Chapter Twenty-Three
Max, Now
I park the car, and Daisy suggests for the hundredth time that I drop her off and spend my evening doing anything else.
“You really don’t want me in there,” I joke.
“Things have been off with my dad.”
“I can handle uncomfortable family dynamics. Trust me.”
I never got to know Daisy’s dad the way I knew her mom.
Her mom welcomed me over all the time, came to events at school that even my parents didn’t attend, and more than anything, she believed in me.
When I saw Daisy’s parents together, her mom was always the more talkative one—the one who laughed louder, the one wanting to connect.
Plus, half the time, Mr. Johnson wasn’t in the picture.
Daisy hasn’t reached for her seatbelt. She had such a steadfast relationship with her mom, and it can’t be easy to see her dad remarry.
“How can I help tonight?” I rest a hand on her thigh. Her eyes dart directly to the point of contact. Her skin is buttery soft.
“Just be yourself. We’ll eat, we’ll chat, and hopefully we’ll be back in this car before Stacey’s even left The Mirage for the night.”
Daisy’s dad greets us at the door, and he’s exactly as I remember him—stout, jolly, and on the quiet side. Going in for a handshake with him sends a pang of missing Daisy’s mom straight into my heart.
He introduces Oona to me, a petite woman who is the human equivalent of a hummingbird. She cranes her neck to smile up at me before wrapping me in a bony hug.
“Come in, come in,” she urges, waving us into the house.
The place appears modest from the outside, but they definitely splurged on furniture.
They have a sitting room filled with ornate art, a small library of travel books, maps, and an entire shelf of birding gear—and the dining area has an impressive mid-century modern table that looks like real teak.
A hallway storage desk has photos resting on top, many of Oona and Daisy’s dad, but one of Daisy and some other family members.
“When Daisy said she was bringing someone tonight, I couldn’t believe it.” Oona turns to Daisy and pats her on the shoulder. Daisy doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t soften with affection either. “You never bring guests. Does she, Pooks?”
He barely has a moment to nod before Oona continues.
“Well, I made plenty. Lots to eat. Are you allergic to anything?”
I shake my head. “I’m an adventurous eater.”
“Oh, I love that.” Oona beams with a smile, but it falters when she sees Daisy gripping the handrail up the two steps from the foyer. “You poor thing. Need help?”
“Just taking it one step at a time.”
“Here,” I say, swooping my arms under her to do a fireman’s carry into the living room. Oona gasps with joy. I wink at Daisy, and she snorts out a laugh, which she then pretends is a coughing fit.
Sitting on the sofa, Oona asks me a billion questions. I’m happy to keep the attention off of Daisy. I get what Daze was talking about—Oona’s a lot. She doesn’t seem malicious, though, just enthusiastic. She conducts a mild interrogation until a timer dings in the other room.
“It needs to cool, and I have to set the table,” she says, standing. “Dearie, can you show Max the rest of the house? Pick up some wine from the garage while you’re at it. Give me and Daisy some girl time. Or—” She rubs her hands together. “If you’d rather go with your dad, that’s fine.”
Daisy smiles and says she doesn’t mind. It’s the same smile I saw her use with Mr. Hollis—polite and warm, but restrained. Definitely not the kind when she’s laughing at a joke I told her or when we catch eyes from across the room.
Her dad leads me on a tour through their home. Compared to Oona’s mile-a-minute talking pace, Richard seems like the most laid-back dude in California. He shuffles through the house, pointing out an interesting art print or the unique aspects of the architecture as he goes.
“How are your folks?” he asks as we head into the garage.
“I’ve had a lot going on since returning to Harlow, so we haven’t spent a ton of time together, but, uh, good.”
“I barely see Daisy sometimes, what with all the hotel stuff. What about your sister? Ava’s her name?”
“Yeah. She’s killing it at school. Setting out to become a lawyer.”
“Bet your parents are pretty pleased ’bout that.”
“How’d you guess?” I say with a wry smile.
“They were always tough on you, weren’t they?”
I definitely underestimated Daisy’s dad and his memory of me.
“Here, whaddaya like to drink?” he asks. “White, sparkling?” We walk to one corner of the garage where he’s constructed some bottle storage and made space for a wine fridge. “We’ve got a bit of everything. Daisy usually goes with something like a Sauv blanc.”
“No alcohol for her tonight. Cautionary measure with the fall.”
“That’s right.” Richard’s eyes light up. “Thank you, by the way, for watching out for her. I…I worry.”
“She’s done as good of a job resting this week as someone like Daisy can.”
“Figures.” A distant expression passes over his face.
“Carbon copy of her mom.” He clears his throat, then taps a few fingers atop the wine fridge.
“I don’t, well, I don’t want to be that stereotypical dad.
I never have been. And I made mistakes with Daisy’s mom, choices that…
” He rubs his brow. “Choices that pushed Daisy away. But I love her, very much.”
I’m rooted in place, unsure where he’s going with this.
“You’re both adults now,” he says, tapping a bottle. “But, uh…just know that when you left, she really, really missed you.”
Daisy had advocated for me to leave Harlow—she always said I was bound for greatness that even I couldn’t understand. She told me she would miss me, and by the way she tried to stay in touch that summer leading up to freshman year, I knew she did.
Until she didn’t. Like missing me was a liability—more trouble than it was worth.
I think it’s better if we take some space for a while. I have to figure some things out on my own…
What a shitty text. As if I hadn’t spent the entire summer figuring out how much I hated not having her around and wanted to work out a way to stay her friend, even from afar.
“I missed her too,” I confess.
Her dad pauses, assessing me from behind his glasses. “I don’t know what happened between you two. She never told me, and her mother only gave me vague details. But whatever it was, I really hope she’s not in store for a repeat.”
I scratch the back of my neck. Her dad’s talking like I’m the one who pulled the trigger on ending our relationship. “It was her idea to cut things off.”
“Doesn’t matter to me who instigated what. Tread carefully, that’s all.”
Some days, I think of what Daisy always used to tell me: that I would leave Harlow to achieve incredible things in the world.
That was my choice. But choices are violent, and there have been days—a lot more, recently—where I wonder what that decision destroyed for us, what was sacrificed.
To go from two souls intertwined to months without talking or texting.
Then years. And then, what do I say to a friend who’s slipped out of my life like quicksand?
Because she let me go, but I let her go too.
“Anywhoo.” Richard’s demeanor changes from somber to chipper as he pastes on a smile and elbows my side. He grabs a white wine with one hand and a red with the other. “I’ll let Oona pick. Let’s eat, shall we?”