CHAPTER 22
Mom had taken Thursday off work, which meant I could hide out in my bedroom and not have to worry about the kids unaliving themselves downstairs.
I listened to their voices float through the floor all morning, trying to find comfort in the lightness and not feel even worse at the fact that they were happy without me there with them.
I felt sick to my core. The only good thing I had done was finally shut down my feelings for Dalton—and, really, it was humiliating to think I’d hung onto them for so long in the first place. My friends must’ve truly thought I was pathetic.
You are not pathetic, Jamie’s voice murmured in my head. He’s the pathetic one.
I rolled myself up tighter in my duvet, the thought of Jamie both a flash of warmth and a sting of pain.
Last night felt too final. Too big for an apology.
Because, really, what was there to apologize for?
He was upset that I’d still snuck around with Dalton behind his back, and I was brokenhearted that he didn’t like me the same way I liked him.
An “I’m sorry” wouldn’t fix that. And I couldn’t imagine us going back to the way we were before the fake relationship.
Because now, every time Jamie held my hand or pushed my hair out of my face or hugged me, I’d always be hoping he was doing it because he liked me.
And he didn’t.
My stomach turned over, and I squeezed my eyes shut.
Just as I began down the merry-go-round spiral again, a soft knock sounded at my door. Different from the one last night—this one was a bit firmer, higher up on the door. “Daisy, lunch is ready,” Mom murmured from the hall.
I clutched my duvet tighter, sick at the thought of emerging and going downstairs.
I wasn’t sure how I could ever face any of my family again after yesterday.
Mom’s face was still vividly clear in my mind, horrified when I’d parroted her grief-stricken words back to her. I don’t want to do this anymore.
“I’m coming in,” Mom called when I didn’t answer, and my unlocked bedroom door creaked open a moment later. And then, softly—“Oh, Daisy.”
Inexplicably, tears pricked my eyes, half at embarrassment of what I knew she was looking at. I’d picked up the scraps of the pictures and drawings last night, but my bare walls were harder to hide. Impossible.
The door softly clicked behind her, and I held my breath. But she hadn’t left. Her foot creaked on a floorboard as she stepped closer. “Can I sit?” she asked, closer now.
I kept my back turned to her, but ever so slightly, my duvet cover moved as I nodded.
The mattress dipped as Mom sat, swinging her legs onto the bed and leaning against the headboard. She didn’t speak for a long time, long enough for my quick pulse to slow back to something more normal.
“I don’t know how to apologize to you,” she murmured at last, barely above a whisper. “I want to, but I don’t know how to say it.”
Those words made me feel sicker. “I don’t want you to apologize—”
“I shouldn’t have let you take on as much responsibility as you did.”
I rolled over then, the sound of her voice poking something urgently in me. “I wanted to.”
“Even if you’d wanted to, I shouldn’t have let you.
” The tears were full in Mom’s eyes, and she looked so much like Junie in that moment that it squeezed my heart further.
She wasn’t looking at me but at her open palms, her lips trembling.
“You stepped in so easily after… your dad… that I didn’t think to look close.
You were struggling all because I didn’t look close. ”
I watched the guilt shake my mother’s frame, watched her shiver as she tried to hold herself together.
I lowered my covers and sat up more, my heart once again beating quicker.
“I never resented you for it,” I told her, which was mostly true.
How could I resent her for a choice I’d made? “The other day, when I snapped—”
“It made me realize what I’d done.” Mom looked at me then, her light eyes bouncing back and forth between my own.
“I hadn’t been looking because I didn’t want to.
I was afraid if I really looked, everything would fall apart.
” A tear rolled down her cheek. “Things were hard for you and I just stuck my head in the sand.”
The sight of her tears caught me off guard, because while I’d heard her crying in her room all those years ago, I’d never seen her openly cry before.
My mom was one of the strongest people I knew, and now I sat right beside her as she cracked.
Not knowing what else to do, I reached over and grabbed her hand.
“You had the pressure of being the single income,” I murmured. “It’s okay, Mom.”
“And now you’re the one comforting me.” Mom sniffed, giving me a soft, sad look as another tear rolled down her cheek. “Daisy, you’ve grown up strong—but I’m sorry for making you grow up too fast.”
Pressure pricked behind my eyes, and I leaned to lay my head on her shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault.”
It’d been the accident, the one that’d taken Dad from us. It’d sent us all into a tailspin, reacting on survival mode and autopilot. For Mom, it’d been easy to throw herself into work. For me, it’d been easy to step into the parent role, with art to lean on. There wasn’t blame, only regret.
“It’d just been easier when the kids were littler and didn’t talk back,” I muttered, readjusting my weight onto her shoulder.
A sudden burst of laughter slipped past Mom’s lips, and she leaned her head onto me. “Junie’s gotten a bit of a rebellious streak, hasn’t she?”
I thought of the bruises I’d taken to the eye. “A little.”
“Jamie was over for dinner last night.” She combed her fingers through my hair, tender with the tangles. “He offered to fix the pothole in the driveway, and I asked him to stay for dinner.”
The thought of Jamie had tears pricking my eyes again, this time the sting far more painful. I want to be done. “I know.”
“He mentioned that you still haven’t heard back from NYU.”
Now I thought about the email in my inbox, stomach flipping.
“He helped Junie blow-dry the pages of your sketchbook.” Mom turned her head to look at me. “She felt really bad.”
I lifted my head from her shoulder, blinking. “Jamie saw my sketchbook?”
She nodded. “He asked me to encourage you further about doing something with your art. That he’s afraid you’re not going to college because… of how much responsibility you have here.”
Jamie said that? Quiet, non-confrontational Jamie? Jamie, who hadn’t even been able to tell me, his best friend, that he’d accepted his Columbia offer—he’d told my mom to her face that my responsibilities were holding me back?
I wasn’t sure whether to be upset or impressed. “He shouldn’t have said that to you.”
“Oh, it was quite cute the way he did it. Stuttering and half-muttered, like he couldn’t believe he was saying it either.” There was a smile in Mom’s voice. “He cares about you, Daisy. You’ll say whatever you need to for the people you love.”
Except Jamie doesn’t love me, I thought, letting out a soft breath as I settled back against her shoulder. He loved me the way he loved Nellie—he’d go to bat for me, and he’d do things he didn’t want to for me, but he didn’t love me the way I loved him.
And I was sure that I did. At first, I’d believed Dalton—that I might’ve been confused between friendship and love. But it was different. I craved Jamie’s embrace in a way I didn’t crave Nellie’s. I felt seen by him in a way I hadn’t felt with Dalton.
And I wanted to kiss Jamie. Desperately. That, alone, put him distinctly out of the friend zone.
“I want you to go to college,” Mom went on, giving our hands a squeeze. “Even if it’s not NYU, I want you to go somewhere in the fall, even if it’s just Fenton County Community. I want you to leave this house and experience life, Daisy—in the way you’ve always wanted to.”
“But you, the kids—”
“We’ll be fine. Maybe you and I can work out the details over the summer, so we both feel comfortable with the plan come fall.” She looked into my eyes. “But I don’t want our family to be the reason you hold yourself back. I won’t allow it.”
I wanted to object again, but the words died on my lips at the little glare she gave me. It still felt wrong, selfish, to choose myself over the kids, even if she was telling me to. But when I spoke, the words came out of me slowly. “I did… get an admissions update from NYU.”
Mom’s eyes widened. “What did it say?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t looked yet.”
She smacked my arm, making me jolt in surprise. “Daisy Carmichael, load your portal right this second.” As I reached for my phone, she muttered, “Haven’t looked yet—you’re ridiculous. And stubborn.”
And afraid. This was it—this email would not be a “hey, we need more time to review your application.” This email was either a door opening or locking shut, and the thought of either option left me near hyperventilating.
My fingers trembled as I typed in my username and password, and I was sure that if I hadn’t had Mom’s shoulder to lean against, I would’ve collapsed in on myself entirely.
I was suddenly ninety-nine percent sure I was about to throw up. “You look,” I said, thrusting my phone to Mom.
She took it almost greedily, pressing the Log In button.
In the lifetime it took for the page to load, I pictured a hand patting my back. There, there, I imagined a voice saying. You’re still the most talented artist I’ve ever met.
And the voice sounded a lot like Jamie’s.
Too much silence stretched, and I risked a peek over at Mom. Her eyes were on the screen, wide. She would’ve shrieked if I’d gotten in. She would’ve been more excited. She would’ve been—
Mom turned the phone to face me. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest that I could feel it bouncing in my eyes, and it took me a second to be able to read the words on the page.
…you have been admitted to the Tisch School of the Arts at New York University.
My gaze lifted from the screen to Mom, who’d begun to grin as I’d read. The tension built only for a second before we both let out a scream at the same time. The release in my chest was nothing like the pain that’d cracked apart the night before.
This was almost electric.
“What’s going on?” Penn asked a moment later as she burst into my bedroom, immediately stopping to scan my bare bedroom walls. “What… happened?”
“Daisy got into NYU!” Mom screeched, and unable to sit still, she launched up from my bed. She thrust my phone into Penn’s face, but she barely gave my sister time to read before Mom turned back to me. “Daisy got into NYU!”
“She did?” Penn’s eyes widened, a smile beginning to build on her lips. “No way!”
“Daisy got into NYU?” Junie appeared in my open bedroom doorway, her blonde hair tucked behind her ears to expose her little expression. “The college you’ve been wanting to go to, Daisy?”
I nodded in disbelief, the words printing themselves over and over again in my mind.
You have been admitted to the Tisch School of the Arts at New York University.
It almost felt as if I was dreaming, my siblings pouring into my room to celebrate the success with me.
Even Theo hopped up onto my bed and jumped, cheering with Ivy, who came over to push at my shoulder.
Despite yelling at them the day before, they were celebrating with me now, because that was our family.
Even without the pictures on my wall, my fall plans flashed through my mind—going to New York, settling into a dorm, living the life I’d been dreaming of for years.
My heart twinged then, because the first person I wanted to tell—the person who’d been right beside me all those years as I’d been dreaming—was someone I couldn’t bear to face.
“Daisy’s going to NYU!” Ivy cheered, her words lisping a little through the gaps in her teeth, her smile just as bright without them.
A different thought popped into mind. It’s silly that you talk about NYU like you’ll go, Dalton had said.
“I’m so going,” I said, replying to her and to the voice in my head. Mom let out another whoop of excitement, taking Penn’s hand and giving it a swing. Imagining my ex-boyfriend’s face in my mind’s eye, I thought, Take that, jerk.