Chapter Thirty-Three
Daisy, Now
Everyone in a thirty-mile radius must have had the same idea, because I’ve never seen Sal’s so busy.
After a night of wild weather, the entire town has shown up to let off some steam.
There are out-of-towners galore, some of them in head-to-toe hiking gear and others clad in black leather jackets.
With luck and good timing, we snag spots at the far end of the room.
Sal brings us pitchers of beer and takes our orders, and we all toast to our efforts.
I want to grab my drink and go to the cocktail table Max and my dad have claimed. For the beast of a day we conquered, their conversation seems less celebratory and more serious—no smiles, but plenty of terse nods. Before I can slip out and interrupt them, Gwen slots into the booth beside me.
“Mmm, I forgot how criminally good this lemonade is.” She slurps some up through her straw. “Want some?”
I shake my head.
“Positive? Because I’m picking up some very melancholy energy from your little booth over here.”
“Contemplative energy, that’s all. Today was a lot.”
“Yeah.” She nudges me with her shoulder. “You pulled through, though. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you for being here.” I lean against her, overwhelmed and grateful for all her support. “You and Bob.”
“Always and forever, babes. I know I’m no Dawn or anything, but I’ll help however I can.”
I pick my head straight up and gawk at her. “What are you talking about?”
“She’s…she’s a really good person, and a good friend to you.”
“Sure, but what does that—”
“She helped you with that speech. She didn’t act like an annoying big sister when you talked about sleeping with Max. She’s not pregnant, so she could do more than just refill people’s water today. I see why you like her.”
“I like when you act like my big sister. And I like you pregnant.” I can’t believe I even have to say this. “I like you so much. More than like. I love you, you idiot.”
“I love you, too.” Her bottom lip pops out, and her eyes turn glassy. “I don’t want you to not be in my life when the baby is born.”
“Did Stacey give you some of her stash or something?”
“Babies change things.”
“Sure,” I say, my heart hurting that my best friend has been holding onto this fear. “You’re gonna have mommy friends, and me and Dawn will become closer, but nothing could ever get in the way of you and me. I promise.”
She smiles and loops her hand into mine. “Me too.”
Everything around us buzzes with energy, and I admire how many people came out to help. My heart might explode. If I could, I’d buy them all a hundred pitchers of beer and a hundred pizzas. More, even. But guilt clouds my vision.
“I can’t wrap my head around all these folks giving up their day for me,” I say, hoping my friend doesn’t think less of me for putting the needs of The Mirage first. “Everybody here, you included, has businesses and homes, too.”
“I ask for your help all the time.” She lets out a rueful laugh and lists out all the times I’ve stepped in at her shop or helped with special events.
I didn’t complete these tasks with an expectation of something in return, and I certainly never looked down on Gwen for asking.
If she needed something, I would make it happen.
“We love you,” she goes on. “The whole town loves you. If you need help, we’re there. Me, especially. At least somebody gets it.”
She nods to Max, who’s now sitting at a nearby table talking to Bob and Dawn. One of them must have made an incredible joke, because he’s laughing, his wide smile like the sunrise on a clear day. It’s my favorite smile.
“I thought you were anti-Max,” I say.
“Not anti-Max—just pro-you. And him being back seems good for you. You’ve been happy, and that’s all I ever wanted for you. You deserve it. Or, who knows, maybe you’re just in a good-mood sex bubble because of getting laid regularly.”
I shoot lighthearted daggers at her with my eyes.
She hooks her elbow on the backrest, positioning her body toward mine so no one can overhear our conversation.
“If you had asked me what kind of partner I wanted when I was single, I would have told you to give me some chakra-aligned, vegan-eating, yoga-loving California blond boy. And then I met Bob. He can’t touch his toes, his favorite food is mozzarella sticks from Sonic, and he has a buzz cut.
He’s allergic to nature, and he has a spreadsheet for everything. Seriously, everything.”
“Even—”
“Yes, even that. And when we started dating, you could have pointed to all of those things and told me he’s not a good match. Half the time, I was telling myself that.”
I think back to their early days together. When I pictured my best friend with someone, it wasn’t someone like Bob. “But,” I say, cutting off my own thoughts, “he makes you happy.”
“The happiest. And I can’t fully comprehend how he’s the one, but you have never, ever questioned my sanity.
You trusted me. Supported me. So I wanna do the same.
” Her eyes shimmer with tears, so she looks to the ceiling and fans them.
“Hormones.” She composes herself and clasps my hands in hers.
“Seeing you in shambles after Dublin destroyed me, but I will always help you pick up the pieces when something—anything—goes wrong. So I can either give you a hard time or accept that you know what you want. Just be careful,” she says, part request, part warning. “Did you tell him you were there?”
My attention flits to Max, who’s attracted a mixed audience of folks from our cleanup crew, campers, and motorcycle-club members, all of them with expectant faces as he tells a story. He’s a chameleon, and the crowd of people hangs on his every word.
“Not yet.” My stomach tightens.
“He’ll understand.”
“You think?”
“He might be upset that you weren’t honest, but he deserves to know.”
When I returned from Dublin, Gwen begged me to let her message Max and say anything to convince him to come back, even for a weekend.
He would ditch Dublin and get back here so fast, she’d said.
And that was the problem with Max transferring to somewhere in Los Angeles, or maybe even closer.
Proximity to his parents, missing out on opportunities in big cities with big artists, and his resentment growing day by day.
The two of us fighting, and Max wondering if it was worth sacrificing what he wanted, just for me.
But she’s right—I can’t keep holding back on him.
After everyone eats, people depart in large groups. The desire to get horizontal and stay that way as long as humanly possible yanks at my eyelids. I hug the last person in our group goodbye as Sal brings the check. As we wait for him to return with my card, Max plops down on the seat to my left.
“Crazy day, huh?” He drapes an arm over my shoulder, like he used to when we were young. The gesture holds much more weight now.
“Tomorrow’ll be crazier. All those people. The big event.”
Sal drops off the credit card, giving me a wink on his way back to the bar.
“Hey, so, I wanted to tell you something,” Max murmurs in my ear, his breath deliciously hot against my skin.
“Oh?” I snuggle closer, and he presses his lips to jawline. My pulse races with the anxiety of what I need to say next. “Me, too.”
“Then let’s talk.” He kisses me again, and he’s too damn sweet, it breaks my heart.
A rumbling voice by the billiards table shouts, “Enough already, asshole!” Then comes the sound of a fist clashing with a face, and a large, leather-clad, bearded man flies horizontally into the seats across from us.
The room explodes into chaos—yelling, broken pint glasses, and the scuffing of feet and chairs and tables.
I cower in the booth in fear as a trio of men tussle closer.
Max hops over the backrests into the next booth, deftly grabbing my hands and guiding me through the heart of the pandemonium.
Weaving through the screaming and punching patrons is the last thing I want to do, but with Max leading me, I would go anywhere—even as the bodies bump against us, the angry sounds grow louder, and I swear someone soars overhead.
Max stumbles at one point, but we reach the exit by coasting along the edge of the mob.
We make it outside, where other skittish patrons have gathered as the drama unfolds in the bar. Sal’s voice booms over everyone, and the commotion lessens—as a teddy bear with bite, Sal has that effect on people.
“You okay?” Max asks.
“Yeah.” When I turn to him, the breath gets sucked out of me. “Holy shit. You’re bleeding.”
A gruesome ruby red oozes in between his teeth and dribbles out one side of his mouth. “I’m fine.”
“Who was it?”
“Gonna defend my honor?” He grabs my wrist, preventing me from marching into the bar to find the guilty party. “An elbow to the jaw, that’s all.”
I step inches away from his face for a better look. When I put my hand against his cheek, he sucks in a sharp breath. He needs ice, or he’ll swell up to the size of a grapefruit.
I break only five speed limits on my way home, adrenaline surging through me. When we get back, he rinses out his mouth, and at least the bleeding has stopped. Whoever knocked him hit Max hard enough that his teeth scraped against the inside of his cheek, but the cuts didn’t go deep.
“Have any painkillers?” he asks. “Advil or ibuprofen?”
“I’ve got something even better,” I say, rummaging through a drawer. “Stacey gifted me some joints to help me sleep.” I don’t mention that ever since Max and I have been sharing a bed, my sleeping problems have disappeared. I hold it out to him. “A couple hits’ll take the edge off.”
“God, she’s cool.” Max takes a few hits for some immediate relief and pops an ibuprofen. Wrapping a bag of frozen peas in a tea towel, I steady my shaking hands and lean close to Max’s face.
“Ready?” I ask.
He nods, then hisses again when the peas touch his swelling cheek. After a pause, he leans further into the coolness, clearly finding some relief. Max peers at me, his eyes heavy. “You can fawn over me all you want.”
I laugh.
“I like that I can make you laugh even when I’m disfigured.”
“Must be that Max Weber Charm.” My thumb strays from the bag of peas and presses into the corner of his mouth. I kiss him there, and he groans.
“I wish I could kiss you more,” he says.
I place my lips at his temple, then his jaw and his neck. “Be right back.”
I call Sal’s from the lobby to make sure he and everyone else are okay, and then speed through my evening errands—dishwasher loaded, blinds closed, lights off. When I return to the casita, Max is sprawled out on the bed, staring wistfully at the shrunken joint in his hand.
“That’s enough for now, I think.” I pluck the tiny white nub from his grip and stub it out on my ashtray.
“I haven’t weed smoked in forever.”
“Here. One more pillow so we elevate your head.”
“Did I say weed smoked?”
“Yeah,” I say with a chuckle.
“Your laugh. Ugh, it’s perfect.” He looks at me, his eyelids at half-mast. “Daisy, can I tell you? I was so scared at Sal’s. Scared for you.”
“You’re stoned.”
“Stoned cold sober.”
“Shut up.”
I laugh anyway, which causes him to laugh back. Once our giggles die down, I realize we’re holding hands. His is warm, firm, and safe.
“Will you kiss me again?” he asks, pleading.
“Only because you’re pathetic.” As carefully as I can, I kiss him on the lips.
“I love that. Your kisses.” He’s so out of it. If he weren’t in pain, I’d find his nonsense kind of cute. “What did you wanna talk about, Daisy Daze? Because what I wanna talk about is you. And how I love you.”
My stomach flips hearing the L-word. He might not even realize what he’s saying, though, he’s so high. But if he does, then what will change when I tell him about Dublin?
“You should sleep, Max.”
“I mean it.” He props himself up on both elbows. “As a friend, but also like that.”
“I’m turning off the light.”
“You don’t have to say it back. But I’d have to be dead to stop loving you, and even then, I could probably figure something out.”
“Max.” I search his eyes, so earnest and innocent under the guise of a few too many tokes. My heartbeat skips as I ask myself the question, Do I love him?
I always have, in my own way. Always as friends. But when I arrived in Dublin, prepared to bare my heart to him—even that didn’t compare to now. This is a hundred times bigger. I want to chase the feeling as much as I want to run away from it.
But with him half asleep, now is not the time for this conversation.
“Let’s talk about this later. If you even remember.”
“I’ll remember,” he says, resting his head back on the pillow. “It’s only been nineteen years, so I won’t forget. Tomorrow.”
I pause and collect myself. Nineteen years—how long I’ve been in Harlow.
He passes out before I even tuck him in properly, but my pulse thrums in my ears.
I don’t know what scares me more—that he’ll wake up tomorrow and forget this conversation ever happened, or that he’ll wake up tomorrow and tell me he meant every word.