All day, I watched from my office overlooking Neal’s home as my staff went in and out—cleaning, bringing in new furniture, flowers, and every dessert Jules could think of. I laughed to myself as Dewayne carried in a large bouquet of roses. It felt like being pulled right into a book, and just like the story, Daisy would be mine. She’d see all the grand gestures, how perfectly I orchestrated everything, and fall back in love. By nightfall, she’d be convinced to run away with me.
That was where our story would deviate, I told myself.
Jay Gatsby never got his happy ever after.
But I would.
My Daisy was different. My future was different.
I stopped by after my staff was finished to inspect and give my final approval. As I stepped inside, my pulse began to race. My body grew warm, and I found myself breathing heavily. I looked at Neal.
“When will she get here?” On paper, it was perfect. I couldn’t have created a more impressive place to bring my Daisy. Well, other than her dressing room. That’s where we should have officially met, if I hadn’t been such a coward.
I spun around.
“I’m calling this off.” I waved my arm. “I fucked up. This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen.”
“Sir, what’s going on?” Dewayne came over to me. “We spent all day making this just as you wanted. Is there something we can run and get? Or maybe dial back?”
I shook my head, pacing. “No, no, no. It’s all wrong. I’m being too literal. This is how I fuck it up. I can’t repeat what happened with the original. I’ll just—” I stopped short and turned to Neal. “Call her and tell her not to come. I’ll try another day.”
“Gatsby—” they protested, but I was already out the door.
Jesus Christ. What the fuck was wrong with me? I had a guy tied up in my house right now, waiting for me to carve his crimes into his face with a needle and ink before he was served for dinner, and somehow, I couldn’t talk to a girl.
How old was I?
The rain began as I was walking back to my property. It started slow but darkened the sky quick. My shoulders fell. My suit, the one I’d bought and had tailored specifically for the day Daisy saw me for the first time, was ruined. I was turning into my house when a light flickering to life caught my attention.
Daisy’s green light.
I turned, and as my name called for, I went to my dock to stare at it.
My own matching light flicked on moments after I stepped onto it. Did she look across the lake and admire it? Did she yearn for the green light as she had when we were teens?
The rain came harder and thicker. I ignored it all, staring off into the distance at that green light. Memories flashed in my mind of those late-night instant messages, the phone calls, the constant yearning. I recalled the first time I sent her a photo of myself. I’d been so nervous. I’d refused for a long time, afraid that once she saw my face, she’d only see what others saw. No longer would she want to know my dreams, my desires, my favorite things. I’d had nightmares that she’d only want me for sex, like all my mother’s friends.
But our relationship didn’t change once she saw my portrait. She loved me just as she had before. Which only made me love her more.
“What do you think?”
“Of what?”
“The picture I sent just now?”
“Of you? You’re... you’re really cute, Gatsby.”
“Cute?”
“Cute. Now, you were telling me about the snake you’ve been drawing?”
The rain soaked through to my bones, but I was so lost in time I didn’t notice just how icy cold it was.
“Neal?” a voice called out. I blinked, the sound pulling me from the deep roots of my memories.
“Neal, is that you?”
I turned slowly, slightly disoriented, and as my vision came back into focus, I froze.
