’t want anything. Hence, nothing.”
I pout. “You really don’t know how this works, do you?”
“Not a clue,” he replies, smiling.
“When a woman says she doesn’t want a snack, it’s because she’s too shy to ask for one, or she’s so hangry that she doesn’t know what she wants to eat,” I explain.
“And how would you know this stuff if you haven’t been in relationships either?”
“I’ve lived with a lot of women over the years, Landry,” I retort mockingly. “And it’s not like I’ve never dated at all. It’s just hard to progress with either my epilepsy or my virginity getting in the way.”
He frowns. “There are guys out there who refused to date you because of something you can’t control?”
I notice he only addresses the epilepsy part of my confession. “Yes, but most of the time my health has been the problem. I can’t saddle someone I barely know with this kind of life, not when they don’t understand.”
“They’re idiots if they can’t see what they’re missing out on,” he says. “And if any man ever pressures you into sleeping with him, even if he says he’s willing to marry you, I want to know his name.”
I roll my eyes, unable to stifle a smile. “Don’t worry. Some guy is offering to take me off the market for the next few months, and I’m thinking I’m going to accept him.”
He grunts. “I heard he’s an asshole, though.”
“Nope. But he does have some of those tendencies .”