Chapter 7 Daisy - Sometimes home isn’t where the heart is
The Journal of Daisy D. Stiles - Thirteen years ago
Today fucking sucked.
I guess now is a good time to admit that I have been measuring the mood of my days on if I see August, or if I talk to August. The results have varied between terrible, no good, rotten, and good-ish.
Seeing as how a few times I’ve mustered up the courage for conversation, his replies have been short.
And by short, I mean usually it’s a noncommittal grunt or a shrug. But I take what I can get.
I don’t know what draws me to him. Normally I’m trying to avoid contact with the male population in its entirety. Why is he different? A question I might never have the answer to.
I couldn’t go to school today because I have an ear infection.
Who even gets those anymore? So not only did I not get my hit of August Burton, I was locked in the prison cell that is my house.
The only plus side is neither of my parents felt the need to stay home with me, citing the fact that I’m too old for babysitting requirements.
I dump about fifty pounds of my clothes on top of Red’s (and I guess now also Miller’s…) bed.
“Jesus H. Christ, woman. Did you clean out your entire closet?” Red jokes. Well, at least she I think she’s joking.
“I don’t know what the weather’s going to be like! I needed options!” I try to defend myself.
We’re packing for our camping trip that we’re supposed to leave for tomorrow. I say supposed to because I’m not entirely sold on the idea of actually committing to going. Everything about this whole ordeal has bad news written all over it.
Now would be a good time to bring up my little…
interaction…with Gus. I really could use some advice as to why not a single second of him and me together in that way has left my brain.
The faint bruises in the shape of his fingers on my hips served as an unnecessary reminder of my transgressions.
They faded, and I still can’t get it all out of my head.
For some reason, it only leaves me wanting more. I need that to stop. Immediately.
But by cluing Red in, who would somehow convince me to clue Margot in, I’d be breaking the rule I created about not telling a soul.
And I’m not about to be the one to break said rule. Not when I know the satisfaction on Gus’s face if he were to ever find out might actually end me.
“Well, seeing as how it’s the end of September, I’m guessing the temp is going to drop at night. But we all have good, insulated sleeping bags, and I’m planning on bringing every comforter I can find throughout this house. We can share! And layer up!” Red throws out suggestion after suggestion.
“Or we could tell Margot this is a dumb idea and kick the plan to oh, I don’t know, next summer when it’s more reasonable?” I offer.
“I tried,” Red huffs.
I narrow my eyes.
She doesn’t back down. “I mean it, I really tried to talk some sense into her, but she has it in her head that she’s about to become a mom with no other life outside of that because there’s two babies coming. And for some reason, camping is at the top of her pre-babies bucket list.”
“I think I’m scared to ask what else is on that list.”
“I had to cross off skydiving the other day.”
Yikes. “Is she…” I start.
“Losing it?” Red correctly finishes. “Yes. I love her, but she’s actually going insane, and as her best friends, we have to go insane with her.
” Red starts picking apart my pile of clothes, sorting them into sections.
She holds up a hot pink bikini top I don’t remember packing. Her eyes are already rolling.
“That was an accident,” I defend myself.
Red ignores me, sifting through each article of clothing. “It’s two nights. You need some fleece-lined leggings, sweatpants, thermal tops, and hoodies. Maybe a hat or two, and some gloves. Extra socks and fine—I’ll agree with you on bringing all of your underwear. That’s more than fair.”
She has all of my shit folded and tucked into packing cubes within ten minutes while I sit off to the side on her bed watching her fly through this project without a pause for thought.
Red was always meant to be the mom in charge of things, like packing for trips and pep talks that wouldn’t hold the same amount of weight if they came from anyone else.
When Penelope sprints into the room and dives onto the discarded pile of clothes chanting “Mom, Mom, Mom!” Red doesn’t miss a beat, chanting right back in her face, “P, P, P!” She has the biggest smile on her face, and it’s even more obvious she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be in life.
I wish I knew what that felt like.
“What’s up, tiny human?” Red asks Penelope.
“Daddy says LB is staying home when I go to Grandma Beth’s tomorrow,” P huffs.
She makes herself comfy right next to me, criss-crossing her legs.
LB—full name Ladybug—is the stray kitten who won the lottery by loitering in the back alley of Red’s Place earlier this year and landed a spot in the Caswell family tree.
Red makes a face that tells us she’s every bit offended.
“Excuse me? He thinks we’re leaving a baby alone for two nights?
No, Penelope. Go tell Daddy he’s cracked, and I’m putting together Ladybug’s overnight bag right after I finish yours.
Actually—” She whips her body around and marches to the doorway.
“Miller Caswell!” she yells down the hallway.
I’m sure her voice carries down the stairs. Probably down the whole damn street.
“Yes, Gwendolyn, love of my life?” Miller’s voice comes from one of the rooms that also occupy the second floor of their bungalow. He sheepishly steps into the hallway and bravely plants himself in front of Red. He runs one hand through his hair.
“Don’t even try that shit with me. Did you just tell our daughter that our precious boy is being Kevin McCallistered this weekend?”
I have to give Miller credit when it’s due. He doesn’t back away like most men with self-preservation skills might. He cups each of Red’s shoulders with his hands, holding her at arm's length and tilts his head with a puppy dog look.
“Gwennie girl, Ladybug is a cat. He will be more than fine to stay at home—the home he is very comfortably taken care of in—for two nights by himself.”
Red shakes Miller off, one upping Miller’s baby face by picking Penelope up. Penelope wraps her arms around Red’s neck and leans in to smush her pouty face with Red’s. This is clearly a well-rehearsed song and dance for the two of them, and I have to hide my snicker behind my hand.
“Under no circumstance is that plan being executed. He’s a baby, and he’ll be going with Penelope to Beth’s. Argue with the damn wall, Miller.” Red reaches out and slams the bedroom door in Miller’s face.
“Gwen—” Miller whines from the other side.
“Girls rule, boys drool. Get bent, Caswell!” Red yells.
We hear Miller’s footsteps retreat down the hallway over our giggles.
She plants Penelope back on the floor.
“There. That’s settled. Now, P, did you pick out the books and toys you want to bring to Grandma Beth’s?”
“Sort of,” Penelope admits sheepishly. “I got a little distracted.”
Red ruffles P’s hair. “No biggie. You can hang with me and Daisy for a little to let the door slam have its time to shine for dramatic effect on Daddy. Then we’ll finish up your stuff. Sound good?”
Penelope nods and jumps back on the bed, crawling over to sit comfortably against me.
We hear Miller’s voice float from the bottom of the stairs. “You can ignore me all you want, but dinner’s in twenty! Daisy, we have a place set for you already!”
I keep my eye-rolling at bay. I’m sure Red has passed on the fact that if dinner was phrased as a question, I would have declined. But now she knows I can’t rudely balk at the idea with Penelope sitting right here.
“Daddy’s making salmon and rice pilaf. That’s fancy rice. Because it’s my favorite!” Penelope tells me.
So twenty minutes later, I join them. I laugh with Red and the little family that was made to be hers.
I almost choke on my salmon when Miller starts a new seemingly harmless topic. “Oh! I finally figured out the washing machine. It was so weird, it was like it was thrown off balance.”
“Huh?” Red asks in between bites. “Well, that’s a relief. I thought we were going to have to replace it.”
“Uh, what was wrong with your washing machine?” I know damn well what was wrong with that thing. It had a couple hundred pounds slammed into it.
“I didn’t tell you? It was bizarre. Right after the party, I went to put in a load of laundry, and the thing wouldn’t drain. It’s literally never done that. I’ve been bringing our clothes to Mel’s apartment while I’m working.”
“But, hey! Look who figured it out. Handyman Miller!” Miller interjects, directing his own two thumbs at himself proudly.
Red reaches over and squeezes Miller’s arm. “That’s my man!” They’re two dorks who couldn’t be anymore in love if they tried. I think the term lovesick idiots that used to be reserved just for Sawyer and Margot now applies to them.
Penelope eyes me from across the table and directs her index finger into her open mouth with a fake gag. I don’t bother to hide my snort.
God, this place is a version of peace I’ve longed for as long as I can remember.
It’s just what I need before heading back to a house void of any joy that could even come close to the kind of love that pours out of the bungalow.
It’s always been that way, though. Red’s home has always felt like an escape, a place where I can really be myself, unabashed and free. The only part that sucks is the come down, when I realize it’s all temporary and only possible within those walls.
The sound of a TV with the volume way too high greets me as I enter the back door of my childhood house of horrors. Shitty conservative news pours out of the speakers, drowning out any hint of positivity I had just a second ago.