The second I have my bags I’m hailing a cab. Everything about this past month, and more importantly these past two days, has been complete bullshit. Daisy and John never showed up. They never checked into the hotel, used their airline tickets and certainly never claimed their seats next to my parents. You would think that I’ve at least earned a fucking phone call regarding the matter at hand, but no. It’s been radio silence from the blogger who is hell bent on being a bitch to me.
My leg bounces in the backseat of the cab while the driver prattles on about my stats and the All-Star game where I played two of the worst innings of my life. I was a fucking joke, sitting there wondering why the fuck I give a shit about this woman who clearly wants nothing to do with me. When I found out whom she was, I should’ve written her off instead of making sure she and her grandfather still had the things that I promised them.
I think that’s what pisses me off the most. I don’t want to look like the fucking bad guy here when that shouldn’t be the case. I would never take back something I’ve already offered, especially a gift like this. She is to blame, not me. John is dependent upon her and would’ve been there if he’d been given the choice.
The cabbie stops in front of her apartment and I throw a couple of twenties toward him. In hindsight, I should’ve gone home to drop my shit off but with my attitude being what it is right now, driving would not be in my best interest. The way Boston traffic is at this time of day, I’d likely have a major case of road rage and that wouldn’t be pretty.
I press Daisy’s buzzer and wait for her or John to answer. There’s a good chance she’s not here, but John should be home. I wait five, maybe ten seconds and press again before stepping back and looking up to the third floor to see if anyone is up there, even though she doesn’t have a window facing the street. The front door opens when a group of kids come out and I use this to my advantage and walk in. Even though I know the elevator is working, I take the steps – two at a time – until I reach her floor. The hall is quiet, which means that if I start pounding on her door, her neighbors will hear.
“Daisy?” I knock quietly and call out her name. I hear faint footsteps, but no there’s no sound of the television coming from her apartment. I can’t imagine John is out with one of his nurses, but who knows? Apparently I’ve been kept in the dark about a lot of stuff so that wouldn’t surprise me.
The deadbolts click and the door is opened as far as the chain will allow it. Daisy doesn’t look at me, instead keeping her eyes to the ground.
“Want to explain yourself?” I ask, my tone harsh and demanding.
Her head moves slowly, until her red-rimmed eyes are steady on mine. She’s been crying and for the life of me I can’t imagine why. It’s not like she was betrayed like I was.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t make it –”
“You’re sorry?” I cut her off, finding it hard to believe anything that comes out of her mouth. For all I know, when she heard the buzzer, she probably thought it was me and started cutting an onion.
“Hey, Robinson, three days,” a stout lady says as she walks by and yells at Daisy. I watch her walk to another apartment and yell the same thing before taking the stairs to the next floor. When I look back at Daisy, she has fresh tears streaming down her face.
“What is she talking about?”
“It’s nothing. What do you want?” she tries to act tough, but her voice is weak and doesn’t scare me.
“Well for starters I want to know where the hell you’ve been and what that lady is talking about.”
Daisy tries to crack a smile, but to no avail.
“Go home, Ethan. Just go home and pretend you never met me.” She tries to close the door, but I put my hand out to stop her. The door falls open, the chain giving way due to the wood being old. I shake my head and wonder who is going to fix that for her.