“I need to…I’ve gotta sit with this for a bit. And—” I glance at my phone. No missed calls. “I should get ready.”
“Okay.” My mom grabs and refolds her newspaper. “Just know that I’m glad I came out. What you made withDesert Dazewas all your own. Well, you and Daisy.”
Her name sends a piercing pain through my chest.
“So…” Ava trails off. “You’re just gonna leave her with it?”
“I’ve got assistants on duty this weekend,” I say through big forkfuls of bland food.
The turnaround time with Tate was faster than expected. Antoine reached out on his journey home, and he looped in his assistant. Within twenty-four hours, they’d secured me a flight for this afternoon to London. I’ll spend a few days getting familiar with the role and fly back with barely a chance to beat the jet lag. A whirlwind tour, all to entice me to join their team.
Daisy insists I take it, but right now, I wish I’d never heard about this fucking job.
“Tate Modern, then?” my mom asks. “Well, clearly you’ve proven you can makeDesert Dazework. So, if this was simply a stepping stone for something you care about more, then so be it.”
That’s precisely how I’d viewedDesert Dazewhen I conceived the idea, but now I don’t care about anything other than Daisy.
My phone buzzes, but it’s false hope—just a message from the driver Antoine’s team arranged. I text them a reminder to avoid Camino del Alma at all costs while I think about how, only months ago, that was where I laid eyes on Daisy for the first time in eight years.
My mom trails me to the front porch, wishing me well. She looks uncomfortable, like she wants to say more, but what she said this morning gives me plenty to process. It’s no “I’m proud” or “Good job,” and it doesn’t undo the hurt, but I get some peace thinking that she isn’t simply saying something I want to hear.
Ava walks out with me to the black town car in the driveway. I wrap one arm around her, tucking her into my armpit. “Stop.” She giggles, and I let her get some playful punches into my ribs. “Your shirt’s on inside out.”
The stitching on the hem of my basic tee faces outward. I put on clothes like a zombie this morning.
“I’ll fix it in the car.” I squeeze her. “So was that you? You talk to them or something?”
She shakes her head, and I narrow my eyes at her.
“I’m serious. Maybe someone talked to them, but it wasn’t me.”
Daisy.She’s the only person who could have convinced them. Only Daisy understood how much it would mean to have them there.
“Progress though, huh?” Ava says, slapping my shoulders. “Exciting.”
“Are you excited for me?”
“Sure.”
“Convincing.”
“I mean, whatever.” She escapes my grasp, giving a timid smile to the driver as the woman plucks my suitcase from my hands. “It’ll suck not having you around again. But it’s no big deal. I can handle it. I’m an adult.”
“Oh, really?”
“I practically am.”
Something shifts inside me as I see this odd similarity between her and Daisy. Both fiercely independent, both willing to sacrifice closeness with me for what they know—or think—is best for me.
But what if I don’t know anymore?
“You should call her,” my sister says, tapping my foot with hers.
“I…” The comment is a paper cut to my already bruised and battered heart, because Ihavecalled. I barely lasted twenty-four hours before calling her up last night and leaving a voicemail asking to talk. Begging. “I’m not so sure Daisy wants to talk.”
“Maybe not yet. But you spent years being obsessed with her, so it seems lame you’d call it quits like this.”
“Obsessed?”
