My thumbs have been twiddled within an inch of their life and I think I have crazy hair, but I’m too scared to look in the mirror. Instead, I look around my guest room, where Lucas has boxes piled against one of the walls. I asked him about them the other day and he said his mom was cleaning house and told him to come grab his old things if he wanted them or she was putting them in storage. It seemed kind of harsh to me, but now that I see them all piled there, it is quite a lot of stuff to hang on to over the years. I push off the bed and peer down into the first unlabeled box. I keep my hands clasped behind my back, figuring that if I don’t touch anything, it’s not really an invasion of privacy. Inside the box, there are trophies and ribbons, very much like the ones adorning the wall in my bedroom back home.
The box beside it is full of his old cross country gear, old shoes and worn-in uniforms. There are a few bibs he wore during races, and looking at them, I realize I truly despise cross country. Always did. I only picked up the sport because of Lucas. I smile and move on to the next box. It’s a gold mine, filled with home videos. Full of nostalgia, I kneel down close to read the titles, still making sure to not touch anything. Each of the DVDs is carefully labeled, and a few of them say things like Easter 1989 or Christmas 1997. Baby Madeleine is probably the star attraction in all the videos and I have half a mind to watch one of them, but then another stack of videos in the box catches my eye.
Lucas and Daisy Debate Tournament - 2006
L&D Science Fair - 1999
1994 - Lucas and Daisy School Play
Lucas & Daisy Kindergarten Graduation
There are dozens of them, all labeled for me and for Lucas. I decide that if my name is on them, it’s not really breaking the privacy rule, right? I snatch the first one in the stack and load it into the DVD player in the living room. The video isn’t great, thanks in part to Mrs. Thatcher’s apparent videographer policy of more is more. She zooms and pans and changes orientations so many times, I’m dizzy by the time I locate the two of us in the frame. It’s from one of our last cross country meets our senior year. We’ve finished racing and Lucas took gold in the men’s varsity division. He’s holding up his medal for the camera and I’m in the background, talking with Madeleine. Mrs. Thatcher and my mom try to get Lucas and me to pose for a photo, but the look on my face says it all: Do I have to? Lucas obviously agrees.
He shakes his head, cheeks red from the race, and lets his medal fall back to his chest. “Mom. Stop.”
He is eighteen all right, annoyed with our parents and not afraid to show it. He huffs out of the frame and then my mom and Mrs. Thatcher laugh off camera.
“They’re so funny.”
“I guess you were right—the only people who don’t know Lucas loves Daisy are Lucas and Daisy,” my mom says, and Mrs. Thatcher agrees.
Wait.
What did she just—
I rewind and watch the clip a half dozen times before I leap off the couch and yank out the DVD.
I hold it in the palm of my hand, studying it before slipping it back into its protective sleep. I listen for sounds of footsteps in the hall, willing Lucas to return, but it’s quiet and I’m still alone in his apartment, waiting for him to come home so we can fight. It’s what we’re best at.
I slip another DVD in and press play. It’s labeled Lucas and Daisy Debate Tournament 2002, and there is a second or two of debate coverage: Lucas and me as precocious middle schoolers, sitting up on the school stage wearing ill-fitting church clothes, but then the video cuts off. Someone recorded over the footage.
“Which red button means record again? Oh! Okay I think it’s on. Look into the camera and say your name and how old you are.”
It’s Mrs. Thatcher’s voice, but the shot hasn’t settled into place yet. I don’t know who she’s talking to until she pans to the right and centers on Lucas, sitting on the ground, chopping up pieces of construction paper in their family room.
“Mom, I’m busy.”
“Well hi, ‘Busy’. I thought your name was Lucas,” she replies as only mothers can. “And how old are you?”
He rolls his eyes and stares up into the camera. It nearly punches me in the gut to see this young version of Lucas. Horrible bowl haircut, braces locked in place. His limbs are long and skinny, but even still, he was one of the popular boys in our middle school, a place where awkward phases were to be expected.
“Thirteen.”
“And what are you doing down there on the ground?”
“Making something,” he says, looking down and getting back to work with his scissors.
Mrs. Thatcher doesn’t give up. She keeps the camera aimed on him and prods him for answers.
“Is it a gift?”
“Sorta.”
“A gift for whom?”
His spine goes pin straight. “No one.”
“You know, it kind of looks like you’re cutting out little white flowers.”
I can just barely make out the edge of the smile he’s hiding from the camera. “Mmhmm.”
My heart clenches in my chest and I sit back on my heels, still only a few feet away from the television.
“They look like daisies.”
“Mmhmm.”
“She’s going to love them,” Mrs. Thatcher replies.
His gaze flickers up to her. “The dance is next week. I thought I could make her a bouquet to ask her, but some of the guys said not to make it special in case the girl says no.”
“And what do you think?”
“I think she would want something special.”
In the background, I hear footsteps on the stairs and then Madeleine’s voice drifts into the video.
“Hey Mom, can Daisy and I walk to go get some ice cream?”
“Dinner will be ready soon. I’d rather you wait and go after.”