By the time we leave, our cart is overloaded with party supplies. I look like a contestant on Supermarket Sweep, and the cashier asks if we’re having a big party.
“A rager,” I lie.
The next morning, Lucas is mowing my mother’s lawn again and I am standing at the window with a cup of coffee, watching. Our neighbor across the street, Mrs. Betty is doing the same. I tip my mug to her and she smiles. It’s a silent agreement: I won’t tell if you won’t.
“Enjoying the view?” my mom asks, coming up behind me.
At first, I panic, afraid I’ve been caught—but then I remember I’m not doing anything wrong.
“Just making sure he doesn’t mess up.”
“Well c’mon. I need your help.”
She puts me to work. For the entire day, I clean and cook. I whip up chicken salad and guacamole. I spruce the pillows on the couch, step back, and then spruce them again. I meticulously hide any childhood photo that portrays me in a bad light, and I help in the kitchen in between it all.
Madeleine is the real champion. She shows up around lunchtime with champagne and orange juice for mimosas and I greedily accept her offering. I sip glass after glass until I’ve got a perfect buzz going. The pressure of planning game night is now a dull memory.
“Why is this such a big deal for you?” Madeleine asks when we go upstairs to get changed.
“It’s not.”
“You cut each sandwich into a heart.”
“I thought they looked cute that way.”
“You put balloons on the mailbox.”
“It’s a party, Madeleine. It’s got to look festive!”
“You rearranged the furniture in the living room four times.”
“Yes. My mom really needs to bring in a feng shui consultant. There’s some pretty bad juju in this house.”
“Uh huh. Here, turn and I’ll zip you.”
I don’t tell Madeleine that I put an equal amount of thought into picking out the perfect dress. It’s red, a color I usually avoid. I saw it hanging on a mannequin in a shop window downtown and I knew I had to have it. It’s short and flirty and I’ve never worn anything like it.
“Daaamn Daisy,” Madeleine says, stepping back to assess me.
I’ve only managed half a smile when something out on the front path catches my eye. Party guests!
I run to the window and peer down. With my mom and Madeleine already here, that only leaves Lucas and his parents…but the person walking up the path is an unexpected guest, someone my mother definitely didn’t run past me.
“Kelly O’Connor?” Madeleine asks behind me, clearly in shock.
I try to set my hand on the window sill, miss, and hit my forehead on the window. Kelly looks up, startled, and I jump away from the window.
“What the hell is she doing here?!”
Kelly O’Connor. KELLY. O’CONNOR. First grade teacher. Chairman of the Hamilton Pumpkin Patch Festival. Beautiful. Sparkly. Has no enemies.
I need to have a word with my mother.
Fortunately, she’s in the kitchen pouring chips into a bowl. I corner her against the counter.
“Kelly O’Connor? Seriously?!”
She spins around, beaming. “Oh perfect, has she arrived?”
The bell rings, and I hear Madeleine go to greet her.
“What were you thinking inviting her? I can’t stand Kelly.”
“Oh c’mon, Kelly isn’t so bad.”
“She insisted on playing the baby Jesus in the church nativity play until she was thirteen. Even worse, everyone was happy to give her the part because she was so angelic. Am I seriously the only one in town that thought braces on the Lamb of God was a bit of a stretch?”
My mom laughs. “Well I thought she did a fine job as Jesus, and anyway, I didn’t invite her for you.”
It dawns on me like a slap in the face: my mom invited Kelly for Lucas.
If she hadn’t birthed me, I would have murdered her right then.
I can’t breathe. My dress was flirty, but now it’s just constricting. I want to tear it off and expand my lungs to max capacity.
“Uninvite her,” I demand. “Tell her there’s been a death in the family.”
In fact, there might be.
“She’s in our living room, Daisy.”
I squeeze my eyes closed and try to think. Kelly is as dumb as a doorknob. Maybe I could tell her the first game is hide-and-seek and convince her to hide in a bush for six hours. You’re the best at this game, Kelly. That’s right, just curl right up, like you’re in a manger half your size.
“I’m confused. What exactly are you upset about?”
“You’re trying to set him up with someone.”
“And why does that upset you?”
“Because I want Lucas alone! Sad and miserable and defeated.”
“Daisy…”
“Fine. Whatever. I just don’t see him with Kelly. They’re nothing alike.”
“Oh? So who do you think I should have set him up with instead?”
“How about you try to, I don’t know, set up your single daughter? It’s not like I have guys banging down my door now that I’m home!”
A knock on our door comes a second later.
Knock-knock. Knuh-knock-knock. It’s a chipper little song, which means it’s not Lucas.
My mom is giddy. “That must be Patrick!”
Patrick? Who is Pat—
“Patrick Brubacher?!” I hiss as she slithers out of my weak hold. I’m so caught off guard that she slips right around me and into the living room. She completely ignores my question, but it doesn’t matter. I hear Patrick’s voice as soon as Madeleine lets him in.
Patrick is the male equivalent of Kelly O’Connor: weak, blond, blandly handsome, like a well-built shoe. He’s a veterinarian who once rescued a dog from a well and nursed him back to health. You’ve seen the photo collages: day 1, the dog looks like a goner; day 30, he’s wearing a spiffy red bandana and smiling alongside his new owner. Patrick is that owner.
“Daisy Bell? Goodness, is that you?”
Naturally, Patrick is delighted to see me. He’s never felt an emotion other than delight.
I let him hug me and I smell his cologne. It’s good. He’s tall and his blond hair is cut short. His smile is his most prominent feature and I think that’s fitting. Kelly stands behind him, waiting to get to me.
“Hi Kelly,” I offer, immediately wishing I could try again with a bit more enthusiasm.
She doesn’t notice though. How could she? She’s programmed to carry out a binary existence: be pleasant, or be dead. And she’s still breathing.
“I have to admit, it was a blast from the past when your mom invited me to a game night. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you or Lucas.”
My heart sinks. That means she agreed to come prior to seeing Lucas 2.0. The tall, hunky, man version will arrive any minute and I’m sure she’ll be pleasantly surprised. With that realization, I hate my mother even more.
I step back from Kelly and Patrick as a firm knock sounds from the front door. Madeleine answers it and I stand frozen as Lucas strides into my house with his parents and Dr. McCormick in tow. I barely register the fact that my mom has invited our boss because Lucas is wearing jeans and a cobalt blue sweater. The cobalt blue is shocking, the color of Superman’s suit. What the fuck, Lucas. What the fuck.
“Wow,” Kelly whispers under her breath, blushing like a schoolgirl. She looks to me for support and then realizes I won’t be joining her in lusting after Lucas. I’m his rival. “Oh, nevermind.”
I let everyone finish introductions while I make myself a drink in the kitchen. I don’t realize it’s a Jack and Coke until Lucas comes up behind me and plucks it out of my hand.
“Since when do you like Jack Daniels?”
“Since when do you wear sweaters?”
Silence. My comeback is a little weak, but he gives it to me.
“What are Kelly and Patrick doing here?”
“M
y mom invited them. For us.”
“For what? Extra competition?”
“She thinks Kelly will woo you.”
He laughs and my heart grows three sizes in my chest. With the added blood flow it provides, I work up the courage to look up at him. His brown hair is ridiculously adorable and wavy. His cheekbones seem sharper than ever. He brings my cup to his lips and takes a sip before handing it back to me. I want to throw it in his face but I also want to kiss him. Luckily I see Kelly eyeing us from the doorway to the kitchen and do neither. I know she wants to come over and chat with Lucas, wants to swoop in and bat her big brown eyes. The image of her smiling up at him churns my stomach.
“So that means Patrick is here for you?” he asks, bringing my attention back to him.
I toy with my cup. “Presumably. I think my mom is hoping he’ll adopt me like a stray.”
“You’re too wild. You’d eat him alive.”
I don’t deny it.
My mom claps and announces the start of game night. As I walk back into the living room with Lucas trailing behind me, I realize she’s rearranged things in the time it took Madeleine and me to get ready upstairs. So much for feng shui.
“Lucas, you’ll sit there, and Daisy, you’re here.”
She’s put us on opposite sides of the room and everyone laughs except for Lucas and me.
“You’ve hidden all the sharp objects, right?” Patrick laughs.
“Do you have a barrier we can put between them?” Mr. Thatcher asks.
“Maybe a fence would be best,” Kelly adds, looking around the room to confirm we find her funny. I want to tell her she killed it. The joke is over.
“All right, c’mon,” Lucas says with an easy smile. “We’ve both agreed to keep things civil, right Daisy?”
That’s what he says, but my brain twists his words into foreplay: We’ve agreed to keep things sexual, right Daisy?
I clear my throat and nod weakly.
He’s sitting across the living room from me, smiling with his perfect mouth and perfect dimple, wearing that awful cobalt blue sweater. It’s beautiful. I want to maul him.
“Yup. Yeah. Agreed. Let’s get this show on the road.”
The next hour is spent in hell. I’m positioned between Patrick and Mrs. Thatcher, and though I love Mrs. Thatcher, I can’t get a word in edgewise with her because Patrick is doing his best to monopolize my time. Kelly meanwhile, has sandwiched herself between Lucas and our dusty bookshelf. There was no chair there, but she dragged one over. It’s uncomfortable, but she doesn’t mind. She stays close to Lucas and I didn’t notice it before, but her dress is really low cut. Every time she leans in close to talk to him, her boobs graze his arm. I want to announce an open casting call for the church’s Christmas play so she will be compelled to leave.
No one lets up on me or Lucas, and they watch us like hawks. It’s as if we’re a reboot season of a long-canceled TV show, and they’re watching to see if it’s still just as good. I spite them by staying on my best behavior. Standing, I take my turn in charades. Patrick is my partner and he’s supposed to guess what movie title I’m miming, but his guesses make no sense.
“Um…uhh…The Godfather?! No…Finding Nemo!”
I look back at Lucas and he mouths, “Star Wars.”
I drop my imaginary lightsaber and stand frozen. I’m back in that exam room on my knees with the taste of him in my mouth. Lucas knows it. He tilts his head and smiles. The buzzer chimes and we lose another round.
“We’ll get them next time, Daisy!” Patrick says, chipper.
“You guys are down by ten points,” Madeleine points out, then sees my frown and adds, “But I guess anything’s possible.”
Kelly and Lucas are in the lead and Dr. McCormick says they make a great team. I’m sick of playing and maybe I grumble a little too loudly as I go back to my seat.
“Don’t be a sore loser, Daisy,” my mom says in front of everyone.
My cheeks burn.
“Reminds me of the time Lucas beat her out for preschool line leader,” Mrs. Thatcher says with a laugh. “She was so furious.”
Dr. McCormick and my mom are up next and I eye the stairs, wondering how awkward it would be if I left in the middle of game night. I nearly do it, but then it’s Lucas and Kelly’s turn again and I watch them because this twisting sensation in my stomach is new. It’s new and it hurts. I focus on it as Kelly mimes Alice in Wonderland and Lucas guesses it in record time. Kelly squeals and throws herself into his arms. I leap up from my chair like I’ve been personally violated and everyone whips around to watch me, waiting for me to react.
“Exc…excuse me,” I mumble. “Not feeling well.”
Maybe I actually am ill because my stomach really does hurt. I go up into my bathroom upstairs and lean over the toilet, waiting to throw up—and then I realize with a jolt that it’s not nausea I’m suffering from. It’s something worse.
“Daisy?” Lucas knocks on my bedroom door and I flush the empty toilet and then walk out to open it.
“Need a doctor?” He grins.
He’s standing on the threshold, holding a box of crackers and a glass of water.
Like that will fix my problem.
“Are you okay?”
“Peachy,” I say, stepping back and leaving the door open for him. The invitation is clear: he can come in if he wants. In 28 years, he has never been inside my room. I watch as he steps in and closes the door behind him. He’s a giant stepping into a doll house; my things seem small and childish compared to him. He eyes the trophies and ribbons adorning the walls, the pieces missing from his own collection. He smiles as he passes by the row of plaques from our high school science fairs. My shelves are stuffed full of old college textbooks. The poster above my bed doesn’t depict a boy band or one of the Twilight characters; it’s an anatomical diagram of the human heart.
I sit, watching him inspect my things from my perch on my twin bed, and when he finally turns to me, his gaze falls down my body, onto the small bed.
I panic.
“Madeleine will probably come check on me soon.”
His mouth hitches up. He can probably smell my fear.
“Your mom took everyone out back to show off her garden. We’ve got time.”
“How did you sneak away?”
“I volunteered to check on you, considering you’re sick.”
He sounds amused by the notion.
“I really am.”
He moves closer.
“Yeah? What are your symptoms?”
“Tightening in my chest. Faint feeling. Twisting in my stomach. A desire to inflict bodily harm on Kelly.”
He hides his smile and drops the water and crackers down on my nightstand. “Just as I feared.”
I fall back dramatically across my bed. “I probably won’t survive the night, will I?”
The old mattress sinks with his weight as he dips down beside me. For a second, we just sit there on my childhood bed, not touching, respecting house rules, but that doesn’t last long.
“Just a few more tests, then we’ll know.” His hand barely touches my stomach and then he draws a soft circle, twirling the fabric of my dress around his finger. “How about here? Does this hurt?”
I nod and close my eyes. “Yes.”
His hand slides up over my ribs and chest until it rests directly over my heart.
“And here?”
I reply with a shaky voice, “Worst it’s ever felt.”
He leans down and his mouth hits the side of my exposed neck. “Here?”
“I’m not sure. Do it one more time.”
I feel his smile against my skin as his hand trails down between my legs. He’s gathering the silky fabric of my dress in his hands and tugging it up gently. My knees are bared to him. Then my thighs. The bottom of my panties is just barely visible and the cool air hitting that forbidden patch of skin makes me shiver.
Lucas pauses and pulls back, leaving me exposed for him to peruse.
/> “Spread your legs,” he says.
His words are commanding, but his tone is gentle—so gentle in fact, that I comply. I part my thighs and my dress rides up another few inches, and then it gets worse. Lucas is fingering my panties and sliding them down my thighs. I have to bend my knees so he can tug them down my legs, but my body isn’t my own. It listens and does exactly what he wants.
Once I’m naked from the waist down, Lucas pushes off the bed.
I prop myself up on my elbows to watch him move in my room, hungry for his thoughts. What is he thinking as he leans back against my dresser and assesses me cooly? Still clad in his jeans, he’s got the advantage. I’m underdressed and yet, I don’t make a move to tug down my hemline.
“Show me.”
My eyes flick up to him and his attention is between my spread legs. His arms are crossed over his chest. His mouth is a flat line. His eyes are on fire.
“Show me what you used to do in high school. Late at night, when you were all alone. When you should have been sleeping.”
I smirk. “Hand me that old calculus textbook and I’ll show you.”
He barely smiles. “Wrong.”
My gaze flickers to the window sheepishly. Could he somehow see in here all those years ago? No. He couldn’t. The angle isn’t right, and the blinds block silhouettes. Still, he looks so confident, watching me try to recover.
“Is this some fantasy of yours?” I ask.
“A fantasy is a thing imagined. This—you, Daisy Bell, touching yourself—that’s something I want to see.”
“Your ego truly knows no bounds,” I scold. Even so, I don’t cover myself.
“Put your hand between your legs.”
I arch a brow. My limbs don’t move. He doesn’t get to be bossy here.
Then he pushes off the dresser and makes a move like he’s heading for the door. My arm lifts off the bed and my hand settles against my thigh in record time.
“There,” I say, not quite as calmly as I would have hoped.
“The Daisy I knew was never this shy. She never backed down from a challenge.”
It’s a bald-faced attempt at reverse psychology. He’s trying to manipulate me, but it tips his hand. He’s growing impatient, desperate.
“Is that what this is?” I sound out of breath. “A challenge?”