The Man I Love (The Fish Tales, #1)(136)

“No crying in the lobby.”

“Throwing up is allowed.”

Logistics settled, they talked about their days for twenty minutes, then said goodnight.

The next night’s conversation lasted two hours. He told her about his marriage. He kept it short, didn’t talk about the infertility. Just a simple story. Daisy was quiet, almost ominously silent, neither asking questions nor interjecting.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said, her voice airless and tight. “You’re going to have to tell me the whole story again when you get here. Frankly, I stopped listening after ‘I got married…’” She gave a nervous laugh, which dissolved into a jagged-edged sigh.

He felt his heart contract. “Dais…”

“I’m sorry.” She was still trying to laugh it off. “I don’t know why I’m... Just give me a minute.”

“I was a lousy husband at the end,” he said, feeling a strange blend of guilt and apprehension.

“But you were her husband,” Daisy whispered. And then she was crying. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” he whispered.

“Let me call you back.”

“No,” he said. “Stay. Cry all you want. Please just stay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. Take your time.” He let her be, let her ride it out.

“You know, any time you want to get sloppy, feel free.” She sniffed with another shuddering sigh. “I can’t be having all the fun.”

“Wait until I get to Canada. I’ll need a separate suitcase for my emotional shit. It’s going to be embarrassing, trust me.”

She put the phone down to splash cold water on her face. When she came back, he said, “I can’t believe you’re not married.”

“Well,” she said. “I came close.”

“To Opie? I mean John. Sorry.”

“Oh, God, he hated that name and no one could stop using it. No, it wasn’t him. Someone else. And I’ll tell you about it another time.”

“Will you tell me about when you were cutting yourself? Not right now. When I see you. It should be a face-to-face conversation but I wanted you to know I knew.”

“I’ll tell you about it.”

“If it’s too hard though…”

“I’ll share whatever you want to know,” Daisy said. “There’s no point holding back or avoiding.”

“True. But—”

“Erik, listen. Let’s not shelter each other. I’m not defining what’s going on here. I’m not even assuming we’re friends again. And it’s kind of liberating, don’t you think? Put it all out on the table, there’s nothing to lose. I’d rather know everything and be hurt. I hated not knowing where you were. God, it made me crazy…” She trailed off, and the lost years swept through Erik, a biting, gnawing pain of regret for the time he had thrown away.

“It seemed so important at the time,” he said, shaking his head. “So necessary. And now I can’t understand how I managed to completely shut down.”

It was the only way I knew, he thought. It didn’t make him feel any better.

“You’re here now,” she said. “I still can’t believe I’m talking to you.”

“I might not ever shut up.”

“Say anything then,” she said. “I’m not afraid. I want to know everything. I need to have everything so I can figure out what I’m going to do.”

“Do with what?”

“Do with you,” she said, as if it were obvious.



*



They talked nearly every night as the reunion crept closer. Ten days away. Then a week. Two days.

Then tomorrow.

As he packed his bag, Erik called down to Key West and spoke to his mother. “I’m going to Canada tomorrow,” he said. “Not sure how long I’ll be gone.”

“Canada? Why there?”

“I’m going to see Daisy.”

A beat of silence. “Well,” Christine said. “How did this come about?”

“I went looking for her.”

“All these years. What finally made you decide?”

“It was time. It was time a long time ago. Unfortunately, Mom, my father set a shitty example of how you leave a woman, and even more unfortunately, I followed it. Not knowing there was an alternative. A better way to leave. Or a different way to stay. I know now, and I’m going to Canada to set a better example. Even if I never have a son someday.”

“I think that’s wonderful, Erik,” Christine said.

“I’m slightly terrified.”

She laughed. “Because you loved her.”

“I did,” he said. “Possibly I still do.”

“Leaving isn’t always the end of loving. Love doesn’t give a shit about geography, Erik. It’s not a thing you can abandon at will.”

He sat on the bed next to his open bag and ran his hand through his hair. “Look, Mom, I never asked you this,” he said. “But is there part of you still waiting for him?”

“For your father?”

“Yeah. Waiting for him to call or something.”