Because my mother and L’Raine talked him into it.
Think Yenta from Fiddler on the Roof. Times two.
I’ve known Max Dacey since high school. He was in the theater group with me and we had a lot of the same friends, including my best friend Shelby Kovatch. He has never been a love interest of mine, nor have I been one of his. I like Max. But I don’t have romantic feelings for him. I never have. And whenever I think of Reuben I’m glad Max has never had any for me. Max is tall, very thin, likes to keep his curly hair wild and feral-like and he loves sleight of hand. He’s been doing magic shows for five-year-olds’ birthday parties since he was twelve. Max wants to be a career magician—has forever wanted to be a career magician—but his parents have always been able to talk him into staying in the family photography business. I don’t think Mr. and Mrs. Dacey have ever been able to picture Max making a living changing the ace of spades into the queen of hearts. And actually Max is a very good photographer. But it’s not what he loves. He loves illusion.
When I began to look for tenants for the apartments back in November, I was very selective. I wanted to have the tenants lined up before the units were even ready so that I wouldn’t have to advertise. There are only ten apartments, and I filled them the first week I agreed to manage the building. One apartment for me, one for alterations, one each for Mom and L’Raine, one for Rosalina and Mario—I knew with Rosalina’s skill as a seamstress and Mario’s as a handyman, managing the building and selling the dresses would be a breeze—and one for Reuben who wanted to have an apartment available for when he comes to the Twin Cities. My wonderful Father Laurent, who was retiring and looking for a new home, was recommended by a couple at my church, as were Wendy and Philip, who live across from Father Laurent on the third floor. About that same time, a retired violinist named Solomon Gruder, who was my dad’s friend from his days with the Minneapolis Symphony, was looking to sell his house and move into an apartment. After those arrangements, then there was just the one unit left. Mom called the Daceys without asking me first and asked if Max was still looking to move out on his own. Yes, he was twenty-nine and still living at home. The Daceys were pretty pleased to have Max out of the house but not out of the business and to have an “in” with future brides with future photography needs. Max arrived two days before Christmas with a strange collection of furniture, a thousand decks of cards—or so it seemed—and beautifully-framed portraits of Dacey Photography Studio brides which he hung on the walls of the soon-to-be-opened Something Blue.
I don’t mind having Max here. But Mom and L’Raine need to look for someone else to fix Max up with. We’re just friends. We’re only friends.
Max now holds a fanned deck of cards in front of me. “Pick a card.”
“Max.”
“C’mon. You’re not doing anything important.”
I reach out and choose a card. It’s the two of hearts.
“Don’t let me see it but show it to Maria Andréa and Rosalina.”
I obey.
“Okay. Now put it back.”
Again, I obey.
Max folds the cards into his hand and shuffles the deck. “Now I want to concentrate on your card. Think only about your card. Picture it in your head in this deck. I’m going to read your mind.”
I can’t help but smile.
“You’re not concentrating, are you?” He says this slyly, still shuffling the deck.
“Yes, I am.” The two of hearts is now dancing inside my head.
“Is this your card?” He holds up the eight of clubs.
“No. Sorry, Max.”
“Okay, okay. Wait a minute.” He rifles through the deck. “Is this your card?”
The ace of diamonds.
“No. Sorry.”
Max frowns. He hands the deck to me. “Guess I’m not having much luck reading your mind. You’re just going to have to show the card to me.”
I take the deck and look through the cards. The two of hearts isn’t there. I look up at Max. “It’s not in here.”
Max’s wild eyes are twinkling. He whips his head around to the twelve-year-old at his feet. “Andréa, did you take Daisy’s card?”
The girl laughs. “No!”
“I think maybe you did.”
“I did not!”
“Then what’s this doing behind your ear, young lady?” And Max reaches down and seemingly pulls a card from behind Maria Andréa’s ear. He shows it to us.
The two of hearts.
“Oh!” Rosalina exclaims.
“How’d you do that?” Andréa’s mouth falls open with amazement.
“Magic,” Max whispers. He looks almost handsome when he says this. He turns to me and reaches out his hand. I hand his deck back to him.
“Pretty good, Max.”
He looks triumphant. “I made it up myself.”
“How’d he do it, ?” Andréa’s eyes are dancing with curiosity.
“Magic!” Rosalina says and Max grins.
I watch him leave. Skinny. Unkempt. Untamed Max. The man Mom dragged here hoping I would fall in love with him. As he walks out of the room I search my mind and heart to see if there is indeed the slightest thread of magic between him and me.
The slightest thread.
The mere semblance of what I felt when I was in love with Daniel.
But there is nothing.
No magic at all.
Eight
Dear Harriet,
Max showed Maria Andréa, Rosalina and me a new card trick today. I have to admit it was a pretty good trick. The look in Andréa’s eyes when he was done was priceless. She was over-the-top impressed. It was like her opinion of him went up several significant notches between the moment he walked in (looking like a victim of electrocution, of course) and the moment he left.
It made me stop and wonder, as I’ve confessed to you before, if I am missing something. Is it just Mom’s meddling that has Max here, living just one floor away from me? Or is providence at work? Am I suppressing deeper feelings for Max? Feelings that if let loose, would lead me straight to his skinny arms? It sure doesn’t seem like it. There’s just nothing there. Nothing beyond fondness. I like Max like I like Kellen. No, that’s not true. I love Kellen. Brotherly love is not what I feel for Max. It is just simple affection. Definitely not attraction. Besides. It can’t possibly be the will of God that I marry Max. I would forever be known as Daisy Dacey. That would be unthinkable. Even for God.
Father Laurent had his grandson here for the day. Liam seems like a nice kid, but his mother is something else. I learned today that she divorced Father Laurent’s son last summer, and that she’s the one who did the leaving. I also found out today why I’ve never seen Liam’s father. Ramsey Laurent has been in Tokyo the last four months working on some kind of contract. I feel for Liam. Really, I do. His mother never comes in when Liam visits here. Never. She just drops the kid off at the front of the building. Like she can’t stand the sight of Father Laurent. I asked Father about it today. I know it’s none of my business. But it annoys me that Father Laurent is treated that way. “Does she think you hate her? She must not know you very well if she does,” is what I said. And Father Laurent said, “No. She knows how much I still care for her. As a child of God. That’s what bugs her.”
Go figure.
Tonight I watched the first half of Fiddler on the Roof. Had it on my mind today. I fast-forwarded to the wedding scene. You know, the dress is just okay, and Tzietel’s no beauty queen, but I love that part of the movie—up until the Russians invade and spoil everything. I love how Motel and Tzietel love each other completely. Their love seems so simple. And yet deep. It’s both. Simple and deep. I can’t picture Motel telling Tzietel ten days before they’re to marry, “Tzietel, I’ve been doing some serious thinking and I just don’t think I want to be married to you. I’m sorry. I really am. I wish I felt differently. But I don’t.”
Not in a million years.
p.s. I sent Darlene Talcott a check for an addit
ional $200 for her sister’s dress.
Dear Daisy,
The only thing that is unthinkable for God to do is to be untrue. He most certainly could ordain that you live out the rest of your days as Daisy Dacey. If you loved Max—and it is obvious to all, including God, I think, that you do not— it would not matter to you what his last name was. If you are wondering if someday you will love Max, then I suggest you keep a meter on your dislike for the name Daisy Dacey. When and if it ceases to irritate you, then you will know that you were meant to love Max.
And may I remind you that you respect Father Laurent too much to poke your nose into his private affairs. His relationship with his former daughter-in-law is indeed none of your business, just as you said. Plus, you judge a woman you have never met.
Yes, Motel and Tzietel have the same kind of love that made fairy tales famous. Don’t forget, though, my whimsical friend, that this love did not come easy. It tested them.
I was going to congratulate you on sending the check to that woman but that would be like rewarding a liar for telling the truth.
But I will say it is always a good idea to do the right thing.
Harriet
Nine
I’ve had a revelation. It happened this morning while I sipped a mocha in the back room of Something Blue, far away from anything white. Mom was helping a young gal sort through our size fours. I couldn’t see them from my vantage point behind a computer monitor, but I could hear them. The gal had just told my mother how she and her fiancé met, and then my mom said, “And how did he propose?”
And that’s when I knew.
That’s when I knew I’d had a clue all along that something in my happily-ever-after plan had been seriously flawed. I’d had it all along.
Daniel hadn’t proposed to me.
I had proposed to him.
In all my girlish dreams and fantasies I had never imagined that my life as a contented spouse would begin with me asking the Big Question. It was always going to be the guy who asked.
Harriet would say at this point, Daisy, get a grip. You did not say to Daniel, “Will you marry me?” That’s the ‘Big Question’. And you did not ask it.
She’d be right. I didn’t actually say that.
I said, “Let’s get married!”
And Daniel said, “You think?”
Before you label me a complete idiot, let me tell you that we were cuddled in his hammock on his deck with the hues of a gorgeous late September sunset all around us. He had just told me I was the only girl for him. And it wasn’t the first time he’d said that. He also said it in a kind of cute way. I can’t describe it.
And I had said, “Yes! Let’s get married!”
And he kissed me and said, “Okay.”
I never really let myself believe, until this moment, that it was all my idea we get married. When we announced our engagement—and by the way, we went shopping for rings the very next day—I said to all who asked that Daniel and I both decided we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. Like we both came up with the same idea at the same exact moment in time. And then I thrust my ring in front of their noses to prove it.
I had totally forgotten he’d said, “You think?” before “Okay.”
Until today.
I’d remembered only what I wanted to. The invigorating chill as we held each other close. The woodsy tang in the air from someone burning leaves nearby. The words he had said to me only moments before. How it felt to be within Daniel’s embrace as we laughed about letting his golden retriever, Elmo, be the best man.
I should’ve caught on during the months leading up to our chosen date that I was running the show entirely by myself. And that that was why Daniel wasn’t giving me any fuss about my planning every little detail and not insisting he do anything. It wasn’t because he’s such a compliant, genial guy but because he was only halfway into the engagement from the get-go.
But I honestly didn’t see it coming. Mom said it floored her. L’Raine told me—after she finished sobbing—that she never would’ve guessed Daniel was the kind of man to back out of a promise. Shelby told me didn’t see it coming either, but sometimes I think that maybe she did. I’ve been too afraid to ask her.
I wonder what Mom and L’Raine would’ve said if I had remembered how that conversation in the hammock really went. I wonder if they still would’ve thought that news of life on Mars would’ve surprised them less than Daniel’s calling off our wedding.
You think?
I am a complete idiot.
Shelby hands me a plastic container of gelato and a tiny, paddle-like spoon.
“It’s coconut.” She is wearing a faded T-shirt and denim cut-offs that are unraveling in every direction. Her hair is pulled back with a blue bandana, haphazardly, so that her short ponytail looks like a spill of Schilling ground nutmeg at the back of her neck. June for Shelby is like one long Saturday. So is July and most of August. She teaches junior high science at a middle school in Eden Prairie, on the west side of the metro. We are sitting on the roof of my building, in Adirondack chairs atop a sea of pea gravel.
The ice cream, smooth and creamy, melts away on my tongue like edible silk. “Why can’t all ice cream be like gelato?” I murmur.
Shelby slides her own spoon out of her mouth. “Because it would cost $20 a half-gallon and we’d all become destitute buying it.”
“I suppose.”
“Besides, if you had it all the time it wouldn’t be special.”
I squint my eyes against the late afternoon sun. “You been around my mother?”
Shelby grins. “You can’t have extraordinary every day. Whatever it is would become ordinary. It would cease to be extraordinary.”
I close my eyes and swallow another heavenly spoonful. “Who says something ordinary can’t be appreciated as much as something extraordinary.”
“No one has to say it. That’s just how we are. Give me a taste of yours.”
I hold out my cup and Shelby plunges her little spoon into it.
“Mmmm. That’s good.” Shelby’s words are thick with coconut gelato. “Want to try mine? It’s orange cappuccino.”
“No, thanks.”
I sense that Shelby is studying me. She knows me perhaps better than anyone. She’s been my best friend since ninth grade and has shared every monumental moment of mine since then. Shelby is one of the very few people who knows about Harriet and she’s never chided me once for having her. In fact, sometimes when Shelby wants my advice she will say, “Ask Harriet about such-and-such and tell her to make it snappy. I need to decide what to do here.” Shelby is also one of the few single friends I have left. Everyone else is married and popping out babies.
“So. You having an okay week?” Her tone is light, but I can sense the concern in her voice.
I scoop out the last of my ice cream. “On a scale of what?” I don’t have to pretend anything with Shelby. So I don’t.
“Well, let’s say one is ‘managing quite well, thank you very much,’ and ten is ‘my life is a total mess.’”
I toss the container on the pea gravel at my feet. “A four oughta do it.”
Shelby leans back in her chair and scrapes up the remnants of her orange cappuccino gelato. “Well. That’s not too bad. If you’d said eight or nine, I was going to tell you I know this great guy…”
“Please, please!” I sputter while I try to laugh. “No more blind dates.”
“Ah, but this one’s not blind! He’s mute.”
We burst into giggles. Shelby is not the one who sets me up on blind dates. It’s actually my mom and L’Raine who excel in that department. Shelby tosses her container down by mine.
Easy silence. And then, before I can decide if I really want to know the answer, I blurt out the question that’s been on my mind for nearly a year. “Shelby, were you truly shocked that Daniel backed out of the wedding? I mean, did it take you by total surprise like it did me?”
Shelby turns to look at me. “What brings t
his up?”
I shrug. “I just want to know. I’ve always wanted to know.”
She looks away. “What difference does it make now, Daisy?”
“It doesn’t. I just need to know.”
Shelby picks at a long frayed thread on her shorts. “I wasn’t completely surprised. I was completely mad at him. But not completely surprised. He never seemed like he really deserved you.”
My mouth has dropped open. I am blushing. “Why didn’t you say something?” I gasp.
“Because you were in love with him. It was my job to be absolutely thrilled for you. Besides. I thought maybe I was just jealous. I was kind of, you know. I couldn’t decide if what I was feeling was envy or concern.”
My mind is reeling around this new information. I hardly know what to make of it. “So, were you, like, relieved, when he called it off?”
“Of course not!” Shelby turns back to me. “You loved him.”
“But you weren’t surprised.”
“You said ‘completely.’ I wasn’t completely surprised.”
“I feel so foolish.” My cheeks are still warm with embarrassment.
“Well, knock it off. You weren’t being foolish. You were being vulnerable, open and trusting. He didn’t deserve you.”
There is silence again. Not as easy this time. We are both looking off in no particular direction.
“I had a chance to sell my wedding dress earlier this week,” I announce a few moments later.
She turns her head again to look at me. “Couldn’t do it?”
“I was this close.” I hold up the fingers on my right hand, making them display an inch of space.
“Liar.”
“This close.” I widen the gap to four inches.
Shelby stares at me, cocks an eyebrow.
No one knows me like Shelby.
“This close.” I put both arms in the air and stretch them out as far as they will go.
“Daisy, why don’t you just keep it? It’s a great dress. One of a kind. You can wear it when you marry the guy who does deserve you.”
Blue Heart Blessed Page 4