He shrugs a second time, pushing back from the table. "Do what you want with the information."
I frown at him, at his half-empty bottle. "I already gave my word to Daisy that I wouldn't interrupt her wedding."
"Ok, fine. I get that. But"—those expressive De la Vega eyebrows climb his forehead—"perchance, does Daisy want you to interrupt her wedding?"
I tug my lower lip together in the center, thinking about Daisy, everything I've learned about her, what she's explicitly stated, and all she's left unsaid. "I think Daisy wants someone to give her an out. She's willing to survive the fallout, but not be the reason for it all."
"Be her reason."
"I can't, Hugo." I rap my knuckles twice on the table. Slim Jim perks up, lowering his head when I don't change my body positioning. "Daisy has spent a lot of her life reacting to other people. Being the person Olive Township wants her to be. If her wedding day is going to implode, I want her to be at least a part of it. A decision-maker in it."
Hugo whistles low, and Slim Jim perks up again. "Look at you Penn, loving selflessly. You came back to sell your mom's house, but it looks like you learned a lesson or two along the way."
"What are you, a wise old owl? Shut the fuck up."
Hugo stands, smirking down at me. "Hoo," he says, mimicking an owl. "Hoo."
I pluck the bottle from his grasp. "Thanks for coming over here and wasting a beer."
He pats my shoulder, looks me in the eyes. "Storm the castle."
Chapter 53
Penn
I'm headedtoward Sweet Nothings for an early morning coffee before they close for the day to attend the wedding I’m trying desperately (and failing) to forget. Distraught would be the most optimistic word to describe me this morning.
I'm almost to the bakery when Margaret steps out of Sammich, arm waving wildly to flag me down.
"Penn," she greets, grinning ear to ear as I approach. "I have been wracking my brain trying to remember your mom's favorite sandwich. But I did it," she says proudly, tapping her temple with one finger. She presses a paper bag into my hands. "Fresh carved turkey, muenster cheese, dijon aïoli, lettuce, tomato, and—here's the special part—house made potato chips. On toasted sourdough." She pats my chest. "Enjoy."
She ambles away, leaving me staring after her, fingers gripping the top of the paper bag. Only when my knuckles turn white do I loosen my grip.
I knew my mother had a favorite sandwich, but I never would've been able to recite the ingredients. Opening the bag, I allow myself the shortest sniff.
Tears instantly sting my eyes. I'm sitting at a table in Sammich, my mother across from me. Sunlight streams through the glass, lighting up our table, and her. She's wearing her blue silk shirt, the one that matches her eyes. She's smiling happily at me with that look mothers get in their eyes, the one that tells their child they are the center of their world. The most important thing. I remember how I felt that day, the unbridled happiness, the sense of belonging. My dad always went away, but not my mom. I was hers, and she was mine.
I cough into my fist, dashing away my tears. To my truck I go, coffee forgotten.
I know right where I'm headed. The place that brought me back to Olive Township. To Daisy.
Home.
I stare at the modest,one-story structure. Memories, both good and bad, peek at me from broken windows.
Slim Jim sits beside me on the tailgate, and I remove the sandwich from its wrapper. Lifting the sandwich in a salute, I pretend I can see her in the living room, hair tucked back as she wrestles with that awful wallpaper.
I bite into the sandwich, and realize I've had it wrong this whole time. There is something superior to the Monte Cristo.
Slim Jim eyes me with hope. I never feed him people food, but I'll make an exception this one time. We're celebrating. Tearing off a chunk, I toss it over my shoulder into the truck bed. He leaps after it, and I grab my phone.
"Justin," I say, when my realtor answers. "Cancel the listing. My house isn't for sale anymore."
It was safer for me in San Diego, where I could be in my condo without having to face Daisy and the ramifications of how I left her. Just me and Slim Jim, going about our business. But was that really right for me? Was I being the best, or even anacceptableversion of myself?
I was meant to love Daisy. I've loved her as a friend, and then I loved her in memory, and now I want to love her as a woman.
A ship in the harbor is safe, but that's not what ships are meant for.
