47. Daisy
47
DAISY
W e spend our final week together surfing.
Okay, that’s a little inaccurate.
We spend our final week together doing a lot of things, and surfing is among them.
We also jog, bike, and break in the new couch. We break in the new couch r epeatedly . Baker is livid that Harrison’s taken most of the week off, and Harrison doesn’t care in the least.
I’ll fly back to school the weekend before class starts—my car isn’t going to survive the trip, though I only talked Harrison out of buying me a new one by pointing out that DC, a relatively small city, currently averages eight carjackings a day. Now he’s quietly fretting about me living there at all, though he tries to control himself. He’ll see that it’s not so scary once he visits—he already has a ticket booked to see me Labor Day weekend, and the weekend after that too.
I curl up beside him when I get out of the shower. He’s on his laptop, looking at rentals in Costa Rica. “What do you think?” he asks, showing me the house. “I know you’ll want to see your mom over winter break, but if you don’t have to go back ‘til the middle of January, we might be able to squeeze a trip in.”
I take a deep breath, knowing he’s going to argue with what I’m about to say. “Actually, I might be done by then. If I take twenty-one hours this semester, I can graduate in December. I only need a few classes in my major and a few electives, so if I choose easy electives, I can pull it off.”
His brow furrows. “Twenty-one hours? It’s too much. And I don’t want you taking shitty classes and rushing through your degree.”
I nestle my head into his chest. “I never wanted this degree. I’m finishing it for my mom’s sake—not my own. If it had been left up to me, I think I’d have gone in another direction entirely.”
He brushes the hair back from my face. “What direction would you have gone in?”
“I’m still working through it, but…I like to cook. I don’t want to work in a restaurant, but I think there are other things I could do. Like some kind of healthy meal catering service or something.”
It’s not some atmospheric ambition. It’s not being an interpreter for the UN or defending political prisoners or even getting an MFA. It’s not going to suddenly prove to the world that the Dohertys are smart and ambitious and just as good as everyone else.
But it’s something I’d feel good about, something I’d be proud of. I haven’t quite gotten there yet, but I can picture a future in which I don’t need to impress anyone but myself.
Maybe because I’m already enough for Harrison just as I am.
Two nights before I leave for DC, I make dinner for us…as well as my mom, Liam, and Emmy.
My mom arrives first, and her eyes are wide as she takes in the house. “Good God,” she says, awe in her eyes as she looks around. “No wonder you were so reluctant to come home.”
“That wasn’t because of the difference in your houses.”
She smiles. “I have a feeling I know exactly why you wanted to stay here, but I’m still your mom, so let’s pretend it was mostly about the house. And don’t allude to any of this when Liam arrives.”
He’s coming under duress—because I begged him and my mom begged him and mostly because Emerson begged him, though I suspect she didn’t actually beg but simply told him to grow the fuck up, because that seems like the kind of thing she’d say.
Harrison gets home from work. His smile is slightly forced and awkward as he greets my mom—the transition from being her friend to being her daughter’s boyfriend is going to take us all a while. He doesn’t kiss me or even touch me until she walks out to the deck, politely claiming she wants to look at the view, though I suspect she’s just trying to give us a minute.
When I pull him to me by his tie and kiss him, he groans.
“Promise me you’ll behave for the next few hours,” he says. “No referencing sex in any way.”
“I wasn’t likely to reference sex in front of my mom , babe.”
He laughs quietly, brushing his lips against my own one last time before he steps away. “Just listening to you describe the creaminess of Havarti cheese has gotten me hard, Daisy. The bar is set pretty low.”
“I did taste a Gruyere today that—”
“Stop,” he pleads. “Seriously. Liam’s definitely going to walk in here ready to throw another punch, and I’ll probably allow it. So if you want me standing when this is done, you’ve got to promise you’ll be a good girl. ”
My mouth curves. I’m on the cusp of saying I’ll be such a good girl for you in a filthy voice before I realize that’s the exact kind of shit he’s talking about. “I’ll do my best.”
I carry the pitcher of margaritas I made to the deck, and he follows. I’m just starting to pour the drinks when Liam and Emerson park in front of the house. She’s smiling as they climb the stairs.
Liam is not.
Emmy hugs everyone while Liam looks around him with a scowl.
“I guess if you had to be seduced by a predatory old man,” he finally says, “this was a decent house to allow it to happen in.”
I laugh. “Fuck off.”
He gives me the slightest smile. “I’m just saying…you’ve still got a room at my place, and it’s always open. You don’t need to stay here.”
Harrison wraps his arm around me, staking his claim. “She wasn’t being held hostage, Liam. And she’s not going anywhere.”
Liam’s nostrils flare. Emmy slides her hand into his as if he’s a child who’s about to run into the street.
“You still haven’t explained how this unfolded,” he says, looking from me to Harrison.
I bite my lip as Harrison and I exchange a glance. Those months before I arrived are his to share, not mine. But it sort of feels like it’s time.
“You might not be aware of this,” Harrison begins, “but your niece is quite the little blackmailer.”
Liam’s still scowling…but then his mouth softens and an unwilling laugh escapes him. “Yeah. I guess that lines up.”
The last of my guilt slips away. I knew their friendship would recover eventually. But that it only took about five minutes makes this feel more perfect than it already did.