Chapter 19 Daisy #2
Eden comes home from her camping trip shortly after Owen’s arrival, and we all sit down to pancakes. Owen pours an ungodly
amount of syrup onto my plate. Eden smirks and tells us she and Leo finally made up.
Georgia starts clapping her hands with a glee that does not match her mood earlier this morning. “Oh, I’m so so so happy to
hear this,” she gushes.
“Okay, you can chill out now. It’s not like we vowed true love. We just apologized for both being idiots when we were younger.”
“That’s all I meant!” Georgia says. “I’m glad that you put the past behind you.”
“I don’t know if it’s totally behind me.”
“It’s not?” I ask.
Eden grins again. “I’m just saying, I wouldn’t rule out the opportunity to spend more time with him. If it happens.”
Georgia smiles. “Well, I’m happy for you, whatever you decide. But I’m done giving my opinions,” she says, taking a perfectly
cut bite of her pancake.
Eden and I look at each other with raised eyebrows, then burst out laughing.
“What?” Georgia says around her mouthful.
“So, Owen,” Eden says, changing the subject. “You came all the way up here to see Daisy within, what, twenty-four hours of
returning from Europe?”
I feel myself blushing. When she says it like that, it does seem . . . extreme. Romantic, even.
Owen shrugs. “Sixteen hours, technically.”
Now it’s Eden and Georgia’s turn to share a look.
“He didn’t want to miss the Fourth of July,” I say in his defense. “It’s a testament to my natural marketing skills.”
“It’s a testament to something,” Eden says, her eyes glimmering with gleeful mischief.
“It’s a testament,” Owen announces, “to how I really feel about . . .” He looks at me and my breath freezes in my chest. “Syrup.” He grabs the bottle and drizzles a shocking amount onto his pile of three pancakes.
“The amount of syrup you’re consuming is truly a health violation,” I tell him, laughing off my brief moment of insanity—for
one, flickering second I thought he was going to say my name.
“Oh really?” he says, pointing to my plate. “I believe this is an example of the pot calling the kettle . . . a description
which similarly applies to itself.”
“God, I hate it when the kitchen appliances accuse each other of the same crimes,” I reply, and we both laugh while everyone
else stares at us like we’re nuts.
The conversation moves on, and soon we’re all laughing. Owen is making jokes and telling stories, and I feel this sense of
ease I haven’t felt since we got to the lake. A sense of rightness and belonging.
We decide to carpool into town since it’s going to be a crowded day. I throw on a clean pair of cutoffs and a tie-dyed shirt,
and then Owen and I pile into the back seat of the car, with Georgia and Eden in the front.
Which is how it should be—the two older girls riding in front. Again, that sense of rightness returns. Riding around in the
passenger seat next to Mateo, and even practicing driving myself—it was a rush, sure. But it was too fast, too soon. And now,
as Georgia steers us down the road into town, a sense of calm washes over me. Already the past two weeks seem to fade like
a summery dream.
And that’s what it was, I realize: a fantasy. Yes, all those hours with Mateo were very real. But what they meant to me was the fantasy. All that time, he was mostly locked inside his own world, ruminating and doing the bare minimum to
engage with me. It wasn’t all in my head—but it also wasn’t going anywhere. It was all so breathless and rushed that I couldn’t
see it for what it was, while I was still inside the bubble of it.
My heart still hurts. But it hurts a lot less.
Partly because the whole time I’m in the back seat next to Owen, and we’re goofing around and shoving each other and laughing
about dumb things, there’s still this tiny voice in my head going: We kissed. We kissed. We kissed. Now what?
Obviously, the answer to that question, to the “now what,” is . . . nothing. There’s nothing to be done. Just let it go and
be cool, be normal. Like Owen’s being.
I’ve certainly learned my lesson about making things mean more than they really do.
It takes us nearly a half hour just to find a parking spot. Despite last night’s rain, the sun is out and so are all the good
people of Laurel, locals and summer vacationers alike. Main Street is blocked off from traffic and the whole town is decorated
in red-white-and-blue banners and spangles. There’s a band playing, several cotton candy machines, a bunch of carnival games,
and even a Ferris wheel on the town green.
People with stands and tables along the sidewalk are giving away sparklers and Uncle Sam hats with the American flag pattern in glitter. I grab one for me and one for Owen, though his keeps falling off.
“I have a giant head,” he laughs. “And besides, these aren’t my colors. I look better in purple.”
“I’ve never once seen you in purple,” I reply skeptically.
“Oh, ye of little imagination,” he says with a smirk.
I’m feeling even more myself after several hours of festival fun, plus approximately fifteen pounds of funnel cake. The four
of us play the ring toss, balloon darts, and duck pond. We split up for a bit so Eden and Georgia can go shopping, and then
we find them again and get ice cream. Dave and Mom show up, and Dave willingly puts himself in the dunk tank. I notice the
glee with which Georgia aims the ball that sends him splashing into the tank, leaving his glasses floating nearby in the water.
The sun is high overhead by this point, and we’re all sweating and happy. The smell of fried dough and kettle corn drifts
through the air. The sounds of laughter, music, babies crying, kids screaming, and the occasional “I WON!” ricochet through
the streets.
Eden and Georgia are in the midst of a competitive battle over whether rigged games counted as “fair wins.”
“Oh my god, you definitely elbowed that twelve-year-old to get the prize,” Eden is saying.
“She was hogging the squirt gun!” Georgia fires back, triumphantly holding up a giant stuffed banana in sunglasses.
I’m laughing along with them when, out of nowhere, Georgia’s face changes, going paler than the stuffed banana.
I turn around to see Rhys and Mateo approaching, both of them looking perfect and handsome and, dare I say it, a little arrogant.
“Hey, ladies,” Rhys says, sipping from a large soda cup. So casual.
Beside him, Mateo gives me a small nod, and I feel like I’m going to throw up.
Owen looks between me and Mateo, then back at me. “Is this the guy?”
I try to widen my eyes and subtly shake my head. The last thing I need is Owen making this weirder than it already is.
Rhys doesn’t seem to notice any of this. “You guys wanna play duck hunt?”
“We already did,” I blurt out.
At the same time, Eden takes Georgia’s arm. “And we were just heading . . . over there,” she says. “Away from, um, here. Sorry, boys!”
She pulls Georgia away, and I’m left staring at Mateo and Rhys like a gaping fish. “Um, this is Owen,” I say awkwardly.
Mateo reaches out to shake hands, but Owen doesn’t respond. He’s just staring Mateo up and down like he’s some sort of criminal.
I can’t say I blame him. He said he read my letter, and my letter didn’t exactly hold back.
“If either of you do anything to hurt Georgia or Daisy again, just know, you have been warned,” Owen practically growls.
“Whoa there!” I say, awkwardly laughing. “Yeah, sorry, we have to go, too!” I drag Owen away before he can say anything more.
Once we’re a safe distance, I face him. “What was that?”
He shrugs. “You’re lucky I have no fighting skills whatsoever. That could’ve turned into a real street brawl.”
I roll my eyes. “I highly doubt that. I don’t think any one of the three of you even knows how to throw a punch.”
But Owen doesn’t laugh. “It just pisses me off, what some people think they can get away with.”
“Hey, it’s cool. You don’t have to defend us girls. We’re not, like, maidens in towers or whatever.”
“Yeah, I know. Sorry. You could probably do a better job kicking that guy’s ass than me.”
“Violence is not how we resolve our problems, remember, Owen?”
He laughs, shaking his hand. “You sound like my mom.”
“That was the aim. You’re already going to be in enough trouble for taking the car. Your mom sounded pretty pissed when you
called her.”
“I would regret punching that kid in the face. But I do not regret driving up here in a stolen car. This is awesome,” he says,
his good mood returning.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I knew I would. What’s not to love? Games I actually have a shot at winning, artery-destroying food, and getting to hang out with the Holliday girls? It’s the best. I’m dying of thirst, though. Let’s get another lemonade. You want one?”
“Sure.” I’m glad the awkwardness has passed, but I feel confused as we walk side by side to one of the lemonade stands. Why
did Owen react like that? Is it possible he was not merely defending me and Georgia but actually a little . . . jealous? Or am
I letting my imagination run wild? I think of what Eden said at breakfast. He did drive up here—risking the wrath of his parents—rather quickly. Come to think of it, he must’ve barely slept. I bet he didn’t
even unpack from his trip. All he had time to do was read my postcards and letter and set his alarm for early this morning.
Just like he must’ve set his alarm early the morning I left for the lake house, waking up with enough time to slip his first
postcard to me onto our stoop so I’d find it before leaving.
I think of what Tre said at the club. Is that the kind of thing someone who is just friends would do?
We kissed. We kissed. We kissed. Now what?
I try to push the thoughts from my head as Owen takes a big slurp of lemonade. “I only got one since they’re huge. We can
share,” he says, holding it out to me.
“Sure. It’s not like we haven’t swapped saliva before,” I blurt out. I mean, we should probably put the kiss out in the open
anyway, shouldn’t we? Since I’m doing such a bad job of banishing it from my mind.