CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN #2
“I didn’t mean any of it—”
“I’m going to take Rowe to the waterfront. He wants to play in the puddles, and you can clean yourself up while we’re gone.”
He left the bathroom without another word or backward glance.
This had to be a nightmare.
I curled my knees to my chest and sobbed.
I stared at myself in the mirror. My eyes were swollen and red. I had a bruise on my cheek, and the left side of my head was throbbing.
I took my clothes off and looked at my body in the mirror. There was a mark on my left hip, and when I looked at my butt, I could see the darkening bruises on my skin. I nearly fainted at the sight of me, shocked by my behavior, by the vile words I’d spewed.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I thought of my mother when she lost it at my father. She drove him out the door, and even as we buried her years later, I remembered thinking, I hate you.
Those weren’t normal thoughts to have about your mother, even though she was abusive to the end. Did she black out like I had?
I must have had her sickness.
The thought made me want to crumble.
I should have called someone. Gone to the hospital. But then I would have had to explain what I had done, and I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone seeing me like this.
I rinsed off in the shower. I threw on a pair of pajamas and painfully managed my way around the apartment. Every step was painful. I winced as I stepped out of the bedroom, and I hated how empty it felt. I would have loved to see Rowe splashing in some puddles in the rain.
I nearly collapsed at the sight of the kitchen.
It was a bombsite. The stool was still on its side, and there was glass on the floor. I walked around it, staring into the living room next.
One wine glass sat on the coffee table untouched.
Oliver’s glass.
There was a blanket on the sofa, and it was crumpled up. The vase I had on one of the coffee tables was turned over, a tissue box was on the floor, and my bookshelf was half empty because most of my titles were scattered across the room, like I’d thrown them everywhere.
I tried to remember how crazy I felt.
And I sort of did.
I felt the memories at the edges of my thoughts. Being in the room, I felt panicked. I could hear myself screaming in a memory, and I stopped thinking of it right away, too shell-shocked and ashamed.
I cleaned up slowly, my tears decorating every part of the room I’d destroyed.
Oliver was going to leave me.
June was right.
I didn’t deserve him.
I was too young.
I hurt him.
I was a mess.
Even June had told me that once.
“You’re such a mess, Daisy.”
Some of her final words were about how similar I was to our mother.
“You remember how crazy Mom was? Well, you get this glazed look in your eye, Daisy, when you run away with your feelings. It reminds me of her. You’re not yourself in those moments. There’s nothing I can do to bring you back to me.”
When I was done cleaning, I sat on the couch in the dark, my heart beating a million miles a minute as I waited for them to return.
I prayed the entire time that my world wasn’t over.
And when they still didn’t return, I finally stood up and worked on myself. I combed and straightened my hair. I washed my face, moisturized my skin, and applied makeup.
I put on one of Oliver’s favorite outfits of mine: a yellow, cap-sleeved dress that ended just above my knee.
Then I began to work on a meal in the kitchen. I put together a pretty salad. Skinned and sliced some potatoes to fry for Rowe. Prepped three medium-sized salmon fillets for the air fryer.
If he was going to come back and dump me, I could at least appear sane. I would want him to hesitate at least a little bit when he saw me. To consider whether he wanted to truly go through with leaving me.
Then again, I doubted any of this would do a thing. Doubted I brought anything equal to the relationship.
This was a man women threw themselves at. A man who was impossible to ensnare because his options were so grand, and someone like me could never truly be part of his world.
They arrived minutes before the food was done. I had plates on the island, ready. I had Rowe’s tall glass of orange juice and Oliver’s wine glass at each place setting on the dining table.
Only one wine glass, and it was empty.
I didn’t have the stomach to touch the wine bottle, knowing the carnage I’d inflicted.
Within moments, Rowe breezed in ahead of Oliver, shouting his hellos to me. He didn’t pay any attention to me as he proclaimed how hungry he was. I quickly plated his food, and he dug in.
As I hovered over him, setting a napkin beside his plate, Oliver appeared.
I couldn’t bring myself to look at him for a few moments, though his presence hung heavy in the air. My heart beat faster as I spun around and shakily returned to the kitchen to plate his food.
I risked a glance his way, and my heart sank in my chest.
He stood at the edge of the kitchen, a wary expression on his face as he took in the scene. The clean room. The cooked food. The table was set up and ready.
His eyes shot to mine next, and then they fell over me, taking me in. His wariness merged with warmth, but I could feel the hesitation in him.
I looked away, taking deep breaths as I returned to the table and sat down next to Rowe. He was already halfway through his food, telling me between bites how his day was. He’d splashed in puddles. Eaten ice cream at the dock. Jumped at the bouncy castle at a play center.
The list went on.
As he spoke, my attention split, focusing on Oliver’s every move. He walked into the kitchen, and then minutes later, he joined the table. He spoke only to Rowe, his voice animated and brilliant.
All too soon, it was over, and Rowe was racing off, leaving crumbs on the plate as he ran up the stairs and to his playroom.
Silence settled in.
I kicked around my uneaten food, my face burning as I tried to brave a glance at Oliver. He didn’t seem to be eating, either.
I let out a shaky breath. Tried to speak. To say something to make it all okay, but there was nothing to be said to fix this. No magic set of words to make it okay.
“Daisy.”
His voice made me jump. I shut my eyes, unprepared.
It was happening too fast—
“Daisy, look at me.”
It was the break in his voice. His beautiful voice filled with warmth that made me finally break and look at him.
His solemn eyes met mine, but it wasn’t what he wanted me to see.
It was the outstretched hand on the table, inches from mine. Palm up, unmoving. An invitation to take it.
I broke.
All at once, tears rushed to my eyes as I let out a broken sob and took his hand. He tugged me, and I shakily stepped off the chair and fell into him. He scooped me up and held me as I sobbed. As I told him how sorry I was. How profusely sorry I was.
I was so sorry.
So terribly sorry, and I loved him.
I loved him so much—
“I know you’re sorry,” he said, kissing me on the head as he held me tightly. I began to calm down, hiccupping as the remorse weighed heavily in my chest.
“Daisy, I love you, and I want you forever,” he continued to say. Hot tears continued to fall down my cheeks. “But things need to change.”
I nodded but said nothing. I was so ashamed. I despised myself so much. I didn’t deserve him. Didn’t deserve his calmness and his love.
“The alcohol,” he started.
“I won’t ever drink again,” I promised quickly. “I won’t, Oliver. I promise.”
“It’s not just the alcohol,” he said, and I could feel his throat bobbing. “It’s that you were truly unhappy. I thought…I thought you’d be happy about wanting a child with me, but the rage you felt, there was some truth in it, surely. Am I suffocating you?”
“Never!”
“I’ve never stopped you from studying. I want you to get into nursing school, but it’s clear to me this desire has taken root inside you. You want it so desperately, I worry you’re lashing out at me from within. That you think I’m holding you back.”
“No, not at all.” I continued to shake my head.
“I don’t even care about nursing, Oliver, and I want to have a child with you.
I want to take this next step with you, and I think not getting in was a sign.
A redirection for me to focus on us, on our family.
All of that can wait. I don’t hold anything against you. Let me prove that to you.”
“But you were so angry.”
I tensed, and my lips trembled.
For a moment, I thought of June. Of how I used to lash out when I was a teenager. A loose cannon. Evil like my mother.
I swallowed, blocking the memories out.
“It’s not me. It won’t happen again. I need you to understand that, Oliver, and trust me.”
He listened carefully as I clung to his sweater, my fingers digging into the gray wool. I listened intently to his steady heartbeat while mine was racing. I envied his calmness. Envied his ability to handle his emotions.
“I believe you,” he said. “I trust you. You’re it for me, Daisy. There will never be another one. To me, you are perfect.”
“Not anymore.”
“It was a mistake. I believe you. You won’t behave like that again.”
I nodded my head, repeatedly telling him I wouldn’t.
I would be perfect.
I would not mess this up, and I would do everything in my power to prove myself to him.