Daisies & Devin

by Kelsey Kingsley

  “Mr. O’Leary,” she said with that bored tone she always seemed to have.

  “Ms. Scott,” I mimicked, exaggerating a frown. “I’m going to get you to smile one day.”

  “You’ve been trying for two years and you haven’t succeeded yet,” she reminded, eyeing me over the thick black rims of her glasses.

  “I’m persistent,” I grinned.

  “So I’ve noticed,” she grumbled. “Billy’s in the game room.”

  “How’s he doing this week?” I asked, reverting to a more serious tone, and she let out a puff of exasperation.

  “Still a grouch.”

  “Oh, so you’re best friends, then.”

  She rolled her eyes up at me again, her eyebrow shifted upward, and I took that as my cue to go find my grandfather.

  The nursing home was one of the nicer ones—Pop had made sure of that—but it didn’t matter much, when all Billy really wanted was to be back in his house. To be surrounded by the walls that held his relationship with the love of his life.

  I walked the hallways, smiling at the patients I recognized, nodding at ones I didn’t, before I rounded the corner into the game room. It was a large space filled with tables for cards and chess, a few shuffle boards, and a TV. I found Billy, sitting at the chess table we always played at, and I pulled over an unoccupied card table for our drinks and sandwiches.

  “Hey Billy,” I said, dropping down into the chair across from him.

  The old man with the feathery brows looked over the table at me with his dull blue eyes and grinned. “You know what I like about you, Devin?”

  “My charm and wit?”

  “You’re always on time,” he said, wagging a bony finger at me. Then he tapped my wrist. “You must have an impeccable internal clock. I never see you wearing a watch.”

  “I have my phone to tell me what time it is. I get an alarm every Thursday, telling me it’s time to pay the cranky old man a visit,” I said, peering across at him as I opened the bag. “Ms. Scott says you’re still a grouch.”

  He waved his hand in the air. “Ah, what does she know?”

  I shrugged. “Well, she’s not much better, so I say, who gives a fuck, right? You do you, Billy.” I pulled a sandwich out for him and laid it on a napkin. “Virginia ham and American cheese on wheat,” I informed him. “Can you handle it? I could cut—"

  “Devin, you act like I’m two-years-old!”

  “Well, you have less teeth than a two-year-old, so …” I narrowed my eyes, shooting him a look of skepticism and he opened his mouth wide to reveal his full set of dentures. I chuckled. “Good, you remembered them today. You make me proud.”

  I pulled the Diet Coke from the bag and twisted the cap off. “I brought you some of the good stuff today, but don’t let the nurses see you with it. They’ll hand my ass to me and not let me come back next week.”

  Billy leaned across the table and whispered, “This is really Jack, isn’t it?”

  I laughed. “Yeah, because that’s what we really need. For you to get plastered.”

  “It would be nice,” he said with a nod.

  I smiled sympathetically. “Yeah, I know.”

  We ate together, shooting the shit. Between bites, we moved the chess pieces around the board, strategically attempting to kick the other’s ass. But as usual, by the end of our meal, Billy was snatching my queen from the board. He raised his fist triumphantly.

  “You’re such a fucking cheater,” I griped, taking a swig from my bottle of Dr. Pepper.

  “You were never much of a chess player,” he said, softening the blow, but he was grinning. “Now, when it comes to playing the guitar though …”

  I tipped my chin toward him. “I learned from the best.”

  “And then, you surpassed the master,” Billy said with a proud nod. “If only you’d take it seriously, but … you don’t take much seriously, do you?”

  “I take some shit seriously,” I disputed.

  Billy eyed the queen in his hand, pursed his lips, then glanced up at me again. “Saying you take things seriously, doesn’t mean you handle them seriously, Devin.”

  “I don’t know what the hell that means.”

  Billy licked his lips and blew out a breath as he shifted his gaze toward the window. An old man walked by, hand-in-hand with an old woman, along the flower-bordered pathway. They were smiling and gazing at each other with this kind of fairytale adoration that brought about a familiar ping of longing in my chest.

  My grandfather turned back to me and sighed. “You don’t play the carefree bachelor very well.”

  “Oh, here we go.” I shook my head, scratching the back of my neck. “It always comes back to this shit.”

  “Look … Devin … you talk about your dreams and wanting to pursue them, and that’s great, but—”

  I nodded and thrust a hand toward him. “You can’t say anything when that’s exactly what you did.”

  Billy nodded, emphasizing each movement of his head. “Yes. Yes, I did. But the difference between the two of us, is that I did. You? You talk a lot of shit, but you’re still working the same job, and you’re still picking up a random girl every now and then when your hand’s not good enough.”

  “Well, that’s gross,” I muttered, glancing around the room to see if anybody had overheard the conversation.

  “I agree!” he exclaimed, slapping his hands against the table. “But is that not what you do?” I diverted my gaze, pinching my lips between my teeth. Billy pointed at me again. “That’s what I thought.”

  It was times like these when I wondered why I played the good grandson and visited the old man every week. These discussions about the way I lived my life and the reminder that I was stuck in a perpetual loop.

  “You live half a life,” Billy said, and I looked up at him, struck by words he hadn’t said before. They pricked holes into my skin and burrowed in.

  There was a song there.

  “You have a tremendous amount of talent. I’ve seen it in you since you were no taller than this table. That’s why I got you that guitar. You had that fire in your eyes and music in your soul. I mean, I remember, I’d put on one of those BB King records and you would lose your mind …” He shook his head, smiling fondly into the distance. “Not everybody gets that way, you know.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, no shit.”

  “Your father never got it. He’d listen to music, he’d appreciate it, but he didn’t feel it. Your grandmother, though? She felt it,” and he winked. “That’s why I picked her.”

  My spine tensed at the thought of Grandma. A wild woman with a fresh passion for life. Her clothes smelled of patchouli and jasmine, her stacks of bracelets played a tune every time she moved her arms, and when her hair turned white, she had embraced it with grace.

  She died before I met Kylie, but I knew she would have loved her.

  “That’s why you picked your girl too,” he said. “But what sets us apart is that, when I saw your grandmother in the crowd at one of my gigs, I went right up to her and told her I was going to marry her. You keep that girl at arms’ length, and you do the same thing with your guitar.”

  “You just know everything. Don’t you?” I said, quirking one side of my mouth into a bitter smile. “And I do play my gigs,” I quickly tossed in.

  He pursed his lips with a nod. “That’s true. You certainly do that, and that’s at least something, but I know you only do it because Kylie makes you.”

  I laughed, succumbing. “Yeah, you’re right about that, but I made the promise I’d play at the coffee shop, and I keep my promises.”

  Billy folded his weathered arms on the table, tipping his head and eyeing me with challenge in his eyes. “Then make me a promise.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Stop living your life half-assed. Stop fucking around and be with her. I mean, for crying out loud, you’re practically married already. You’ve been living together for years, but—”

  “We only still live together be
cause we make a good team,” I interjected, and he rolled his eyes.

  “That’s what you tell yourselves to make it hurt less when you’re boinking other people,” he said, and with a jump of his brows, he threw in, “Just imagine how much better it’d be if you just did it together?”

  ♪

  My grandfather wasn’t always the most philosophical person, so when he made an attempt, he wasn’t always the most eloquent. But that last part, that thing he eventually made me promise to …

  There was something about that, something that really rang true in my head.

  It was something that said I was done with the shameless flirtation, the little touches and the cuddling. Done with other women and with watching her be with other men.

  I’m not sure I would ever completely understand why we had done it. Why we had kept ourselves in that pathetic friend-zone of ignorant bliss. Maybe it was the fear of screwing it all up, by throwing titles and sex into the mix. Or maybe it was a fear of one day letting go.

  But, whatever it was, I was done being afraid.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Kylie

  As a kid, I never played house. I was never the doting mommy in a kitchen playset, serving my baby dolls mashed peas.

  No, I played barista, and served my teddy bears black coffee and scones.

  I don’t remember the moment I first fell in love with the moody atmosphere of a coffee shop, or the scent of freshly ground coffee beans. I don’t even know how, considering my parents were never ones to drink coffee that didn’t come from a Folgers can. But, that’s how it was. It was my calling, to serve people the drink that would wake them up.

  And it wouldn’t have happened, if it weren’t for Devin, making my dreams come true.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  How long had I been staring into the empty cup in my hand? I shook my head, clearing my mind, and I looked over my shoulder at Officer Kinney. Dressed in his uniform with a pair of sunglasses hooked to the front pocket of his leather jacket. I smiled and nodded.

  “Yeah, I’m fine, thanks.” I turned back to dispensing his coffee from the carafe, popped a lid on the cup, and headed back to the register. “Here you go. I left room for milk.”

  “Ya know, you don’t need to tell me that every day,” he said with a friendly smile. “We’ve been doin’ this for years. I think I know by now, that you’re gonna leave room for milk.”

  “Force of habit.” I returned the smile, but I didn’t feel it. My eyes dropped to the register, and I sighed as I rang him up. “That’ll be—”

  “Two-seventeen,” he finished for me. “God, you’re really not on your game today, huh?”

  I shook my head, running a hand over my hair, pulled back into its tight bun. “Yeah, I’m feeling a little … off, I guess.”

  “Sick?” he asked, concern shadowing the dreamy eyes that weren’t having their usual effect on me.

  “No, I don’t think so. It’s just been one of those days.” I smiled apologetically—for being off, for not being able to shake that feeling all day.

  Patrick handed me a five-dollar bill. “Well, I hope it gets better.” And with that, he turned around and headed out the door, and I sighed, staring into my lonely shop.

  Slow days sucked, and I glanced at the old cuckoo clock on the wall.

  2PM. In an hour, Brooke’s shift would start. In two hours, I would be off the clock and heading home to make Devin’s damn meatloaf, because Britney couldn’t make one to save her life.

  Britney. A pang of distaste—jealousy—stabbed at my nerves. How many girls had Devin been with over the years? Enough. Too many. More than I would have liked, but … did I have any right to have an opinion? Wasn’t he just seeking companionship in the same way I was? Filling a void, scratching an itch? Looking for the only things we weren’t getting from each other? And—

  My head shot upward. “Oh my God,” I whispered to the shelves of dead poets and authors. “We’re so fucking stupid.”

  I never had boyfriends in high school or college. I dated every now and then, but I had been too distracted by the turmoil at home to have any desire to pay attention to guys. I never wanted to have to explain my situation to someone, never wanted to deal with the scrutiny.

  But, after Devin and I had met, I saw him constantly. I always told myself we were just friends, just hanging out, while my heart longed to call him mine. But now, it all started to feel as though he’d always been mine. Like we’d been dating for years without the sex. We went to the movies, went to dinner, went for late-night walks, cuddled …

  “God. We’ve always cuddled. Oh my God!” I whined to the store. “Do friends cuddle like that?”

  I had never seen it firsthand but … maybe they did. Still, our affection had never felt friendly. Ours had always been two tiny steps away from make-out territory. Those lingering glances, drowning in his warm, brown eyes. His tattooed arms. His body that never failed to make me feel safe.

  Those moments when I’d wished he’d kiss me. Those moments I had needed him to take the initiative, to save me with his lips and hands and heart.

  ♪

  “Let me tell you, Ky … you’ve never been fucked until you’ve had a guy like Trent,” Brooke said with an affirmative nod of her head as she walked through the door.

  “Uh-huh,” I said, absentmindedly packing a canister with sugar packets.

  “I mean, I know you wouldn’t know what that’s like, because the guys you’ve always been with are boring as hell,” she said with a casual shrug, dropping her purse behind the counter. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m bringing this up now? Don’t you want to know why I’m fifteen minutes late?”

  I rolled my eyes up from my menial task, sighed heavily and said, “Why are you here fifteen minutes late, Brooke? Please, oh please, tell me.”

  She threw her head back and spun around like she was a Disney princess gifted the keys to her very own library. “Trent and I decided to christen the new granite countertop he installed over the weekend.”

  My face broke out in a smile. “Took you that long, huh?”

  Brooke practically skipped behind the counter. “I know, but we’ve had a busy week and we’re trying this new thing, where we tease each other but we let it build up and—”

  I held my hands up, surrendering. “Okay, you know what? That’s a little too much information.”

  “Whatever,” she said with a shrug. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Uh-huh,” I grumbled as I grabbed my bag and jacket from a chair. “Do you mind if I get out of here a little early?”

  Brooke shook her head, leaning her elbows on the counter. “Nah, it’s fine. Seems like a quiet day anyway.”

  “It really has been. I think I’ve had, maybe fifteen customers since seven this morning.”

  “It’s the weather,” she said thoughtfully, gazing out the large paned window. “It’s gorgeous out there. A little windy, but it’s like sixty-five degrees. People don’t need caffeine when the sun is waking them up.”

  “Hmm.” Nodding, I tossed my bag over my shoulder and blew her a kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  I took a few steps toward the door when Brooke stopped me, “Wait!” I turned around as she asked, “Why are you leaving early?”

  I worried my lower lip for two seconds too long before I replied, “I’m going home to cook dinner.”

  “What are you cooking?”

  “Devin wanted meatloaf.” I shuffled my feet on the creaky wooden floor, tightening my grip on the strap of my bag.

  Brooke furrowed her brow and glared at me, scrutinizing. “Why are you acting weird?”

  “I’m not,” I disputed with a longing glance toward the door.

  “Uh, yes, you are,” she countered, nodding. “You’re acting nervous. Why are you nervous?” I opened my mouth to argue, but before I could manage any words, Brooke was shouting, “Oh my God, something happened with Devin! Tell me something happened. Please, please, pl
ease, tell me something happened!”

  My face fell in horror. “Nothing happened!” I shook my head fitfully.

  “Then, something’s happening,” she concluded, nodding surely. “I can feel it. Something’s going on with you two. It’s like … like the planets have finally aligned and shit is finally going to come together. Oh my God, I’m so excited, Kylie. Trent and I have been waiting for this to happen forever, do you realize that? And you’ve both been just—”

  “Brooke, cut it out. Nothing is happening,” I insisted, but my voice lacked the confidence I was hoping for. “If something was going to happen between us, it would’ve already.”

  She winked. “Sure, babe. Whatever you say. Just remember, you guys have a long night ahead of you, alone in that apartment. With two beds, a couch, a shower, a kitchen …” She bit her lip coyly, waggling her penciled-in eyebrows. “And now you’re both unattached at the same time.”

  I rolled my eyes, my heart pumping wildly in my chest. “Oh God, shut up.”

  “Ky,” she said quietly. “You guys are basically a celibate married couple. You cook, you clean, he fixes things. You share a cat, for crying out loud.” She shook her head, dropping her arms to her sides exasperatedly. “He buys you fucking flowers, Kylie. I don’t think he buys his own mother flowers, but he sure as shit buys them for you. Why the hell do you think that is?”

  “He, uh …” I chewed my tongue, nudging it to contradict her as the air passed unevenly through my nose. “He does it because he knows … about my dad.”

  Brooke tilted her head, tightening her lips. Her eyes flickered with sympathy and sadness. “Yeah, sweetie, and maybe he does it because he’s been pathetically in love with you for-ever and he has no idea how else to show you without scaring you away.”

  The sound in my chest rivalled that in Poe’s Telltale Heart as I shook my head. “No way. If he really felt that way, he would’ve said something.”

  “Oh yeah? Then, why haven’t you told him that you’ve had a crush on him since you freakin’ met?”