Page 93 of I Saw Her First

“No.” I rub my temples, frustration bubbling up inside me. “You can’t blame yourself. Everything was fine between you until he found those photos. Until he realized I was—”

“Daisy, stop.” He reaches for me, and the tears brimming in my eyes fall. “Come here.”

I shake my head. “I can’t, Wes. I can’t live with myself, knowing I’ve come between you and your son.”

“But you haven’t—”

“I can’t,” I repeat, wiping my cheek. “You need to fix things with him, and you can’t do that as long as I’m around.”

“What are you saying?” Weston asks, his eyes wild with alarm as I push the sheets off my legs and tug my clothes on with unsteady hands. He springs to his feet. “I want to be with you, Daisy, and if Jess can’t understand that, then I don’t care.”

“But youdo.” The words nearly lodge in my throat as I turn to gaze at him. I touch his cheek with a shaky hand. “I can’t let you give him up for me.”

“I’m not giving him up. It’s Jess’s choice.”

“If I wasn’t here, he wouldn’t have left. It’s as simple as that.” I take a deep breath and reach for my bag. “I think… I think we need to take some time apart until you can fix things with him.”

“Please don’t do this, baby.” Wes’s voice cracks. “I can’t lose you.”

My heart curls in on itself. “You’re not losing me, but we can’t carry on as if nothing has happened. We could pretend for a while, but you’d resent me for making you choose. And I can’t live with the guilt.”

“Daisy—”

“We’re just taking some time apart,” I reassure him, but even I’m not sure if it’s the truth. What if he can’t fix things with Jess? Could I live with that, or would it spell the end of us for good?

I push the thought from my mind. We have to at least try.

“You need to focus on fixing things with Jess,” I say firmly. I step onto my tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, and when I pull away, his expression is agonized. “Promise me you’ll try.”

I turn for the door, and Wes grabs my hand. “Where are you going?”

“I…” I don’t know how to answer. I should go home, but I’m in no mood to deal with Denise’s shit. Work is out of the question, and there are very few other places in the city I feel like being. Maybe I could try to find Jess, try to explain my side, but I’m sure I’m the last person he wants to see right now. And I don’t know if I could even face him.

Wes examines me worriedly, and I open my mouth to tell him I’m not sure.

But instead, I shock myself completely when I say, “I’m going to visit my parents for a while.”

38

Daisy

It’s a four-hour ride from the city to my parents’ house in Hartford, Connecticut, and at least five times I almost get off the bus.

But each time I gather my things to leave, something stops me. I haven’t felt the need to return home in seven years, but for reasons I don’t understand, I’m propelled there now. It’s not until the bus pulls into the station in downtown Hartford that I wonder if it’s because Jess left, if some part of me subconsciously identifies with him. I walked out on my parents, too. Jess is hurt, but I know Wes still cares about him deeply, even if he can’t see that. Maybe part of me hopes for the same with my parents.

I get an Uber from the bus station out to West Hartford because it’s fast, and I’m worried if I wait too long I might lose my nerve. I don’t know how my parents will respond to me showing up unannounced. We didn’t end on great terms, much like Jess and Weston. I never forgave them for the way they responded to the death of the Walkers, to them taking my camera away. And when I finished high school, and I announced that I wanted to move to New York, we argued about why Iwasn’t going to college. They couldn’t understand that I was still grieving the loss of my friends, that I didn’twantto study to become an accountant like my father and brother. I left for the city three days later, and haven’t spoken to them since. They haven’t so much as sent a birthday card, and while that was hard the first year, in the years that followed, it was a relief. It meant I was free from any obligation to them. Free to get on with my life.

It wasn’t until the morning that Dave handed me my celebration cupcake and praised me for seven straight years at Joe’s that I realized I hadn’t gotten on with my life at all. I’d gotten stuck.

And it wasn’t until I got close to Weston that I finally became unstuck.

But I can’t think about that now.

I step from the car and thank the driver, turning to look up at my parents’ house, set back from the pretty, tree-lined street. It looks the same as it did when I left; a two-story colonial style house with white siding, much like every other house on the block. Every other house, apart from the Walkers’. Their house had been painted in a faint lilac color with dark lavender trim, but as I glance to my left now, I see those colors have long since been replaced with the same boring white. My throat tightens as I look away, forcing my feet up the front path.

My parents could barely afford this house when they bought it, but more important than the practical aspects of living within our means was convincing everyone we were doing well as a family. My parents have always been about keeping up appearances, despite what might go on behind closed doors.

It takes three attempts for me to ring the doorbell because my hands tremble so much. When it finally trills there’s no answer, and I hike my duffel bag further onto my shoulder, wondering whether I should feel relieved. I’m turning to leave when the door opens, and my mother blinks at me.

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