Ransom(21)

Dear Daltrey,

I hope this email finds you well.

That sounds stupid and formal, doesn’t it? But I don’t really know how else to start. It’s been so long since we’ve talked, which I know is completely my fault. Maybe we could just pretend that we have all the stupid politeness and formality out of the way. Would that be all right? Then I can just come out and tell you what I want to say.

What I want to say is this: I am so, so sorry that I dropped off the face of the earth. Please know that you did absolutely nothing wrong. God, I hope you haven’t been thinking it’s your fault. Don’t ever think that, okay? I was going through some stuff, but it honestly had nothing to do with you. I hope I didn’t hurt you.

I’ve been trying really hard to deal with the aforementioned “stuff” better. I won’t bore you with all the details. But I do hope you’ll accept my apology for being such a shitty friend. If you don’t want to, that’s okay. If you’re pissed at me, I completely understand. I deserve it.

If you’re not pissed—no, scratch that, even if you are pissed—I’d really like to hear from you. I don’t have your number anymore, or I would have called to apologize. If you want to talk, even if it’s just to tell me how terrible I am, please call me. My new number is down at the bottom.

I’m so proud of you, Dalt. Please know that. There hasn’t been a day that’s passed that I haven’t thought of you and been so thankful that you’re living your dream. Congratulations, from the very bottom of my heart.

Love,

Daisy.



I deleted and rewrote the word “love” about a dozen times before I finally decided to keep it. Now I’m regretting that decision. And what was that whole thing at the beginning about being formal? God, I did sound like a freak. That was such a bad idea.

I go back to my books, wishing with all my heart that he won’t read it. Maybe the next time I check, the email will have been sent back to me, the address undeliverable. I open my econ book. I’ve really gotten behind with my schoolwork since I met Paige, between hanging out with her and Karen and dealing with the ensuing emotional breakdown. I really need to buckle down and—

My phone rings. I’ve become conditioned to fear ringing phones since last spring, but tonight, my fear is for a totally different reason. I check Caller ID: Unknown Number.

Oh, God. What if it’s him? I glance at the clock on the microwave. It’s eleven o’clock, far too late for it to be my dad—not that he’d call from an unfamiliar number anyway. The phone rings again, and I answer it in a panic. If it’s Daltrey, I can’t risk letting it go to voicemail. I did that far too often last spring when I was ignoring his calls.

“Hello?” My voice sounds strange, strained and breathy. Would he even recognize it?

“Daisy?”

Something in my chest seems to melt and expand at his voice. It’s been so long since I’ve heard it, even over the phone, that I feel like crying, as though I’ve come home after a long trip. “Hi,” I squeak out. I clear my throat and try again. “Hi, Daltrey. It’s… it’s good to hear your voice.”

“You hope you didn’t hurt me?” he barks, clearly angry.

The melty thing in my chest hardens. “What?”

“I’m reading this email. You hope you didn’t hurt me?”

“I… yeah. I mean, I hope I… I’m sorry, Daltrey.”

“You didn’t hurt me, Daisy, because hurt doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

I bring a shaking hand to my forehead. I knew anger was a probability, but it still sucks to have our first words in so long be shouted. “I’m really, really—”

“Don’t you say you’re sorry again. You have no idea what that felt like. My best friend just suddenly stops taking my calls. Stops answering my emails. Stops talking to me completely. How could you do that?”

Because my heart was breaking. Because my entire world was falling apart, and I didn’t want to ruin the best thing that ever happened to you. “I was going through some stuff, Daltrey. That doesn’t excuse my behavior—”

“You’re damn right it doesn’t. What you did was inexcusable. I needed you, Daisy. Everything was changing, and I was going through all of this shit, and you were just gone—with no explanation. What kind of a person does that?”

A few months ago, I would have wilted under his anger, certain I deserved it, that his feelings were more valid than mine. But some of the things Dr. Jacobs has been telling me for the past few months are finally starting to sink in. I am stronger than I used to be. And though he does have a right to be angry at me, he doesn’t know the whole story. He doesn’t know what I’ve been through.