Penn
Inconceivable!
Cute name for a store that sells random knickknacks, and bonus points to me for understanding the movie reference behind the store's name.
I haven't tried calling Daisy since she left my place under the cover of darkness yesterday. A phone call, or a text, isn't enough. I need action, something that speaks for itself.
I don't know exactly what it is I'm trying to say, but I can't allow time to pass without attempting something. Plus, I still need to help her with that drywall. Unless Paper Towel Duke decides to man up and help her himself.
I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop where Duke is concerned. He made it abundantly clear he didn't want me telling Daisy who I really am, not that I cared. There was no way I was going to be intimate with her under the guise of another person.
According to Daisy, my lies have made me a bed and now I'll have to lie in it. But the thing about me is that I don't stay down long. Apologies won't be made if I'm sitting around feeling sorry for myself. I need her to know that I never intended to makeher feel like a fool. I want her to know that she's beautiful and smart and loyal to the core. And I'm deeply regretful of the hurt I caused her.
I have an idea, and I'm not sure it will work, but if it makes her smile even once, it will be worth it.
Walking into this kitschy store is like hitting pay dirt. Funny keychains, handmade wooden bookmarks, bottles of local olive oil (no offense Hugo, but I'll pass), mini-puzzles, a deep freeze loaded with ice cream bars, a take-one leave-one library and DVD selection (do people still have DVD players?). The list goes on and on.
I select a bookmark with a bouquet of daisies carved into the wood, a lavender leather-bound journal, a keychain that saysFresh Outta Fucks,anda mini-puzzle of a pygmy hippo family. I don't know if they're still Daisy's favorite animal, but she'll know that's where my mind was. I add to my basket until I've reached fifteen items. A gift for every birthday I've missed.
I consider a pink apron outlined in a delicate ivory lace. It looks so much like Daisy, feminine and soft and beautiful, and it's way better than the only other choice of apron, a burgundy color fabric printed with white dinner plates and wineglasses that readsWine me, dine me, get your mind out of the gutter.
In the end, I decide against the apron because I don't know if Daisy cooks, and it's probably not an appropriate gift for a woman I'd call a friend.It isn't until I reach the small counter with my haul that I realize there isn't a store clerk, and there hasn't been one the entire time I've been in here.
"Hello," I call out. I'm met with silence.
And then I spy in the corner a small folding table with an old-timey cash register, and a notebook lying open beside it, pen nestled in the crevice between pages. Paper-clipped to the top of the register is a small handwritten sign that reads
Inconceivable! is an honor system store.
Tally up the cost of your items, add 8% for tax
and place the money into the register. If you're
paying with plastic, use the card reader.
P.S. if you take advantage of the honor system,
we wish you a sudden onset case of
tummy troubles on your next date.
With love,
Olive Township
Well, damn. If that isn't the quaintest, cutest small-town quirk I've ever seen.
It feels odd now, knowing I'm the only person in here, but I do as I'm instructed, rounding up on the tax becausewho carries coins anymore?and place the cash in the appropriate spaces in the register.
My next stop is a gift wrap store, where the store employee helps me find little boxes for each item. Rolls of wrapping paper line the wall, hundreds, at least, and I choose a pink pearlescent paper, with an ivory ribbon. Like the apron in Inconceivable!, the color combo feels like Daisy. I go home, Slim Jim lying by my side, and pull up my internet browser, watching video after video on how to wrap gifts. It's not like I've never wrapped a gift before, but when I finish, it always looks like something not much better than what a four-year-old could accomplish.
And wouldn't you know, I have been missing out on the rules of perfectly wrapping a gift this whole time. The cutting, the corners, the folding, it's practically geometry. When I sit back, gifts wrapped and bows perfectly tied (another shout out to the Internet for helping me learn that) I feel very proud of myself.
I'm not trying to earn Daisy's forgiveness with these gifts, I only want her to know I'm sorry.
Early tomorrow morning, when the sky is at its darkest, I'll place one package on her front door mat. My hope is that she'll discover it on her way to start her day, and I'll be on her mind all day. Selfish, perhaps, but I want her to think of me. To know I'm sorry, and that it's she who fills my mind, invades my thoughts, owns my heart.
Until then, I head to my mother's house to continue the removal and clean up project, Slim Jim by my side. I work until two blisters form under my thick work gloves, and sweat streams down my back despite the quickly declining air temperature.
