Chapter 6 Daisy - Don’t argue with the pregnant chick
The Journal of Daisy D. Stiles - Thirteen years ago
I’m writing this all down as fast as I possibly can so I don’t forget a single detail.
I talked to him today. August. And he talked to me! Like, we had an entire conversation. Well, okay, maybe you wouldn’t call it a conversation. But words were exchanged. I feel like I’m high on life right now.
Wait, I need to back up. Mom was in (not so) rare form last night. There aren’t many happy days anymore. When she could drink, she was angry. And now that she can’t drink because she’s pregnant, she’s still angry. She threw a clock at my dad.
Shocker to no one, my dad blamed me. I barely slept, and decided I couldn’t handle most other parts of life today. So I’ve been hiding out in the guidance office.
Apparently August got into a fight at lunch. He was sent here after his meeting with the principal. It seems like maybe he has some secrets too if he gets a free pass to cool down here.
I told myself to mind my business. I lasted a total of seven minutes and twenty-nine seconds. Yes, I counted. This is what transpired after the fact:
Me- “Hi.”
Him-
Me- “My name is Daisy Stiles. You’re August, right?”
Him- “Gus.”
Me- “Oh, you prefer Gus? I’m sorry. Gus it is then.”
Him-
Me- “I like to hide out here on bad days. It’s a good place to be.”
Him- “They’re all bad days.”
Me- “Relatable, Gus.”
Ms. Riccardine called him into her office after that. But before he closed the door, he looked back at me, and I swear to christ I’ll never forget this. He said: “I’m actually good with you calling me August, Daisy Stiles.”
With Beth and Mel most likely a bottle of wine or two deep back at Beth’s house for the night, and Penelope snoozing peacefully inside, the monitor sitting on a little table next to Red so she can keep an eye on her, the gender reveal party is officially over.
I think—despite my doubts—Gus and I have successfully managed to keep our little mishap from earlier today a secret. It appears no one suspects a thing, thank freaking God.
And even though I’ll never think anything I create could be good enough for people as good as Margot and Sawyer, they’re over the moon about the reveal.
That’s partly because who couldn’t be excited about welcoming two precious girls into the world?
And Margot also says because the arrangements are the most magical things she’s ever seen.
Bets on if she’s lying to my face to make me feel better?
Or Margot was buttering me up for whatever she’s about to present to our group while we’re all sitting around the fire Miller and Sawyer got going once the sun started to set.
Her eyes and that creepy smile she plasters on her face when she has a plan she hasn’t run by anyone are the tell-alls.
She not-so-gracefully attempts to lean out of her Adirondack chair.
Sawyer jumps to help her perch herself on the end.
“So,” Margot starts.
“Here we go,” Miller mutters.
“Shut your trap, Milly Vanilly.” Margot whips her head to her half brother and shoots daggers with her eyes.
“That’s a terrible nickname. I’m not accepting it on the roster, Marge Barge.”
Margot gasps, and Miller clocks his detrimental mistake in the next second. The skin over Margot’s cheeks and the bridge of her nose flushes to a dark red. “Are you insinuating I’m the size of a barge?”
The rest of us attempt to stifle giggles, Red failing miserably, as Miller flounders for a way out of the mess he created.
“No!” he yells. “Don’t do this. You cannot seriously do this for the next nine months.”
“I’m already three months pregnant, you moron! I only have six left to go! You should know this!”
Sawyer tries to diffuse the situation, rubbing his hand on Margot’s thigh.
“Hey, hey. No sibling squabbles. What’s up? Tell everyone your plans, I’m sure they’re all gonna be excited.” Sawyer then shoots us all a pointed look that tells us we’re about to act excited whether we truly are or not.
Margot takes a second to breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth while Sawyer leans over and whispers something I can’t pick up.
“I think we should all go camping,” Margot declares.
And the crowd goes…silent. None of us say a single word. I think half of us assume she’s joking, and the other half is attempting to avoid a fight with Margot—or Sawyer.
To my shock, it’s Gus who finally speaks up. “You wanna camp, Margot?” The tone of his voice reminds me of how someone would approach a stray, borderline feral cat.
“Didn’t I just say that?” she asks.
I decide I can handle whatever the pregnant woman throws at me. “I think we all might just be a little confused. Seeing as how you sort of…barely tolerate the outdoors.”
“No, I don’t!” Margot argues. “My fiancé here runs a whole business based around the outdoors.” She dramatically throws her hand in Sawyer’s direction, who slowly nods his head in reluctant agreement.
“I love dirt and trees and animals! Even bugs! Come on! I suggested this before, and you all ignored me. You can’t ignore me now. ”
“Absolutely, you’re actually so right,” Red flat out lies. “I think what Gus and Daisy are trying to say is, umm, it’s the end of summer. And you’re…”
“Pregnant?” Margot finishes Red’s sentence. She’s glaring at Red in a way I would imagine an angry dragon might. “Well aware, Gwendolyn. I’m not dead. I’m growing some humans. So what? And I want to celebrate and hoorah the end of summer in a tent surrounded by my favorite people. So what?”
“Okay, okay,” I attempt to settle things. “When and where?”
Margot perks up. “That place you guys used to go! Sockless Pond or whatever!”
“Barefoot Lake,” Gus corrects. I notice the hint of excitement in the way he says it. He’s already signed on for this trip no matter what anyone else says, and I’m not surprised. Camping at Barefoot has always been one of Gus’s favorite pastimes.
“Yeah, there. I was thinking the last weekend of September. It’ll be a little chilly, sure. But it’s not like we can’t all bundle up, right?”
A chorus of resounding rights echoes around the fire pit.
Don’t argue with the pregnant chick.
The sun has completely set by the time we agree on the date and plan out what we need to pack for meals. Miller mildly panics about leaving Penelope for two nights until Red calms him down. Margot passes out in her chair practically mid-conversation from exhaustion.
An unfamiliar feeling takes over me when Gus wordlessly places a handwoven throw on the arm of my chair about two hours later. When conversation settled and the air began to chill, he went inside and collected blankets for all of us. I assumed he’d skip me because, well, it’s Gus.
But he doesn’t, and I’m too shocked to thank him so now guilt is worming its way inside me.
Sawyer moves Margot so she’s now snoozing peacefully on his lap, wrapped in a plaid blanket, while Sawyer rests with his head tilted up at the sky, playing with the ends of Margot’s hair.
Red repositions her chair so she can drape her legs over Miller’s, and he’s busy massaging her socked feet while they giggle to themselves about God knows what.
I look over the fire to Gus. I practically jump in my seat when I see his eyes are already fixed on me. I need to peel my line of sight away from him. Focus on anything else. But, I can’t. And it sort of seems like neither can he.
Seconds tick by that turn into minutes, and I can’t tell you a single thing that transpires over that period of time other than Gus staring at me, and me watching him.
Finally, mercifully, Sawyer announces that he and Margot are calling it a night, breaking up our little after party.
Gus avoids me, or maybe I avoid him, as everyone says their sleepy goodbyes.