“You have to accept people for who they are.”
Understatement of the year.
“Not everyone can handle heavy shit.”
“Yeah.” I suck a breath through my nose. “You think… how do you think he’d react?”
“Honestly, Daisy, I don’t know.”
“You’ve never mentioned anything—”
“I’d die first.”
“Really?”
He nods of course. “I’d do anything to protect you.”
I turn back to the house. It’s still quiet. The hallway is still empty. “I know.”
“Are you two…”
“We’re friends.”
“If you are—”
“Are you going to threaten to kill him again?”
He matches my position. “Probably, yeah.”
“Why?”
“What else can I do?”
“Talk to me like we’re both adults.”
“Dunno. Sounds impossible.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You’ve done it before.”
He makes that sorta motion. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just…”
“Tired of my bullshit?”
“Kinda, yeah.”
His laugh is easy. “Okay, I won’t ask again. On one condition.”
“What?”
“You’ll tell me if something happens between you two.”
“If I do?”
“I’ll try my hardest to act like a reasonable adult.”
“And not a drunk caveman?”
He nods yeah and offers me his hand.
I shouldn’t shake. It’s a lie of omission. A promise to lie in the future.
But I do.
He pulls me into a hug. Pats my back. “I’m glad you’re willing to tell me off.”
“Yeah?”
“You wouldn’t have done that two years ago.”
True.
“You… fuck, I know you hate when I say this, but I’m so fucking proud of you, Daisy.”
I nod okay.
“I was so fucking scared… I thought I’d lose you forever.”
“I know.”
“You can’t do that to me. I know it’s not fair to ask, but I don’t care.”
“Okay.”
“And you promise you’ll tell me if you need anything? If school is too much and you need to come home?”
I should say no. That I’m sure I’m ready to be on my own. That I’m sure I’m strong enough to survive that. But I’m not. I’m terrified. And I want to know my brother will do whatever it takes to make sure I’m okay. “I promise.”
“I’m really gonna miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too.”
“How about this. You stop asking about my drinking, I’ll stop asking if you’re eating.”
“Always or for the next three days.”
He shoots me that get real look.
I guess that’s fair. It’s not like I’m going to stop worrying. “Okay.”
I offer my hand.
He shakes.
This time, I’m not sure which one of us is lying.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Daisy
The tension of our fight diffuses. By the time the house is dressed, fed, and ready to hit town, it’s gone.
I let our agreement swallow every bit of concern in my head. I stop asking myself about Oliver’s habits. Stop worrying about him watching me eat.
I just… live.
We spend the morning walking around town, then hanging out in Starbucks for the beautiful air-conditioning. Oliver and Luna complain about the shitty coffee. Insist on going somewhere else to find the “good stuff.”
Genius that he is, Holden claims he wants another tea. Here.
I follow his lead.
We linger in the blissfully air-conditioned shop talking about nothing and everything forever.
Touching more than we should.
Kissing way more than we should.
Sneaking out of the store, finding a quiet spot on the beach, kissing until we’re out of breath.
Eventually, I answer one of Luna’s texts. We meet for lunch. Spend the afternoon at the beach, the four of us together. Eat dinner together. Drink just enough together. (Oliver doesn’t overdo it, for once).
Holden and I linger in the pool together, but we don’t touch or kiss or fuck. It’s too risky.
The next day, I hang out with my best friend. We swim and walk and shop and talk. And we even drink a little.
I’m running out of time with her. After this trip, we’ll be hundreds of miles apart. Too far apart for quick visits.
Sure, we have chats and texts and emails and FaceTime. But it’s not the same. It’s never the same.
We stay out late. Get home to the boys asleep. Barely make it to our beds.
She promises to leave the last full day for me and Holden. To keep Oliver distracted—and out of the house—all day.
Because it’s my last day with him too.
I’m not sure if it’s the end of us.
But it’s the end of something.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Daisy
Except for the hum of an eighties rock song, the house is quiet.
Oliver and Luna are already gone. Off on some all-day tour of a Mexican coffee roaster. Apparently, the country had a rich tradition of growing beans—it has a lot of land in the “coffee belt”—but it’s suffering from a bad reputation because of a shortage a dozen or so years ago.
Our resident coffee addicts are excited to learn more. No doubt they’ll educate us tonight.
It’s interesting enough, but I can’t say I’m craving the information. Coffee is in a weird place for me. Firmly in sickland. I drank it all the time when I was sick. To fill my stomach with warmth. Distract my taste buds with artificial sweetness. Speed my heart with caffeine.
It was bad coffee too. Instant stuff.
Now I…
The taste is too strong, too bitter, too much like mud. I’m not sure if it’s something about the coffee itself or if it’s the memory.