"What do you mean?"
"The inside is a disaster, which is to be expected from an abandoned home. The backyard isn't any better, overgrown and who knows what else. But the front yard—" He pulls off the heavy-duty gloves he'd donned when he started working on the tile. "The front yard looks like somebody's been tending to it. For a long time, from the looks of it."
"Hmm." I'm not sure what else to say.
He smacks the empty gloves against the side of his truck. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
"About a tidy front yard?"
"Yes."
Of course I would. I know everything about it. Just call meDaisy the landscaper.
"Nope," I lie, popping the 'p.'
Peter side eyes me. "If not you, then who?"
Reaching up and gently poking the end of his nose with one finger, I say, "Some mysteries will never be solved."
Like how Penn left me without an explanation. Sometimes in life you don't get answers, and you have to accept that.
"Daisy," Peter starts, scratching at his eyebrow with his thumb. "I don't mean to show up and start interrogating you,or micromanaging you, but what is it exactly you plan on doing with your bathroom? Your kitchen?"
"I didn't get that far," I admit. It's unlike me to jump into a project, or anything really, without looking. "It's hard to explain."
"Try me."
"I had this feeling come over me, this restlessness. I just...I don't know. I needed to do something." It was the day I had the conversation with Hugo, after I hung up the phone. Frustration filled me to the brim, choking and slapping at me. First it was the guilt over choosing daisies for an inauthentic marriage, followed by facing the reality that Hugo and Penn are in touch but he never bothered to reach out to me. It bit at me as I walked into my bathroom to wash my face, and the tile, which had always been old and ugly but faded into the background of everyday life until I no longer saw it, suddenly displayed its flaws. I went into the garage for the pry bar I'd borrowed from my dad at some point and never returned, and I went to town on the bathroom. Until I cut myself.
Peter crosses his arms, leaning against his truck as if settling in. "You needed to break something? Destroy?"
"You saw that bathroom," I protest, waving a hand toward my house. "I'm doing it a favor."
"Right. It's just that most people don't take on more than one big project at a time."
"It's only the master bath, and kitchen cabinets. It's not like I ripped up the flooring."
Peter's eyes lock in on me without moving any closer. Intensity burns in the squall. "I was referring to planning your wedding."
I do my best not to show the fear streaking through me, that jittery feeling right before getting caught. "Why do you keepbringing this up?" I use sass to cover up my dread. "This is the third time."
"Because," he says through clenched teeth. "I'm hoping you'll understand what I'm getting at without having to hear it said plainly."
My fisted hands find my hips. "Say it plainly."
Without hesitation, he bites out, "I think you're having mixed feelings about getting married."
I scoff, but there's that fear again. Pungent and sharp and accurate. "How could you say that? You barely know me."
"Fair," he concedes with a dip of his chin. "But don't forget I found you hiding out from your engagement party."
Ok, yes. I admit that wasn't my finest moment. "I was overwhelmed. Have you never been overwhelmed?"
Besides, you know, the time he spent broken and concussed in the ocean.
His eyes narrow. "Obviously I have. But it seems like that should be the last thing that overwhelms you. And it makes me think?—"
"Did it hurt?" I narrow my eyes.
