“Yeah.” My sister stares at me like she’s never seen me before. “What?”
“You have her number?”
“We keep in touch. She’s cool.”
I scrub a hand down my face. I’d rather Daisy didn’t witness this low point. “Daze is an adult with a job and things to do, and I’m sure she has a boyfriend and a busy social life and friends, so—”
“You still have a crush on her.”
“I don’t have a crush on Daisy.”
“I was eight, but I wasn’t stupid.” She crosses her arms and cocks an eyebrow at me. “I’d seen enough Disney movies by that point to know how you looked at her. That was some Kristoff and Anna shit right there.”
Unwilling to entertain this any further, I survey the dust-covered items by the wall. “I’ll start with this pile of stuff.”
“Did you write secret poetry about her?”
“Would you help me?”
“You can’t hold it against Daisy for not realizing you were obsessed with her and for dating other people.”
“I don’t. And I dated other people too. Maybe not much in high school, but college and after.”
“Sure, and you’re good friends with all of them.”
“Some people would consider that a positive thing. Most people, actually.”
“Not when you stop being friends with the one person you want, all because you don’t think you deserve her.”
“That’s not what happened.”
Even if Daisy hadn’t sent that text the first semester of college, I never felt unworthy of her.
Did I?
“You had a big-time crush on her.”
“Okay,fine,” I say, irritation getting the best of me. “I liked Daisy. So what? It was a crush, and it’s done.”
“She’s single.”
I shouldn’t care about that. “Focus.”
My sister grants me a few minutes of quiet, working side by side until she speaks up again. “Daze has been single for a while, actually. She and that guy broke up a few months ago.”
I inspect a vase from my high school pottery class, wholly uninterested in Daisy’s relationship status.
“He’s a chef. He’ssosexy.”
“I would love to not hear how sexually attracted you are to grown men. Can you go through the bin over there?” I point to the other side of the room where there’s a Rubbermaid tote with art supplies.
A chef. Daisy didn’t mention him when we were at Sal’s, not that we ordinarily talk about who we’re dating. I stew on this information, and when I’m about to ask how serious they were, Daisy appears in the doorway, all tanned face and freckles and sunlight.
“Hey, you two.”
“Hi!” Ava runs over and gives her a hug. “Max didn’t want to call you, but I knew you’d help.”
“Oh?” Daisy meets my gaze with curious eyes.
