Daisy
I sit at the window overlooking the garden, my papers and books on the desk in front of me. The textbook title reads Principles of Real Estate in large, bold letters; the cover is shiny and new. Every time I run my finger down the spine I shudder at how stiff it is, shudder when I think about cracking it open so many times that it’ll become easier each time, until its knowledge is pouring into me. Downstairs, I can hear Henry and Lola. Lola…named for my mother, sweet Lola, but already Lola owns the name. When I think of Lola, I don’t see Mom, but my baby, her gap-toothed grin and her pawing hands, her giggling voice.
Henry is singing to her, if you can call it singing. I listen to it for a while and then get on with my work. I started the course a week ago, when Henry found out he got the job as a security guard for a large firm in Austin. He’s doing his own studies, too, after passing English lit. That’s our deal. When one of us is studying, the other person has to sing to the baby. I think it’s a pretty sweet deal. And with a little help from Dad, and with Henry’s saved-up cash, along with what small amount I was able to add, we were able to close on our dream home, that perfect house that was only ruined because of our argument. Well, the arguments are few and far between these days. And when they come, they’re about petty things, normal things, and the making up is always worth it.
After working for an hour and a half, I lean back and hold my hand up to the sun which shafts through the window. It glints off my rings, my real rings. Henry and I were married quietly without any fanfare, with Dad and a man named Denton as witnesses. Maybe it’s sad that we didn’t have hundreds of people to invite, but I don’t think so. There was nothing sad about the feeling I got when he fell to his knees and kissed my growing bump. There was nothing sad about the passion that exploded between us on our wedding night. That was nothing sad about seven-foot Henry sitting behind me in pregnancy classes muttering, “Breathe, breathe, breathe…”
I think of Dad, too, working part-time at a garage, even though he’s got enough money to retire if he wants. But he likes to keep busy these days, working and going to AA and his gambling meetings. He was one-year clean last week. We had a barbeque.
It’s Sunday and our street is alive with activity. The Sands are cleaning their car and the Jameses are playing with their infant son. Two boys are playing soccer in their yard. Down the street, somebody revs their motorcycle.
I’m going to be a realtor, I’m going to work my ass off and then I’m going to be the kind of realtor these people deserve. Not the lying kind, not the kind to hide damp with pictures and lie to their clients. I’m going to build up my business slowly, honestly, so that in ten years’ time I can look back on what I’ve done and be proud. I’m not going to slip into my old habits of just surviving. I’m done with that.
“Is that what you call work?” Henry says, wrapping his arms around me from behind.
I sink into his enveloping embrace, an embrace which makes me feel invincible. “I was just thinking about paint and tiles and carpets and things like that.”
“Liar.” I giggle when he kisses me under the ear. “You’re just a liar, Daisy. I always knew you were.”
“Oh, what gave it away?” I tilt my head so he can kiss up and down my neck.
“When you said you loved me. A woman like you, loving a man like me?”
I turn to him seriously. “Don’t say that. I’m the lucky one, not you.”
He laughs. “Maybe we both are,” he says.
And we kiss.
***
Henry
I stand in the study, staring at my GED. Maybe most people wouldn’t as proud of a GED certificate as I am, but I’m way prouder of this than anything else, barring Lola and Daisy. I’m prouder of this than I am of my twenties, of Violence Mode, of Hound. I’m prouder standing in a mall in my security uniform than I am cracking through a door and causing pain. I’m prouder protecting than I am hurting.
“You’re going to call me stupid for staring at this thing again,” I say, when I hear Daisy enter behind me.
“I’d never do that.” She dances across the room and kisses my bare back. I’m shirtless and she’s dressed in raggedy old clothes. “But it is painting time, lazy.”
Dean’s got Lola for the day, so Daisy and I are going to paint her room. As we leave the study, I think of Dean with a sense of respect which proves the respect I felt for Mac was wish fulfilment, nothing else. Dean has really turned himself around. He’s off the booze and he’s holding down a job and I don’t worry one bit leaving Lola with him.
The painting doesn’t go too well. We’re about halfway through when Daisy gets bored and flings some red paint at me. She says it’s an accident, but by that time I’ve painted a red line down her shirt, and before either of us can tell the other to get back to work, we’re on the floor, thrusting, grunting, moaning, her hands running through my hair and her forest-green eyes flitting open and closed as orgasm after orgasm releases over my cock. When I bury inside of her and come, hard, I lean down and press my lips against hers. We kiss as both of us release.
For a long time, we lie on the floor, panting, staring up at the ceiling. Daisy nestles into the crook of my arm. Sunlight fades as we lie there, but neither of us think about getting up.
“I never thought I’d be here,” Daisy says. “I’m so happy. But I’m scared, too.”
“Scared?” I look down at her. She’s staring up at me with a look that reminds me of how lucky I am every time I see it.
“Scared that I’ll start taking it for granted. Scared that it will become normal.”
“It will become normal, but that’s nothing to be scared about.” I kiss her on the forehead. “I’d rather have this normal than the one before.”
“Yeah.” She nods. “Yeah, that’s true. Alright. Maybe we ought to get back to work. Unless…” She grins wickedly. “Unless, do you want to go get a beer and unwind at the strip club?”
I’m on my feet in a second, paintbrush in hand.
“Hell, no,” I say, painting like a madman. “I can’t think of anything worse.”
THE END
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