“Yeah.” I run my hand through my hair. There’s so much I want to say. So much I shouldn’t say. For once, I’m going to keep my mouth shut.
It’s not my strong suit.
But I can try.
“We were just…” She takes two steps toward us. She’s closer, but there’s still half an aisle between us. It still feels like she’s a million miles away. “Picking up a few things.”
“Will we see you tomorrow?” Gabe asks.
Daisy clears her throat.
Her dad turns back to her. I’m not sure what he communicates, but it must be something, because she nods okay.
He steps away from the cart. “I have a hot date with a coffee maker.” He nods a goodbye. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” I nod back.
He moves away from the cart. Stops to whisper something to Daisy.
She nods. Waits for him to turn the corner. Closes the space between us.
Fifteen feet. Ten. Five.
One.
“You uh…” She presses her lips together. They’re soft. The same shade of pink as always. She’s in that same red wrap dress and matching Keds.
Fuck, she looks adorable.
And sexy as hell.
I swallow hard. “Buying stuff for school?”
“Yeah.” Her eyes flit to the pastel pink notebook in my basket. They trace a line up my body. To my eyes. “I guess you’re—”
“Yeah.”
“It’s nice. I like it.”
“Good.”
She nods in agreement. Smooths her dress. “Are you good?”
No. But I don’t need to put that on her. “Yeah. Are you?”
She stares into my eyes for a long moment. She must find whatever she’s looking for, because she nods. “I am.” She steps backward. Places her body behind the cart. Wraps her fingers around the handle. “I changed my schedule.”
“Yeah?”
She nods yeah. “Added a studio art class.”
Does that mean she’s taking an extra class? That’s the last thing she needs. But I need to keep it to myself. “Ceramics?”
She shakes her head. “No. I still can’t get into clay.”
“Too tactile?”
“Maybe. Maybe that means I should do it. Because it would challenge me. Force me out of my head. But I think—” She motions to the yellow sketchbook sitting in the cart. The metal tin of pencils. From the soft, dark 2b to the hard, light 6h. “After I survive drawing… maybe I’ll give clay a shot.”
“You might like it.”
She nods I might. Her gaze shifts to the sketchbook. “Holden I… I really appreciate last week.”
“Me too.”
“You… I don’t know what we’re… but I… I’m always going to remember it.”
I swallow hard. “I will too.”
Her eyes meet mine. They ask for something. Something I desperately want to give her.
Something I absolutely can’t give her.
I suck a breath through my teeth. Extend my hand. “I should go. Early appointment.”
“Right.” She offers her hand.
“Take care, kid.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
She shakes my hand. “We uh—” She releases my hand. Opens her arms. “You have to do better than that.”
“You cribbing my lines?”
“Only the good ones.” Her smile is sad.
I take it at face value anyway.
Chapter Forty-Three
Daisy
“Will your brother drink this?” Dad holds up a box of coffee pods. He holds a poker face for a moment.
“Really?” It’s a ridiculous question, and he knows it. Mom sent Oliver an instant coffee maker a few birthdays ago. He complained about it nonstop. This isn’t real coffee. This is an abomination.
“Really.” He places the dark roast pods in the cart. “He’s always sleeping in.”
I stifle a laugh.
Dad’s poker face cracks. He lets out a hearty laugh. It’s so much like Oliver’s laugh. A little higher. A little easier. But otherwise, the spitting image. “He should know his limits.”
“Should he?”
Dad nods true. “That was his friend.”
“Yeah.” I so don’t want to have this conversation. I’m still shaking. My legs are still threatening to buckle. I want to run to the parking lot, pound on Holden’s car, beg him to comfort me.
Please, come to my room. Come to Berkeley with me. Stay in my dorm. In my bed.
Stay with me forever.
That’s not within the realm of possibility.
There’s no us. No future. No relationship.
I don’t need Dad warning me not to date my brother’s friend. Because I’m not.
It’s over.
No matter how much I hate it.
“The one who comes over all the time,” Dad says.
“You know it is.”
“That’s why I didn’t pose it as a question.”
I clear my throat.
He motions to the next aisle. Pens. “Your brother only stays in the house because you’re there.”
“I know.”
“He’d rather—”
“Drink without judgment?”
Dad nods yes. He doesn’t add anything about how I should let it go. That I should wait for Oliver to realize he needs to quit. That pushing him is going to push him away. Like what happened with Mom.
We’ve had that conversation before.
It never goes well.
Even if it’s true, it’s bullshit. That didn’t stop them from pushing me. They always say it’s different, but it’s not.
It’s the same.
It’s just…
Life isn’t fair.
I’m not upset about that anymore. It happened. It sucked, but it was for the best. I’m… better. I am better. Maybe I’m not all the way, but who is?