“That’s quite impressive,” my mom says, repeating her favorite word of the night.
“How has she not seen this?” Ava asks.
“I added it last minute, and today’s been crazy. I hoped…” I look around, but I don’t spot her. “Where is she?”
Daisy handled so many logistical items today that I didn’t get the chance to give her a tour through the space before we had a line of eager guests outside. I’d envisioned showing her this drawing myself—I’d like to be there when she sees it.
“She’s over there talking to some people,” Ava says and points, although I don’t see Daze. “Do you want a picture of you kissing her in front of it?”
“Security?” I hold my finger to an invisible earpiece. “Yeah, you need to remove a young woman, sixteen, green jumpsuit and bows in her hair.”
“Okay, you two. C’mon.” My mom wraps her arm around Ava. “Let’s continue our tour. We’ll find Daisy after.”
I intend to wrap up this tour as quickly as possible, because I can hardly wait to have Daisy by my side again.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Daisy, 18 Years Old
I weaved through friends and family and students, scanning for the only face that mattered. It only took an entire summer of holding onto any shred of Max that I could to realize how I really felt. Mom and Gwen lured the confession out of me as I cried on the couch, and they both encouraged me to do the big, romantic gesture. Book a trip to visit him. Tell him in person. They knew that the time difference, missed FaceTime calls, and sporadic texts had worn me down.
In moments, I would see Max again. I’d hug him and laugh with him and hold his hand and explain how I’d been miserable without him. Miserable without him knowing how I felt.
I spotted him at the end of the room, and the jet lag, the long flight, and all the worrying were worth it. I could breatheagain. He looked so familiar but somehow different. Max wore a confidence that made him stand taller. Someone must have finally convinced him to put some product in his curly hair, and it appeared styled and freshly cut. He stood in a circle of people the same age as us, commanding their attention, and they all looked nicely dressed like him.
I shifted on my feet, wondering if my jeans, tee, and blazer look was too casual. No one else there was wearing cowboy boots, either.
I wanted to soar to him and wrap him up in a hug, but the group erupted into laughter. Before, it was a given that I’d go to his showcases. We’d spend the entire night walking around, and he’d tell me about each painting or sculpture—not just his, but every single one. I hadn’t considered that he’d be here with lots of people. Maybe he had plans with friends tonight. Plans that didn’t have room for me.
Even with such a large group, he seemed like the obvious center of attention. He had so many friends who came out tonight to support him. I spotted at least two young women who looked at him like he was all they cared about. I knew, because I was probably looking at him the same way as longing surged through me with each heartbeat.
A couple more people joined the cluster, handing him a massive bouquet. He’d never had this many folks show up for him back in Harlow. I eyed the pathetic bundle of daisies in my hand. They were the closest thing that the train-station florist had to the wildflowers I would always pick for his showcases.
Someone bumped into me, and I muttered asorryas I pretended to scan the handout they gave me at the door.
Stupid. This was stupid, stupid, stupid.
Max had a hard time keeping in touch this summer because other things were more important. He had heaps of friends, more than the trio of me and him and Gwen. He had a life withthese people. And what did I think would happen, exactly? That I would show up and we’d confess our undying love for each other? That we’d find magically perfect times to FaceTime? It’s not like I would suddenly get a scholarship to go to school here, either.
I blinked back tears. I’d always said I wouldn’t taint our friendship with romance, and now that I was about to do that, it was obviously the dumbest idea in the world.
This was Max’s life, and he deserved all of it. The friends, the girls who wanted to be more than friends and knew it from the start, tons of people who showed up for his art show, the big city, everything.
I was only there to embarrass myself.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I turned around, tossed the flowers in the trash, and slipped out the door into the night.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Daisy, Now
After my phone call with Max’s parents this morning, I thought I had ruined any chance of getting them here. Maybe I should have called them a couple of stubborn asses sooner, or maybe deep down, they knew how much they’d hurt him throughout the years. Either way, I could weep with relief that they both showed up.
“Daisy Johnson.” A lady with a chic asymmetrical haircut and vivid pink lipstick approaches me. She says my name like we’re familiar friends, but I rack my brain to remember who she is. She has a distinct style that only a confident, creative fifty-year-old woman can have, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her before.
“Eleanor Winsome, Deputy Creative Director at LACMA.”
I almost spit out my wine. Max would moonwalk around the building if he knew someone from LACMA was here.
