She blinked away the tears determinedly and cleared her throat before facing Lia again. Her sister still wore the same gobsmacked expression on her face, and Daff rolled her eyes.
“Okay, so it’s Spencer. Whatever. It’s over. Moving along swiftly, if you tell Daisy, I’m going to have to cut a bitch! And that bitch be you.”
“I’m not going to be the one to tell Daisy, are you crazy? She’ll freak out.”
“She wouldn’t,” Daff scoffed before thinking about it for a moment. “Would she?”
“Daffy—”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Daffy,” Lia continued stubbornly as Daff scowled, “you know she’ll worry about the wedding and family dynamics and gatherings. She’d worry that it’d be awkward and that you or Spencer would always be making excuses not to be in each other’s company. Baby Delphinium’s christening . . . oh, here’s Auntie Daff, but Uncle Spencer couldn’t make it. Baby Dianella’s first birthday, Uncle Spencer is the life of the party while Auntie Daff sits in a corner and sulks before leaving early. Daisy’s thirtieth birthday bash, Daff comes for the first half of the party and Spencer for the second.” Daff gasped indignantly.
“Lies! I’m the party closer, not Spence. He’d be home in his jammies”—his beautiful, beautiful jammies—“before nine. And also, Jesus, woman . . . you’ve just about plotted out Daisy and Mason’s entire life together in under a minute. That’s a little creepy. You need a proper hobby. And Spencer and I are adults, we’ll make it work.”
“Daff, last week you called the man bland and insipid and compared him to a mushroom.” Why could no one let the mushroom thing go? “And that’s just one sample from years of sniping and bitching at Spencer. You’ve never made it work.”
“Well, now we have to, because of Daisy and Mason.”
“Anyway, my point is, there’s no way I’m telling her about this. It’ll be a shoot-the-messenger type of scenario. I’d rather not be around when she finds out.”
“She won’t find out. I told you, it’s over.” Lia tilted her head curiously before pointedly looking at the paper bag on the counter between them.
“This is just Spencer being Spencer. He’s concerned that I don’t eat properly—”
“He’s right,” Lia inserted wryly.
“—and so, since we’ve decided to be friends, he’s taken it upon himself to ensure I get at least one decent meal a day.”
“That’s so sweet,” Lia gushed, and Daff sighed.
It really was.
“It’s weird and I told him to stop. But he can be stubborn.”
“Really? I never imagined that. He always seems so easygoing.”
It was a little sad how few people really knew Spencer.
“So what exactly was going between you two and for how long? Was it already ongoing when you said those things last week? Was that like a cover-up to deflect attention from your relationship?”
If only. Daff regretted a lot of things in her life, but saying those things about Spencer within earshot of the man—no matter how unintentional—ranked up there among her top ten biggest fuckups.
“It began soon after I apologized to him. He started the lunch thing on Monday, we started the sex thing on Tuesday, and it ended last night. And here we are. TGIF, right?” She removed the carton of soup from the bag, along with thick slices of what looked like home-baked bread, a salad, and a bottle of juice.
“Three nights? That’s it? What happened?”
“Nothing. It was an ill-advised endeavor from the start.”
“So you . . . you slept with him?”
“Oh, I slept with him, all right,” Daff recalled with a soft smile. “But I didn’t have sex with him, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“I don’t understand,” Lia admitted, looking completely baffled.
“We did other stuff. Fooled around. Touched each other’s naughty bits until it felt good.” Lia went bright red, and Daff rolled her eyes. “Stop being such a prude. I wasn’t half as crude as I could have been.”
“Oh, believe me, I know. And I thank you for that. It’s just―that image is now seared into my brain forever.”
“You asked,” Daff said, and Lia winced.
“I know. So why did it end so quickly? And why didn’t you, y’know, do it?”
“It was a mistake. A bad idea from the get-go. Spencer’s a nice guy. A good guy. He deserves more than a fuckup like me.”
“Daff,” Lia protested softly. “That’s nonsense. Spencer—any guy—would be lucky to have you.”
“No, they wouldn’t. I’m so messed up, Lia,” Daff admitted miserably, all semblance of wisecracking gone. “I’m trying to fix what’s broken, but I can’t be involved with anyone while I do that. It wouldn’t be fair.”
“Why? What do you think is wrong?”
Daff swiped at an errant tear, feeling foolish and childish but grateful for her sister’s gentle, nonjudgmental regard and tone of voice. She also liked that Lia didn’t argue with her about something actually being wrong. “Everything,” she said softly. “This job, for one thing. I hate it.”
“I know.”
“It feels like everybody knew it before I did,” Daff joked on a sob, and Lia reached over to squeeze her hand.
“We love you, we can tell when you’re unhappy. And you haven’t been truly happy in a long time. I think that’s why Daisy wanted to know who you were seeing. She said you looked happy when you were reading his note yesterday.”
Daff shrugged and ran the tip of her index finger around and around the rim of the plastic container holding the untouched soup.
“But I have news.” Daff sniffed, forcing cheer into her voice and ignoring Lia’s words. “In my first step toward a better life and a better me, I tendered my resignation this morning.”
Lia inhaled sharply, and a huge smile instantly lit up her face.
“Oh my word,” she gushed. “That’s wonderful news, Daff.”
“I just have to work my two months’ notice and this place is history.”
“I’m so happy for you, Sissy,” she said, coming around the counter to give Daff a hug. Her sisters had always called her Sissy when they were children. A nickname to acknowledge her big sister status. They rarely called her that now that they were adults, and the fact that Lia chose to use it in this moment brought a huge, emotional lump to Daff’s throat. “What did Alison say?”
Daff giggled wetly as she recalled her boss’s words.
“She said ‘it’s about damned time,’ and she also said she always knew I’d come to my senses eventually and she’d lose the best manager she’s ever had.”
“Darned straight you are.”
“Probably because she paid me peanuts and I was easy on her bank balance . . . Ow! ” The last as Lia slapped her upside her head.
“Stop being so down on yourself. Yes, this place is quiet and boring during winter, but you said that it has always been her best-performing boutique in summer, and I believe that’s largely because of you.”
“Thanks.” She grinned.
“So now what?”
“God, I don’t know.”
“At least I won’t be the only one who’ll have to listen to Daddy’s lectures about the values of being a good, hard worker. Of staying the course. Steering ships from rocks. Navigating rough waters . . . I don’t know, there seem to be a lot of seafaring references, I never understand half of it. Pro tip: just nod and keep saying, ‘Yes, Daddy.’ Never interrupt him with a ‘but Daddy’ or anything resembling an excuse. Just pretend to listen. He likes that.”
“Sound advice.” Daff laughed, feeling a lot lighter for having confided in her sister.
“So you and Spencer are friends now? Never thought I’d see the day,” Lia mused as she opened her sickeningly cute lunch box to reveal the healthy-looking, bento-styled meal. Daff would never have the patience, but Lia lived for crap like that. One day, when she had kids, they’d probably find animal-shaped sandwiches and other cutesy surprises in their lunch boxes every day. Daff wasn’t likely to ever have children, which was a good thing, because they’d probably open their lunch boxes to find nothing but lunch money. Or possibly two-minute noodles, depending on how motherly Daff was feeling.
“I mean, we’re not bosom buddies or anything. We’re just making an effort not to be shitty to each other. Although, to be fair, he was never really shitty to me. I suppose I’ll be the one making all the effort, because Spencer’s a good guy.”
“I never thought I’d see the day . . . why were you always so mean to him?”
“It started in high school. I allowed Shar and her Sharminions to dictate my behavior. It was embarrassing that a kid like Spencer, with his worn clothing, his broken shoes, and his clumsiness—remember how clumsy he was during that gawky adolescent phase before he got all athletic and buff?—anyway, it was embarrassing that he had a crush on me. I was terrified that if I was nice to him, they’d think I liked him back or something.” Daff was ashamed of her behavior now that she recalled it. She had made fun of him, of his clothes, his hair, the slight stammer he always seemed to have around her. And then—somewhere between fourteen and sixteen—Spencer had outgrown the nervous stutter and the clumsiness and had cultivated an aloof, bad-boy persona that Daff had secretly found intriguing. He’d still attempted to flirt with her, and when she was fourteen, he’d started writing furtive poems and letters that she’d mockingly shared with all her girlfriends.