“No alcohol for her tonight. Cautionary measure with the fall.”
“That’s right.” Richard’s eyes light up. “Thank you, by the way, for watching out for her. I…I worry.”
“She’s done as good of a job resting this week as someone like Daisy can.”
“Figures.” A distant expression passes over his face. “Carbon copy of her mom.” He clears his throat, then taps a few fingers atop the wine fridge. “I don’t, well, I don’t want to be that stereotypical dad. I never have been. And I made mistakes with Daisy’s mom, choices that…” He rubs his brow. “Choices that pushed Daisy away. But I love her, very much.”
I’m rooted in place, unsure where he’s going with this.
“You’re both adults now,” he says, tapping a bottle. “But, uh…just know that when you left, she really, really missed you.”
Daisy had advocated for me to leave Harlow—she always said I was bound for greatness that even I couldn’t understand. She told me she would miss me, and by the way she tried to stay in touch that summer leading up to freshman year, I knew she did.
Until she didn’t. Like missing me was a liability—more trouble than it was worth.
I think it’s better if we take some space for a while. I have to figure some things out on my own…
What a shitty text. As if I hadn’t spent the entire summer figuring out how much I hated not having her around and wanted to work out a way to stay her friend, even from afar.
“I missed her too,” I confess.
Her dad pauses, assessing me from behind his glasses. “I don’t know what happened between you two. She never told me, and her mother only gave me vague details. But whatever it was, I really hope she’s not in store for a repeat.”
I scratch the back of my neck. Her dad’s talking like I’m the one who pulled the trigger on ending our relationship. “It was her idea to cut things off.”
“Doesn’t matter to me who instigated what. Tread carefully, that’s all.”
Some days, I think of what Daisy always used to tell me: that I would leave Harlow to achieve incredible things in the world. That was my choice. But choices are violent, and there have been days—a lot more, recently—where I wonder what that decision destroyed for us, what was sacrificed. To go from two souls intertwined to months without talking or texting. Then years. And then, what do I say to a friend who’s slipped out of my life like quicksand?
Because she let me go, but I let her go too.
“Anywhoo.” Richard’s demeanor changes from somber to chipper as he pastes on a smile and elbows my side. He grabs a white wine with one hand and a red with the other. “I’ll let Oona pick. Let’s eat, shall we?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Daisy, Now
“What’s new at the hotel?” Oona asks.
“Um, well…” I chew on some sautéed green beans, holding up a finger. She loves to question me right when I’ve put food in my mouth. “Not much. The pop-up is the focus at the moment.”
“She’s being modest,” Max says. “Reservations are up, and word is getting out about the exhibit. She was on HSNC, too.”
“We saw,” Oona says. “You seemed nervous.”
I nod and take another bite, because I’d rather not rehash that experience.
“Oh! Almost forgot.” Oona gets up and rummages through her purse on the entryway table. She returns, offering a piece of paper to me. “This is for you. I talked to Stacey at the front desk. She said you sometimes have a mobile massage therapistcome to The Mirage for clients. I heard good things through my network as well. Thought you could treat yourself for once.”
“This is…this is so nice.” I look at my dad, moved by the gesture. “I can’t remember the last time I got a massage.”
“The idea was all Oona’s,” Dad says.
“It’s just because. I figured after your accident, it might ease some tension. And with the museum in a couple weeks, this gives you a chance to relax.”
“Thank you.” I fold the gift certificate, touched that Oona went through the trouble of researching and buying something like this for me. She used to run a massage studio, so the gift has a personal touch to it. I guess we’re at the point where we buyjust-becausepresents for each other.
My dad pats her hand, and she shoots him a megawatt smile. If my dad were going to find love again, I guess he could have found it with someone worse than Oona.
