Upsy Daisy: A First Love College Romance

by Smartypants Romance

  “Trevor, you are perfect even though your actions may not always be perfect. But your soul?” I leaned back and stared into his eyes. They probed mine with an intensity I’d never seen before. “Your soul is beautiful.”

  He flinched and I knew I was right. And it made me sad. I couldn’t fix Trevor’s perception of himself and I wouldn’t try; that was something he was going to have to work on himself. But I could be there to hold his hand while he attempted it. We all had things we needed to sort out. God knew I could attest to that.

  His throat worked on a swallow and then he said, “You are perfect, but I suspect you already know that.”

  I laughed. “How about this? Maybe neither of us is perfect.” He opened his mouth to object so I added, “But maybe we’re perfect for each other.”

  His smile was immediate and, when he gazed at me, I didn’t break the connection. I held his gaze, letting him see how I felt, letting him see the way he lit me up inside.

  “May I kiss you?” he whispered.

  I shook my head.

  Before the hurt could appear, before he could disentangle himself from me, I leaned in, pressed up on my toes, and I kissed him.

  It only took Trevor a second to react.

  He gasped in shock, then groaned and pressed his lips to mine, hard. Then he coaxed my mouth open wider and slid his tongue against mine.

  It was delicious. And then it was over.

  He broke away with a chuckle.

  “I meant on your hand or your cheek or your forehead,” he said, still catching his breath. He smiled broadly, squinted at me, and said, “Daisy Payton, I am scandalized. Making out with a boy in your daddy’s house. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to get me shot.”

  “Har-har.” I rolled my eyes, still trying to cool down from the scorching hot kiss.

  He tugged my hand. “Come on. We’d better get back downstairs before your father comes up here with his shotgun. I wouldn’t want him thinking I was doing something untoward with his daughter.”

  “Yes, heaven forbid we should do something untoward when we’re alone in a bedroom.” I shocked myself by saying it.

  Trevor groaned. “Daisy . . .”

  “Trevor . . .” I said, my voice husky even to my own ears. I turned and fled the room as he trailed after me, and I could feel his eyes on my backside the whole way down the stairs.

  As soon as I hit the first floor something struck me as odd. Dolly had said dinner would be ready in a few minutes but I hadn’t smelled dinner when we came in. Panic had me hustling toward the kitchen.

  I paused when I saw the dishes: string beans, rice and gravy, crusty cinnamon-browned candied yams, bubbling macaroni and cheese pulled straight from the oven, fried chicken, and barbecue spareribs. They all glistened delectably on the counter as Mrs. Boone picked up a dish to carry to the table.

  My heart sank quickly; none of these were the recipes I transcribed for Dolly.

  “Dolly,” I hissed, not wanting Mrs. Boone to overhear as she moved dish after dish to the table, where folks were already starting to assemble.

  “These are not the recipes I left you.”

  She waved me off. “Oh Daisy, thank you for those. They were just what I needed to get my confidence up in the kitchen. But I was so tired of eating the same thing, you know? When I cooked today I just decided to make something new. Turns out a pinch of this and a dash of that wasn’t so hard.”

  Waves of panic shot through me. “Dolly, did you taste the food while you were cooking?”

  She looked at me mystified and a little curious. “Taste it while it’s cooking? Why on earth would I do that? Why would I taste food that wasn’t done yet?”

  God. Please. I don’t ask for a lot, but if it is at all possible please, please, please let my sister’s abominable cooking skills have produced something edible. Amen.

  There was no time to fix it if it was indeed bad, so instead I hustled to help them get the rest of the dishes on the table.

  When we were all seated my father looked to Reverend Smith.

  “Reverend, we’re honored you could drop in for supper this evening. If you would be so kind as to bless the food, I’d be grateful.”

  Reverend Smith blessed both the food and the hands that prepared it twice, and he took time to add at the end that he was grateful he got to share in what he understood to be Trevor’s first meal home in a long time. Mrs. Boone beamed, Mr. Boone looked at his son misty-eyed, and Trevor looked . . . uncomfortable.

  The sounds of silverware clinking against dishes broke the tension as the entrees and sides began making their rounds.

  “This food looks mighty good, Dolly,” Mr. Boone said, licking his lips.

  My sister beamed with pride. I was in constant contact with the Lord, hoping he’d received my prayer and worked the miracle that was almost certainly needed.

  When everyone’s plates were absolutely loaded with food—well, everyone’s plate but mine, because I knew better—our company dug in.

  Knowing my sister’s track record, I didn’t start with the meat. Meat could go wrong in so many ways. Instead, I tasted a small mouthful of rice. Just as I started to chew the undeniably grainy and hard texture of the rice, Julian, who had made the rookie mistake of starting with the meat, took a big bite of his chicken wing. I watched as his face went from excited anticipation to absolute disgust. He picked up his napkin and discreetly spat the meat out. He set the remainder of it down and I noted the pinkish-red uncooked meat near the bone.

  Oh Lord, Dolly undercooked the chicken.

  I swallowed my gravelly rice and took a small bite of macaroni and cheese. I was unsurprised that it tasted like mustard. I didn’t know why it tasted like mustard considering no one in their right mind would put mustard in macaroni and cheese, but I was not surprised.

  Reverend Smith took a bite of the spareribs. He began to chew. He chewed and chewed and chewed and chewed.

  Dolly had overcooked the ribs.

  I took a small bite of yams and registered that they at least were edible. Dolly hadn’t added any sugar, nutmeg, or butter, but she did at least remember to put cinnamon on top.

  It was at that moment that I heard my sister’s voice softly at my side. “That doesn’t taste right.” I watched as she frantically moved her fork from item to item, finally tasting her wares.

  “No . . . No. That’s not it . . .” she muttered over and over again.

  I looked around the table and saw folks pushing their food around with polite disinterest, or taking tiny mouthfuls of the least offensive goods on their plate. Conversation trickled to a halt all at once under the weight of the elephant in the room.

  Suddenly my sister pushed her chair back from the table and snatched Reverend Smith’s fork from his hand just as he was about to eat a mouthful of macaroni. She began grabbing plates and forks in a frenzy. She plucked a dinner roll from Trevor’s hand before he could take a bite, then she grabbed the punch from Mr. Boone’s hand and marched into the kitchen with the dishes teetering in her arms. We all jumped at the sound of the crash. She marched back in with a trash can and began moving around the table, violently scraping plates into the garbage.

  “There was a little technical . . .” She grabbed the entire pan of mac and cheese and flipped it into the trash. “Difficulty with dinner.”

  She grabbed the chicken and it landed with a dra-drump into the garbage, making Odie jump.

  “I will provide you with an alternative form—”

  “Dolly!” my father called her name. She froze and looked up. Dolly was a little frenzied and a lot frazzled. Her bun had come undone with the force of scraping and shaking food into the trash. Her eyes were wide and panicked and so very un-Dolly like.

  I stood and jumped in to support my sister, “I invite you all to join us in the parlor for a song and drinks while we make arrangements for a replacement meal.”

  I shot Dolly a panicked look, and started motioning for our very confused
guests to follow me.

  “Dolly, if you’ll go upstairs and get your violin to entertain our guests I’d be ever so grateful.”

  My sister blinked out of her haze, and then moved. “Yes, my violin. Of course.”

  Everyone looked a bit wide-eyed and shell-shocked as they followed me. I asked my father to make a round of drinks for everyone and he slid right into the role of bartender. When Dolly came back downstairs and began playing beautiful, painful notes, I slipped away to the kitchen and took stock of what I had to work with. Dolly had at least gone grocery shopping. I broke out the griddle and the skillets and got to work. Thirty-five minutes later, an upside-down dinner was ready: bacon, sausage, eggs, French toast with cinnamon, vanilla, and a nutmeg sugar glaze on top, and pancakes with maple syrup and whipped butter.

  I didn’t have to call anyone; people just started to drift in, chatting and holding glasses as they smelled the aroma.

  As we sat back down to eat my sister squeezed my hand.

  “Daisy, you’re a lifesaver.”

  I squeezed her hand back. “So are you.”

  After dinner we moved into the living room and my father served more cordials. Julian and my father got into conversation about an upcoming legal case where my father quizzed him about his knowledge of state law. Julian beamed and preened when responded right and earned my father’s praise. James was a bit withdrawn until Dolly showed her the legions of fashion magazines she owned and then James began to happily sift through them. Odie was quizzing the Boones about their Bait and Tackle store.

  At one point I noticed my sister and Reverend Paul had both disappeared from the crowd. I set off to find Dolly . . . and I did. The conversation I overheard was so heartbreaking, I had to tuck it away for another day. Dolly would have hated it if she knew I’d overheard them.

  When I got back to the living room the party was breaking up. James had already retired upstairs and Mr. and Mrs. Boone were grabbing their coats. I groaned when I heard Julian say, “Yes, sir! I’d love a visit to your offices, sir! I absolutely would.”

  My father patted him on his shoulder and then trailed down the hall after the Boones, to open the door for them. Julian stood there smiling broader than I’d ever seen, and I, being the epitome of maturity and poise began making kissing noises behind his back. He shot a look at me but fought to wipe the grin off his face.

  “I think they’re in love,” Trevor said jokingly.

  Julian eyed both of us with a cocked head, then turned on his heel and mumbled something that sounded a lot like, “I was just about to say the same thing.”

  The next morning I rose early, headed downstairs, and knocked on James’s door.

  Her groggy voice called, “Yes.”

  “May I come in?”

  “Yes.” I entered and James sat up, disheveled.

  “I think I drank too much last night,” she groaned, eliciting a smile from me.

  “Can’t go from a having learner’s permit to being a NASCAR driver, James.”

  She laughed. “Amen to that.”

  “I’m just coming by to see if you’d like me to take you to Merryville today. I know it’s Saturday, but I’d like to get a move on so my sister’s car is not tied up too long. She sometimes goes to work on Saturdays.”

  James was quiet for a long time. She seemed to be wading through a lot of different emotions and I gave her the space to do that.

  “Your sister is amazing, Daisy. I’ve never met anyone with more knowledge about the fashion industry. You can both dress but Dolly follows designers and trends in a way that I’ve never seen. And she’s so smart and so nice. She offered me four different handbags last night. She kept saying she needs to keep her closet under control.”

  That sounded about right. Anyone that I loved, she automatically loved too. “Dolly is the best,” I said simply.

  “And your father . . . God, it’s like they bottled southern charm!”

  I laughed. I’d never quite heard him described that way but it was accurate.

  “He obviously loves you both so much. Even Julian, who is probably the smartest person I’ve ever met, is in awe of him.”

  I laughed again, surprised. I’d never heard James say a kind word about Julian, but her assessment was correct. Julian was definitely a little awestruck by my dad. “You’re right, my father is amazing.”

  She gestured around. “And this place! These trees and the peace . . . and the elegant beauty. I wish I had a camera. It makes me want to shoot all day!”

  “The views are breathtaking. I love Green Valley. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.”

  She shook her head. “I thought it would be something different. I thought . . .”

  “You thought?”

  “I thought—I had this idea in my head that I see now wasn’t reality. I thought that you’d grown up in a mansion, with butlers and maids—”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you but we don’t even have a pool.”

  She shook her head in what I assumed was disbelief. “Your family seems so normal.”

  I looked at her out the side of my eye. “Yeah. I mean, mostly. My sister’s a little scary sometimes and my father is not to be trifled with when he’s working but otherwise . . .” I shrugged.

  “Daisy, I grew up—” She shook her head and swallowed heard. “Let’s just say the poor people around us thought we were poor. Rich people to me were something mythical. And evil. How can some people have so much and there still be people that lived the way my family did?”

  “When I found out that you were rich, and I thought about the fact that Odie and I bought you clothes when we were barely getting by, I couldn’t . . . it just reinforced how I thought rich people behaved. That they want everything for themselves and nothing for the rest of us.”

  “James, I did feel bad about that and if you recall, I was crying. Those tears weren’t just because I was happy, they were also because I felt guilty about you all spending money on me. However I also didn’t feel bad about it, because I felt like for the first time in my life someone just considered me.”

  She gestured around. “What are you talking about? Folks consider you all the time. This entire house screams I consider my offspring.”

  I bit back my laugh. “I wasn’t counting my family. Family has to consider you.”

  She looked at me flatly. “I’m here to testify that they absolutely do not.”

  I stared at her, unsure of how to respond to that. It was clear that we were raised worlds apart. I didn’t know if it was even possible for James to see my point of view.

  “This is harder than I thought it would be.” She groaned. “I thought you were some spoiled rich girl who deemed it a noble cause to bestow your presence upon the masses.”

  “Nothing could be further from the truth.”

  “I know that now, Daisy. I’ve seen you with your family. I saw how you helped your sister yesterday—that was really sweet, by the way.”

  I shrugged. “It was nothing.”

  She sighed. “I can’t understand why you would deny these people, why anyone that grew up in this house with this life wouldn’t want to shout it from the rooftops.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to think of how to explain this to James so she’d understand.

  “James, you’re really beautiful. You know that, right? Like, I’m not saying that Odie and I aren’t attractive, but you belong on the cover of magazines.”

  She shrugged. “I am not my face.”

  “Exactly. And I wanted to feel like I was not my name. You’re beautiful and you didn’t do anything to deserve your beauty. It just is. My family is well off and I didn’t do anything to deserve this life. People see your beauty and it makes lots of them act foolishly. They give you things you don’t deserve or sometimes try to punish you like Julian did when he insulted you. Or they only see you as an object to be used to get something from. People do the same thing with me about money, or whatever influence they believe I have. And
for me it was exhausting. I was tired of having to question the motives of everyone. I was tired of feeling like I had to watch my back. I was tired of being judged by something that had very little to do with the real me. So I ask you, James, if you could do something, anything to make people disregard your face, and see you—the real you, would you do it?”

  “No,” she answered harshly.

  Well that backfired spectacularly.

  “Daisy, those of us who grew up without power, those of us who grew up without safety would never dream of giving it up once we got it. It wouldn’t even be a consideration. Not even temporarily. So even if I could somehow blind others to my looks, I wouldn’t. Being beautiful is powerful. Even if I didn’t earn it, I have it so I’m going to use it. Like you said, people won’t hesitate to try to use my beauty against me, so I won’t hesitate to use it to my advantage.”

  I stared back at James, wondering what happened to her growing up to make her see the world so binary.

  Either way, she was never going to see my point. Before I could ask what time she wanted to leave for Maryville, she said, “But I do get why you wouldn’t trust people. That I understand.”

  I looked at my friend, well my maybe-friend, and my heart cracked for her. It was clear James had been through some heavy experiences.

  “I’m not good at forgiving people, Daisy.”

  I laughed. “I am aware of that, James.”

  She looked at me and grimaced. “You get on my nerves because you make me want to forgive you.”

  New comprehension dawned. James may not know how to forgive me. I felt like the whole concept of grace would be lost on James but the real-world application might not be.

  “My sister once told me that forgiving people is choosing the relationship you want over the relationship you have.” I paraphrased Dolly’s words. “She said you have to believe the person has changed and decide to give them a chance. That you can’t forget the past, but that the decision to move forward from it is yours. I propose we move forward from the past, James.”