Page 13 of Picking Daisies on Sundays

“Levi that’samazing!What’s the class about?” Eager to hear.

“It’sReading Jane Austen,so I’ve been trying to read her entire work to have a broader perspective on the themes and voice that aren’t solelyPride & Prejudice,ya know?For example,” he mulled over an accordion of thoughts before a light bulb went off, “the way moral judgement is highlighted in almost all of her protagonists. The whole class is women who I assume love Austen, so I want to know what I’m talking about.” He moved his hands across the steering wheel as he spoke.

“The professor has given me a lot of say which has been

incredible; I’m allowed to run portions of the class, along with evaluations. It’s really, really great.” He was beaming warm light that a summer night sunset couldn’t have even crafted. He always had this overwhelming respect for literature. But it made me question his interest in the journalist position with The New York Times. If he was dedicating all this time to becoming a teacher, then why would this position matter so much to him?

“That’s amazing, Levi, you deserve it,” I spoke with my entire heart, trying to escape any sadness. To know that I missed out on the day he was told he got the position, and not being there to hear about his first week, gave me an anxious stomachache. But that was my fault. I was the one that decided to distance myself.

“I want to tell you more about it, but we’re almost at the field, and I think we need a game plan,” he said.

“A game plan?”

“In case anyone asks us questions, about us dating,” he said, turning to me for confirmation.

“Wait, did you not tell your family that we’re dating?” My voice iced over with the same alarm that arose in high school right before we got into an argument.

I assumed that he had told his family beforehand—how we rekindled our connection, where our first date was, how I was the same person he knew all those years ago but better—all of the lies I would fail to uphold and make up! The last thing I assumed was to be waltzing into this party as an unexpected surprise.

“Well, Jeff does. I had to make sure that I could bring a plus-one to the wedding—it was an easy yes,” Levi rushed apologetically.

“No one knows I’m coming…” I repeated with a horrified

look.

He must have registered my concern as I finished my sentence because he looked regretful trying to explain his intention. “I thought it would be a fun surprise, they could use it, especially with Jeff there.”

The comment made me laugh despite my anxiety. It’s not that Jeff was necessarily bad, he just wasn’t…great. I feel guilty for even thinking of this—I swear I’ve never said it aloud—but he’s the type of guy who can’t hold a conversation longer than five minutes and will choose football every Sunday before you and knows he can because he has dreamy eyes.

“So, we need to catch up on the past four years of one another’s lives in…” I checked the ETA on Levi’s phone, “five minutes?”

“I know you that still love strawberry shortcake and hate ladybugs. Your driving skills are not listed onanyresume. You’re studying design, and I’m going to take a wild guess here and assume you still listen to ABBA like a Christian listens to the Bible,” he said with a hint of a smirk, his eyes darting to mine for a moment before returning to the road. The brownstones and burly trees with their delicate pink flowers flew by.

“You love Waterloo too!” I fired back. I wasn’t the only ABBA fan in this car. I’ve seen Levi almost lose a vocal cord screaming to Dancing Queen.

“Well, obviously, who doesn’t love Waterloo?” He smirked. “What else did I miss?”

“I’m working at Mandy’s florist shop.” It was called Daisy’s,a tribute to my middle name. Daisies were never my favorite flowerthough. That’d be a bit cliché, wouldn’t it? It felt arrogant to enjoy something that had to do with oneself. I preferred cornflower blue hydrangeas, quartz pink tulips, and crimson red bleeding hearts.

“I’m in the middle of applying to grad schools, and I’m finishing up my capstone.”Finishing upwas a slight exaggeration. It was more like rushing to get the last five dresses completed before the runway exhibit because I’ve had zero inspiration.

“You’re TA’ing and going to NYU, meaning you ended up majoring in English,” I repeated.

“And secondary education.”

I assumed he wanted to go into journalism because of the job Bella’s mom was offering. But he was always great with his sisters, and kids in general. It made perfect sense; it was so undeniably Levi. His mother taught elementary while we were in high school as well.

My heart skipped a beat. When had he become such an adult? It seemed like yesterday we were applying to colleges together.

His jaw tightened as he focused on the road and the turn ahead. His hands brushed the wheel; two thin gold rings decorating his middle and index finger, and his typical watch rested on his wrist.

“Are you still studying French?” I remember in high school that he was teetering on being fluent. He wanted to get into French literature because the translations into English lose a lot of the important underlying meanings in the original French versions.

“Bien sûr.” The words fell from his mouth like melted chocolate dripping from fresh fruit. I wanted to wake up to that voice and listen to it while I sewed and draped fabric. I wanted him to whisper to me in French as I put together bouquets of

bleeding hearts, like a protagonist in a black and white French film.

That was a bit much, apologies.