“I don’t doubt that.”
“Well, thank you for walking me home.”
“Anytime. Thanks for hanging out with me. I’ve really enjoyed these times that we’ve run into each other.”
“Me too,” I said. I could feel a gigantic yawn getting ready to stretch across my face. I was suddenly exhausted and wanted nothing more than to be crawling into my bed, about to fall asleep for ten, maybe eleven hours. I covered my mouth with my hand as though that might somehow keep the yawn at bay. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It just hit me all of a sudden, how tired I am. I really don’t usually drink that much beer.”
“Kind of a lightweight?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, then I will bid you adieu and sweet dreams. We’ll have to plan on doing something at some point, okay? But after you get some rest first.”
I smiled and unlocked the door. “Yeah sure,” I said, waving goodbye, “That sounds nice.” I was barely able to kick my shoes off and make it to my bed before I fell on top of the covers, sound asleep before my head even hit the pillow.
I woke up the next morning with an awful taste in my mouth and a pounding headache. I was still wearing the same clothes that I’d worn the day before. The bright sun streaming through the windows hurt my eyes and told me that it was pretty late in the morning, perhaps already afternoon.
I pushed myself up and stumbled into the bathroom where I drank water directly from the faucet. That made me feel a little better, but when I straightened up, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. My hair was plastered down on one side of my head and sticking up all harried and crazy on the other side. There was an indent across the side of my face where I must’ve been sleeping on the seam of the comforter.
The doorbell rang.
I jumped, startled. I rubbed sleep from my eyes and went over to the intercom.
“Who is it?” I said.
“It’s Ian.”
Shit. “Um . . . hold on one second.”
I tried to smooth my hair down and straighten my clothes out, which had twisted around me as I slept last night. Why was he here? My head throbbed as I found a pair of flip flops and slipped them on so I could go out and let him in.
I squinted against the harsh light that came pouring in behind him when I opened the door.
“Hey,” he said. “Am I . . . waking you up?”
“I slept in,” I said. “So, yeah. I should be getting up now anyway, though. What time is it?”
“It’s ten till one.”
“In the afternoon?”
He smiled. “Yeah. Hence the sunlight. Listen, I was out running a few errands and I happened to be in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d stop by. And give you these.” It was only then that I realized he’d been holding one of his arms behind his back. He brought them arm forward, presenting me with a small bouquet of brightly colored flowers. Not roses, but something that looked like daisies, except instead of white they were brilliant shades of red, pink, and yellow.
“Oh,” I said, smiling. “Those are beautiful.”
“You’re right,” he said. “I saw them and I thought of you. I know I said I’d give you time to think about everything, and I’m still doing that—I just wanted to stop by and give these to you.”
I took the flowers from him, our fingertips brushing. “You can come in,” I said. “Just . . . give me a minute; I did just wake up.”
He followed me back into my apartment, and I was acutely aware of how disheveled and terrible I must look, but he didn’t seem bothered by it at all.
“I’ll be right back,” I said. “I should . . . go change.”
“You don’t have to,” he said. “You look beautiful just like that. And look, if you still need time to think about things, just tell me and I’ll go. I’m not trying to rush you or anything.” “I can’t ignore what I feel for you,” I said. “I don’t want to ignore it. I like this feeling. I like the way you make me feel, I like being around you, and I don’t want to have to stop that. Even though you having a baby with someone else wasn’t what I was really envisioning.”
A look of relief crossed his face. “Daisy,” he said. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that. I know it’s asking a whole lot, too, to expect someone to get involved with you even when you’re going to have a kid with someone else. But I want you to know that Annie and I have talked about things, and yeah, eventually there will be a kid around some of the time, but that is not going to change the way I feel toward you.”
I thought about what Carl had said earlier, about trusting my feelings. I thought about how I’d felt around Billy, how I’d felt around Jonathan—two very nice guys that I enjoyed being around. But being with them paled in comparison to how it was when I was with Ian, and if I was to be honest about how I truly felt, he was the person I wanted to be with, and nothing else mattered.