by Gina Azzi
I chuckle to myself over the irony. The woman to finally teach me this lesson is Cassie Himlock herself. How’s that for full circle?
Pulling a bottle of Macallen out from my desk drawer, and pouring myself three fingers worth, I take a sip, hissing as the alcohol hits my throat. Looking up, I’m grateful that the workday is over, that most of the office staff has left for the day, that it’s quiet.
And then she walks past my office door, her schoolgirl skirt swirling around her thighs, her coat folded and resting over her forearm.
She turns at the last minute and our eyes lock. A flicker of concern shadows her face as she notes the tumbler in my left hand, but then her gaze turns to someone else, and her mouth compresses into a thin line, her footsteps hurried until she’s out of view.
What was that about?
I don’t have a chance to consider scenarios because Dennis strides into my line of sight, a smirk I don’t like crossing his face, his eyes focused over his shoulder, most likely on Daisy.
He wants her. I hate that the thought crosses my mind but the moment I think it, my stomach sinks because I know it’s true.
And I hate that even more.
“Just order a whole bottle.” Roger advises as he slides onto the barstool next to me. I look up from the amber liquid in my tumbler and Roger winces. “Ye look like complete shite, Finn.”
“Noted, thanks, mate.”
“Ah, just bein’ honest is all. What’s goin’ on?” he points to my tumbler and gestures to the bartender that he’ll have the same.
“I saw her.”
“Who?”
“Cassie.”
“What? Where?” Roger turns his full attention to my profile as I keep my eyes trained on the drink in my hand, my thoughts a jumbled mess.
“She came to the office.”
“To see ye?” Shock wraps around his words as he thanks the bartender and gulps back half the contents in his glass. “Bloody hell, she’s got some nerve.”
“She’s engaged. To Tom DeWitt.”
“Are you kiddin’ me?”
“She’s in a good place.” I finally swivel my neck to face Roger. “She apologized, we talked. She was, is, happy.”
“Well that’s just spectacular for her, isn’t it?” Roger shakes his head in disbelief, sarcasm and agitation oozing from him in spades.
“I realized something important.” I add, resting my elbows on the bar and rolling my weight forward.
“Please, enlighten me.” Roger watches me closely, his eyes lined with worry. I know he’s concerned that seeing Cassie has been a personal setback for me.
“It’s been my fault. All these years, the bloody excuses and bullshit rationalizations, never seeking out a quality woman and rebuking any of the lasses I really liked,” I turn to Roger, “it’s on me.”
Roger sighs, raising his tumbler to his mouth. “Yeah, Finn. Ye held yerself back. Why?” he asks me, curiosity heavy in his tone.
“Because I thought I deserved it. To be alone.”
“Because of Cassie? Or the baby? Or feelin’ jealous that the baby wasn’t yers to begin with?”
“You’re really hitting me with the tough questions tonight, aren’t ya?” I lift my glass and take a long drink.
“I’ve been waitin’ years to have this conversation with ye, Finn. Ye need to move on.”
“I know.”
“So, which is it?”
“The baby.” I admit, looking him square in the face so he knows I’m telling the truth. “After Cassie miscarried, I felt like we deserved to lose the baby because of how messed up we were, how we destroyed each other, ruined everything between us, including the baby.” I sigh, pinching the space between my eyebrows. “How could I deserve to find happiness, love, anything with a woman when Cassie and I burnt everything we touched?”
“And now?”
“And now, I’m ready to move forward.”
“Ye gotta forgive first.”
“I do forgive her.”
“Nah, mate. Ye need to forgive yerself.”
I drain my tumbler and indicate to the bartender that I’ll take another one. “Then what?”
“Then, ye win back yer lass. And hope like bloody hell that she gives ye a second chance.”
“God, I hope so.”
“Me too, Finn. Yer not ever goin’ to do better than Daisy Kane.”
28
Daisy
When Sunday rolls around, I’m excited to see my friends. The weekend has been quiet, with me even opting out of dinner at Jenni and James’s house.
I guess that decision rubbed Finn the wrong way because he called me last night. After I didn’t answer, he followed up with a text.
Finn: Hey Daisy, give me a call when you can. We need to talk.
Not sure what we could possibly have to discuss after everything we already said, I decide to call him tonight after dinner. Obviously, curiosity has gotten the best of me. Still, there’s no harm in letting him stew for a bit, am I right?
Dennis also texted me yesterday with the address for the pub and I sent off messages to Melanie and Cameron to confirm that they’re going. This week, I’ve barely seen my friends as we’ve all been glued to our computers, caught up in our work, hammering out last additions to our presentations before we pitch to McKinnon this week. Aaron’s been MIA and I still haven’t received his final feedback regarding my presentation. Hopefully, I’ll meet with him tomorrow morning.
Cameron: Sorry Daisy, I’ve got a family commitment.
Melanie: What dinner? Can’t come anyway, re-writing my pitch! AHH!
Shoot, my heart sinks at their messages. Please, please let Chloe be going to this dinner. Otherwise, it will just be Dennis and me. Based on our recent interactions, I can’t imagine anything more awkward or less fun than posing as a tourist in the city I live in…with Dennis.
At 6PM sharp, I stride into the restaurant, noticing Dennis immediately standing next to a table set for two. My heart sinks to my toes, my stomach turning cold. Damn it.
He must have just arrived. Dressed in dark jeans and a slate grey button down, a black wool coat hangs open on his frame. His shoes are double buckled and polished. His hair is expertly styled to look like he doesn’t care when it’s clear, very clear, that he does. Several days of stubble coat his jawline, giving him a dangerous edge that has my skin prickling.
He’s dressed like tonight is a date.
He spots me, his mouth curling into a wide grin.
I exhale, straightening my spine and stiffening my shoulders as I walk over to the table.
“Hey Dennis.” I greet him casually.
“You look gorgeous,” he tells me sincerely, reaching out a hand to tuck a curl behind my shoulder.
I step back from the contact and offer him a polite smile. I can do this. I can be polite and kind and have dinner with a guy from work. And then I can leave and go home, pull on sweats, and watch another season of Outlander.
“Where is everyone?” I ask Dennis, gesturing to the two place settings.
“Aw,” he shakes his head, a note of disappointment in his voice but the brightness sparking in his eyes belies the sentiment. “Unfortunately, no one else could make it. But that’s okay, right? I mean, we’ll have fun. Besides, we’re the only two not from Scotland so it was more for us anyway.”
“Right.” I slip off my coat and take a seat.
“I hope you’re hungry.” Dennis’s voice is low as he takes the chair next to me, angling it so he has a great view of the stage. When he sits down, our shoulders touch and I inch away from the contact, trying to make it as inconspicuous as possible.
“Starving,” I admit, hoping we can order right away.
He chuckles. “Good. I think you’re going to love the food. Have you tried haggis yet?”
“I have.”
He turns to look at me, raising his eyebrows.
“With Finn.” I throw out, watching as his expression darkens.
Oh cr
ap. Does he think this is a date?
“Yeah, well, I can’t stand it.”
“Better order something else then.” I comment, thanking the server for pouring our waters.
I pick up my glass and take a sip, studying the menu and tuning Dennis out.
“What are you going to order? There’s no burgers and ribs on the menu. I know you Americans love those heart-attack inducing foods.”
I wrinkle my nose at his generalization and make a noncommittal sound in my throat, hoping the live entertainment begins soon so we don’t have to talk.
Opening my mouth to refute his assumption, I think of Sunday breakfasts at my house when Denver would make bacon and eggs, fry up fat sausage links, a heaping bowl of cheesy grits, and a basket of biscuits. Dennis has a point. As annoying as it may be.
Looking around, I take in the atmosphere of the place. For a tourist hoping for a bit of traditional, it’s a perfect setting. Old and rickety, with dark wood floors that are scuffed and marked, the entire place looks like it could share more than a million interesting tales and then some. Tables are scattered throughout with candles flickering in tiny lanterns in the center. Near our table, a stage sits, and local musicians, a guy and a girl in their twenties begin setting up.
I smile as they take their places behind the two microphones. A guitar rests across the guy’s body while the woman balances a violin on her shoulder. The music starts up and I lean forward in my seat, clasping my hands under my chin as I watch and listen in awe.
“They’re pretty good.” Dennis comments.
“This is an old song. It’s about unrequited love.” Our server explains, standing next to my elbow, poised to take our order.
“It’s beautiful.” I tell her and she nods.
“What are ye thinkin’ for tonight?”
Dennis and I order our dishes and he tacks on a beer and a shot while I opt for a Coke.
A shot? Really?
But I don’t comment when the server drops it off and Dennis tosses it back like water.
Watching the musicians closely, I note how they both close their eyes at different times, the way the music affects them, moves them. How incredible to have a passion like that? To have found something that speaks to you in such a meaningful way. To be able to inspire others with your talent and passion and love for music. The longer they play, the more rapt my attention becomes until Dennis literally elbows me in the side.
“Hmm?” I turn toward him, wrapping my arm around my middle to rub the spot he dug his elbow into.
“Are you going to stare at him all night? Your eyes are falling out of your head.” He says bitterly, jutting his chin toward the guitar player.
I laugh, out loud, and in his face. “I’m appreciating the music, Dennis. Aren’t you?”
He huffs, flagging down our server and ordering another shot.
Rolling my eyes, I turn my attention back to the stage, hoping our food arrives soon so I can quickly eat and leave.
Our meals arrive moments before the duet decides to take a break and I groan internally, knowing I now have to play nice and make conversation with Dennis.
“Are you all done with your pitch?” I ask, picking up the vegetable sandwich I ordered and taking a big bite.
“Yep. All ready for the pitch.”
“That’s great!”
“I guess.”
“Aren’t you excited about it?” I take a long gulp of my Coke, noting how his eyes are already glazing over from the buzz he’s working on.
“Sure.” He says off-handedly. “The trip would be cool.”
When our server stops by to check on us, Dennis asks for another beer and I wince. Checking the time on my watch, I’m about ready to wrap things up.
“I’ve got to head out soon.” I tell him but he turns back to the stage, ignoring me.
Luckily, the local talent is back and starting their second set. I tune into the music and ignore Dennis and his drinking for a solid thirty minutes before I flag down the server and request the bill.
“That’s it?” Dennis asks me, his voice flat.
“Yep. I need to get going.”
“Why? A hot date? Plans with Finn?” He says Finn’s name sharply and something about it rubs me the wrong way.
“Just have things to do.”
“You don’t want to stay here and enjoy the music?”
I huff, starting to lose my patience with his line of questioning. “Nope. I need to go. Thanks for organizing this; I wish the group could have made it.” I give him a hard look, beginning to wonder if he even invited the other first-years. “See you tomorrow.”
“Wait.” He reaches out, his hand curling around my wrist and squeezing. “I’ll come with you. We can split a cab. It’ll be cheaper that way.” He tosses some bills on the table and I check that we’ve paid the bill and added a sufficient tip. I know the usual twenty percent isn’t required outside of North America, but I can’t help but add it in.
My shifts at Cork’s Wine Bar taught me first-hand just how tough serving can be. Especially when you have to deal with the drunks. Like Dennis.
We head out together and hail a cab. I give my address first since I’m closer to the restaurant, relieved to be going home and putting this weird dinner with Dennis behind me.
Dennis stares out the window for the entire ride, not bothering to make conversation. Still, as more miles pass, the atmosphere between us intensifies, sharpens. His mood seems to grow darker, his quietness shifting more and more internally until I wonder what he’s brooding about.
“This is me.” I say brightly as the cab comes to a stop in front of my house.
“Thank God.” Dennis mutter, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I really need to use your loo.” He explains, opening his car door.
I open my mouth to…what? Tell him he can’t use my bathroom?
Sighing, I pay the cab fare. Dennis follows me upstairs into my apartment. Once inside, he lets out a low whistle.
“Wow, Daisy. I didn’t think you came from money.” He comments and my insides curl in disgust.
What the hell is wrong with him?
“The bathroom’s there.” I point to the door indicating the washroom and keep my eyes on him as he walks inside and closes the door.
Dropping my purse on the couch, I slip off my shoes and pull open my laptop, prepared to use work as an excuse to rush Dennis out the door.
He exits the bathroom and looks at me, a salacious grin on his face, a darkness in his eyes. A shudder runs through my body and I suddenly feel uncomfortable being alone, in my apartment, with Dennis.
“Well, I need to work on some things before tomorrow.” I gesture toward my open laptop.
“You don’t want to hang for a bit?” he asks, walking around my apartment, bending to peer into my framed photos.
“Who’re these guys?” he asks, irritation coloring his tone.
“My brothers.” I say, keeping my voice bored, even though the hairs on my arms are starting to rise and the back of my neck prickles with a tingling sensation.
“Three of them? Your parents must have been busy. And you’re not even Irish.” He jokes in poor taste.
“I’ll call you an Uber.” I offer, reaching for my phone. Before I can find it in my purse, Dennis’s hand comes out and clamps down around my wrist.
I look up surprised as he tugs me forward and I lose my balance, nearly colliding with him.
“I want to hang out, Daisy.” He says sternly, his face serious, his eyes boring into mine.
“Well I don’t.” I bite back and a slow smile curls his lips.
“You’re feisty, aren’t you?” He comments, as if the thought pleases him and a cold fear spreads through my limbs. “Bet Finn loved this side of you.”
Dennis pulls me forward, his hands gripping my shoulders, his fingers digging into my skin. Forcing a knee between my legs, he shoves me onto the couch and looms above me, his eyes flashing with a glee that makes me sick.
Frozen
in shock, in fear, I stare up at him for an entire second before I flinch, trying to lift my arm to shove him away. He holds me tightly, his glee turning into laughter as I struggle against him.
“I like it when you fight me, Daisy. Turns me on.”
Bile crawls up my throat and I flinch at his words.
“Stop squirming. We’re going to do this my way.” His voice is hard, a glint in his eyes.
“We’re not going to do this at all.” I throw out, bucking against his hold, a scream ripping from my lungs.
Surprise sparks in his eyes and he moves his hand to clamp it against my mouth. Biting down as hard as I can, I use my free arm to swing wildly at his head. My fist glances off his ear and growls. “You dumb cunt.”
In the next moment, I feel the sting of his palm connect with my cheek and tears well in my eyes, my mouth filling with blood. The force of his slap caused me to bite my own tongue. Dennis hovers above me once more, about to pounce, when I stand up, so unexpectedly I think I surprise both of us, and raise my knee, aiming right for his balls.
A whoosh leaves him as he bends at the waist, a groan falling from his throat. I waste no time shoving him backwards until he falls in a slump on the floor. Rushing the door, I fling it wide open and practically throw myself down the stairs, screaming as loudly as I can.
When I reach the bottom floor, tears prick my eyes when I see the concerned expressions of the neighbors who live below me. People I’ve never met before, have only spotted once or twice. I now run to them like they’re my saviors.
In this moment, they are.
The young woman passes the baby in her arms off to her husband and reaches out for me, pulling me inside her home and shouting at her husband to call the police. He rushes behind us, placing the baby in a bouncy chair, before running out the door again, yelling over his shoulder that he’s going to get to the bottom of this. We hear his footsteps on the stairs.
I collapse at her kitchen table, the adrenaline leaving my body and a coldness seeping into my skin. The woman speaks in hushed tones, preparing tea. I’m not sure how much time passes before her husband re-enters, his knuckles rubbed raw and a satisfied expression on his face.
