Chapter 16 Daisy - I am the definition of confusion
The Journal of Daisy D. Stiles - Twelve and a half years ago
August found me sitting outside against the gym this afternoon.
Normally, this would have made my entire day, week, month, year. But I was mid-breakdown, and August Burton is the second-to-last person on my list of people who I’d want to see me like that.
He asked what was wrong. I refused to tell him.
So—he sat. Right next to me. And didn’t leave until the parking lot had cleared out and the sun had set.
He didn’t offer words of encouragement or meaningless “it’ll get betters.”
I think somehow he knew none of that would have mattered to me.
But being there? Not leaving my side?
It was everything.
I’m more than embarrassed to admit for the first time in my life, I’m avoiding Beth Rivers.
I’ve kept myself holed up in my bedroom and the flower shop for a few days now, dodging calls and texts. I quietly celebrated my thirtieth birthday and the twins’ twelfth. But I know it’s only a matter of time before she beats down my metaphorical door for a conversation.
A conversation involving August and me and what we’ve done.
Not. Happening.
Today’s chosen place of hiding is Merrymount Middle School.
When the twins came home on the first day of seventh grade, there was a mountain of paperwork to sift through between the two.
I noticed Chase’s gaze lingering on one about a new art program the school was introducing as an extracurricular activity.
After a handful of nights pestering him on whether he was interested, he slid the filled-out form under my bedroom door. It just needed a signature.
So now, every Wednesday, I wait for him to trot out of the building with whatever project he got to work on that afternoon. His joy is infectious. The smile I get to witness overtakes his whole body, and for a minute, I get the honor of basking in Chase’s undiluted happiness.
“Hey, my dude!” I call from my spot outside my car, waving like a lunatic. He pretends to be embarrassed, but I know he likes it.
You can tell by the playful shake of his head, and his smile never breaking. He waves back at me in greeting. But then I watch confusion alter his sweet, little face, and I turn quickly in fear of finding something wrong.
The familiar jalopy of a truck turns into the parking lot, pulling up right next to my car. Gus rolls down his window and sticks his head out, arm resting on the door.
“Hey, Stiles.” He tilts his head to face Chase. “Hey, little Stiles.”
Chase gives a very hesitant wave, but a greeting nonetheless.
“Gus, what are you doing at the middle school?” I ask.
“I was putzing around. Saw your car. I dunno.” Suddenly his usual bravado has evacuated the premises.
“Well…” I start. I’m not sure where to go from here. “Chase, this is—”
August thrusts his hand out and cuts me off. “August. Just August. I’m an old friend of your sister’s. It’s Chase, right?”
That’s one way to word our situation, but go off.
Chase takes a few steps forward, nods, and shakes August’s hand.
“Nice to meet ya, Chase. Whatcha got there?” Gus gestures to the poster board Chase has rolled up in his other hand.
Chase hesitates but then unfurls his latest creation.
Gus doesn’t move, and neither do I. Chase holds up a charcoal drawing of a set of eyes.
They look fucking devastating. Familiar.
Beautiful, yes, Chase is so incredibly talented, but these are eyes that are going through such a deep level of heartbreak, it’s hard to look away from them.
I don’t realize I’m holding my breath throughout this entire interaction until I notice there’s a serious lack of oxygen in my brain.
“Damn, kid,” Gus finally says. “You’re good.”
I’d give just about anything to hear Chase utter the word thanks. Any word at all. But his quick nod is acknowledgment enough for Gus.
“It’s beautiful, Chase,” I add, ruffling his raven black hair. “I swear you get better every week. We should get this framed.”
Chase shrugs in answer. I wrap my arm around his shoulders. “Well, we better get going. Homework to be done, dinner to be had.”
“Where’s Hunter?” Gus asks, ignoring my attempt to segway out of here.
“Home,” I reply. “The place we’re headed.”
“Do you wanna grab him and meet me for some pizza at George’s?”
“Do I…What?” I stutter, completely dumbfounded. There’s no possible way August just suggested sharing a meal. Together. In public. With my little brothers.
But then Chase reaches his hand out to grab my wrist. His grip tightens for a split second, and it takes me another to realize he wants me to say yes.
And I’d do anything for him.
Well, just about anything. I clear my throat, preparing to offer a compromise. “Uh, you know what? Sure. But, could we do a pick-up and maybe head toward your house? If that’s okay?”
“As long as it’s cool with Chase here, I’m down,” Gus answers easily, like nothing is weird about this entire ordeal.
Chase nods more enthusiastically now. He doesn’t wait for further comment and walks over to my car, letting himself into the passenger seat.
It hits me that there is nothing weird about this to Gus. He loves to sit in silent company. It’s how our friendship started all those years ago. Maybe he sees a little bit of himself in Chase.
My heartbeat skips, and I remind myself to do a blood pressure test or something in the near future.
“Is this some part of the friends with benefits contract I missed?” I ask when Chase is out of earshot.
August chuckles and starts his truck back up. “Yeah, Daze. Call it the friends part. Text me the boys’ order, I’ll call it in on my way over. Meet you at my house in about thirty.”
I couldn’t tell you what drugs the pizza we devoured must have been laced with, but Hunter’s been on his best behavior since we arrived at August’s house.
He said please and thank you. He even brought Chase’s empty plate to the sink when he was finished. I’m fucking gobsmacked. It’s like the change of scenery has temporarily rewired his brain.
Or maybe being introduced to Gus while Gus towed over him with his arms crossed over his chest on his front porch with a look that oozed don’t fuck with me scared him straight.
Regardless, I’m eternally grateful for the break from bickering with a twelve-year-old boy.
Instead, I get to listen to my little brother rattle off the ins and outs of the club lacrosse team he’s been following all summer. He’s animated and so deeply invested, if I were a crier—which I am so obviously not—I’d be swiping my eyes right about now.
Chase has kept up with conversation in his own way, nodding along and letting his eyes zoom from person to person. I swear when Gus made some highly inappropriate joke earlier, Chase was so fucking close to laughing.
I watch August involve Chase in everything effortlessly.
After ten years and then some of total rivalry, I suddenly want to throw it all away for even just one more simple night like this.
The clock on the wall tells me I should’ve had the boys home at least an hour ago, but they’re having fun. I’m having fun.
I feel like I’m living someone else’s life, and I can’t help but ruin it for myself by wondering why August pulled into the school parking lot. Or why he invited us over. Why do any of this?
I don’t like the unknown.
The new thing that’s occupied Hunter’s attention is pilfering through August’s cabinets, which I did try to object to, but Gus waved me off.
“What the heck are these?” Hunter asks, pulling a tiny ceramic house down from one of the shelves.
A searing pain rips through my chest, blocked out and suppressed heartbreak crashing through me.
Gus’s eyes go wide and the sip of water he just swallowed must go down the wrong way because he coughs violently.
Once he’s done choking, and I accept I won’t need to attempt CPR, August jumps up from his seat and plucks the red brick-roofed house of cinnamon out of Hunter’s hand, placing it back on the shelf and shutting the cabinet door.
“Spice rack, nothing exciting,” Gus finally responds.
“They look kind of girly, no?” Hunter asks.
“Spices have genders now?” Gus raises a brow in Hunter’s direction.
I tune them out. Nothing exciting.
The original spice village is my fucking Roman Empire. I spent a week every summer for seven summers with my grandmother perusing through the biggest flea market in the state, scouring every booth for each individual building in the set until it was complete.
They’re riddled with lead so I never actually planned on using them, but they were my favorite decoration to display on the wooden shelves I also found at the same flea market above my bed.
Nothing was more fun than the high of the chase to find them, and the satisfaction that filled me when I had them all in my possession.
Until one day when I said the wrong thing.
I don’t even remember what it was now, but it was clearly poorly uttered at the worst of times because in an alcohol-induced rage, Mary Jane Stiles decided to take a swing at my shelves.
She didn’t stop swinging until all twenty-four little ceramic buildings were smashed to bits all over my room.
She left me to clean up her mess afterwards.
I didn’t let myself shed a single tear. Void of any emotion, I stripped my bed, replaced the sheets, and vacuumed every inch of my room.
At some point, I drifted off to sleep. I went to school the next day and lasted through six hours of normalcy, and then found myself ditching the last two periods to completely lose my shit out back by the gym.
August found me that day, and I never even told him what was wrong.
The conversation continues on with no notice to my internal sorrow over another blip in my shitty past.
When my mother calls Hunter’s phone to find our whereabouts, he gives a half-truth effortlessly, saying I brought him and his brother to get pizza.
He assures her we’ll be home soon, and he and Chase are perfectly fine.
Another part of my heart cracks knowing that despite giving it my all to shelter them, they still know how and when to walk on eggshells.
My very best attempts at breaking the generational trauma won’t ever be good enough.
That fact feels like it could crush me.
Once Hunter gets our mother off the phone, Gus declares it’s time to clean up. To my surprise, both boys jump to help without further comment. I see Gus take his phone out of his pocket and type away. My phone vibrates with a text.
August
Bring them home and come back? I could start a fire.
Me
Depends on the state of Mary Jane…But most likely no.
I chance a quick look at Gus. I watch his shoulders droop slightly, and I find myself reverting back to my old self, the one that finds me desperate to change my answer and spend any amount of time with August.
But I vowed to keep Hunter and Chase safe. I can’t be too selfish with my time.
There wasn’t a fraction of a moment tonight where I found myself annoyed or scoffing at Gus’s usual antics. I got to see him in a new light, or rather, a light I haven’t seen in quite some time. Funny, kind, thoughtful.
I can’t get over how he made sure Chase was included in everything, waiting for his cues. He was so firm with Hunter, leaving no room for backtalk, but made sure to razz on him too, letting Hunter take digs at Gus’s expense in a fun way.
August told me he doesn’t want kids. He hasn’t really spent too much time around kids.
But it’s so obvious he’s a natural. I won’t tell him that though.
That’s, for one, incredibly out of left field.
And two, wildly inappropriate. I don’t want him to think I’m envisioning something else or trying to change his mind.
August doesn’t reply to my text. He pockets his phone and answers whatever question Hunter just lobbed at him. I make my way towards the front of the house, gathering the twins’ backpacks and coats.
“Alright, boys, time to head on out,” I call with almost zero umph.
The fact of the matter is, I don’t want to leave. With the way Hunter and Chase are dragging their feet down the hallway, they don’t either, and the look Gus is trying to hide on his face mirrors my feelings.
“Can we come back?” Hunter asks while slipping into his shoes.
“Anytime,” Gus answers before I can. “Instead of bothering your sister about stupid shit, bother her to bring you here.”
“Cool,” Hunter mutters to himself.
“Gee, thanks, Gus,” I joke. “Go get situated in the car. Both in the backseat, I’m not refereeing a stupid shotgun argument. I’ll meet you there in a minute,” I say to the boys.
Hunter peers at Gus, sees his stern face, and with no argument about seating arrangements, thanks Gus for dinner. Chase offers a wave with a closed-lip smile as his own form of a proper goodbye.
I lean against the doorway, pressing my back against it. I’ve been saving this question for hours now.
“What was tonight about, August?”
He takes a small step forward, right on the thin line of invading my space.
“I’m sorry. Did you have better plans in mind?”
“No,” I answer truthfully. “I just don’t get what we’re doing. I’m confused. Like, really confused, actually.”
“I wanna be friends, Daze.”
“Friends with benefits?” I tilt my chin up.
Gus reaches his arm out, placing his palm on the wood right above my head.
I can feel his body’s heat on me now. We’re back to being inches from each other, and the air is thick with a need to close the gap.
He has a smirk on his face like he knows something I don’t.
This is wrong. We shouldn’t be doing this. This isn’t us.
We—We’re—
“Daze?” Gus whispers.
I blink three times in rapid succession to try to clear my vision and my brain. “Hm?”
“Tell yourself whatever you need to. I’m more than okay with letting you be confused right now.
I actually think it might be good for you.
” He releases his bracketed arm from the doorframe and uses the very tips of his fingers to brush my bangs out of my face.
“Get Thing One and Thing Two home. And for fuck’s sake, if you don’t let me know you got home safe, I have no problem marching over there. ”
My breath hitches at the authoritative tone in his voice. I hate being bossed around.
Well, I did.
I do.
By anyone who apparently isn’t August, according to the irritating firework show popping off in my lower belly.
“Goodnight, August,” I breathe and practically sprint out the open front door, down the three porch steps, and into my car.
He waves from the porch until we’re out of sight.