Page 17 of Picking Daisies on Sundays

“But you’re dating Levi now!”

I watched as heads turned around us like dolls in a horror film as a reaction to Rhea’s words.Double crap.Levi hadn’t told everyone we were dating, let alone that I was going to be here today.

I was instantly crushed in a hug by Sarah as she shouted, “FINALLY!”

As happy as I was that Levi’s family approved of me this much, I was beyond embarrassed. I could only imagine how pathetic I looked right now. Each of our families had been hoping we would date for years, especially when they all knew how I felt about him, and they were finally getting that wish.

But Levi was still uninterested.

7

Blue hydrangeas, pink tulips, red bleeding hearts

Hi Dad. Remember my first month at fashion school when I was so nervous that I accidentally sewed that girl’s dress into a pair of denim pants I was making? Well, today was somehow so much worse.

I began freshman year of high school incredibly depressed. I know what you’re thinking: wasn’t the depression supposed to start during high school, not before it? Well, a month before my first day, Dad passed away from cancer. The wake, funeral, and pity greetings the nights after felt like some nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

It was the hardest year of my life to date. I know that’s not saying much for someone who has only been alive for 22 years, but it felt like I had cried so much over Dad’s passing that I no longer had room in my heart for any other sadness. My body couldn’t imagine any event or moment being any worse than that, so the tears slowly ran out and I only knew grief.

Until I met Levi.

Levi became a major part of my grieving. He hadn’t turned my life around the way Prince Charming transformed Cinderella’s life, but he taught me how to look for the positives again. How to cope and move on without forgetting. Because that’s what everyone wants you to do after you lose someone: move on. But how were you supposed to just move on? How were you supposed to simply pretend like they never existed and try to be happy when they were no longer here?

I met Levi the first day of high school; we ended up in two classes together, one we each dreaded. Levi thrived in English, which, to this day, I still hated writing papers. While I thrived in our sewing elective, which he claimed to have chosen the class because it looked good on a college application. Two months later, he confessed that it was really to help his mother with fixing his sisters’ sports uniforms.

The first week of class posed to be an issue for the both of us, and that’s when we realized we could help one another with our weaknesses by providing our strengths. Afterschool sewing lessons and essay editing sessions slowly became eating lunch together, celebrating birthdays, and Sunday family dinners. We were best friends, and we only got closer when we realized we were both grieving.

Levi had lost his dad a few years prior, so he understood what it was like. He understood that fear of forgetting and the struggle to be happy as if it were betrayal. He told me something a therapist taught him to do when he was sad: to write. To just write out everything on paper that was going on in your head as if you were writing an autobiography.

I told my mom about this advice Levi had given me over dinner at his house that day—I think that’s the day she fell in love with him like I slowly did.

Ever since then, I typed emails to Dad anytime I needed him.

The first few years of writing the emails was often followed by a string of sobs. I remember getting an email from the fashion university I applied to, accompanied by an acceptance letter senior year. The happiness quickly disappeared once I realized that I wouldn’t witness him shout with excitement or lift me up with a hug because I’d never be able to tell him. He would never get to know.

So, I wrote him an email about it, like he was a pen pal that would respond back.

Knowing that he wouldn’t be there and would never read these emails often brought on another wave of sadness. But it’s the only way I could remember him.

Something that no one talks about when a loved one passes, is that when the years go by, it feels as if they never truly existed, like it was another life. My memories had been slipping away like chapters in a good book with each passed day. No one tells you that the reality of them actually being gone doesn’t kick in until you try to call them and realize…you can’t, that you can never call them again. That they aren’t just gone for a moment, but they’re gone for the rest ofyourmoments.

Those years also brought peace though, as much as the sadness lingered. I slowly felt content because it was no longer a surprise when he wasn’t home; time had healed that pain. He was happier this way, not having to undergo chemo and sad looks from visitors. Now when I wrote emails, it’s not a way for me to get out my thoughts, but a way to share them, almost like a diary.

Sitting at the desk in front of my window, I swatted away the moths that tried coming into the room, attracted to the strawberry lamp lit beside me. The warm night air of May in New York was too beautiful to pass up, so I kept the window open as I continued typing on laptop, wrapped in blankets like an overdecorated couch in Pottery Barn.

I managed to hit Levi’s ex—Bella—in the head with a softball today. You would’ve laughed because it was a really good hit—it looked like a homerun—beside the point, I felt horrible. She was so understanding after, but I could feel everyone’s eyes on me as thebruise started forming on her forehead. I was so embarrassed that it took every muscle in my body not to leave the field and grab a cab. Meaning I had to get back into a car with Levi after all of that. You can probably guess how that went: awkward silence, reassurance, pity, and more silence. Just wait though, it gets worse! When we got to Mandy’s, he dropped me off, got out of the car, and as I opened the door, it hit him in the head.

I hit Levi in the head with the car door.I will now proceed to jump out of the window in front of me.

I’ve never apologized so much in one day. I hadn’t realized he was going to come around to open the door for me! I’m praying to every Skin God out there that he doesn’t wake up with a bruise tomorrow. I practically ran into the house after that, especially when he turned down my offer to come in for a bag of ice.

Three hours of softball, two (possibly) bruised heads, and one sob fest later, I’m seated questioning: how on Earth am I going to handle Sunday dinner tomorrow?

Love, Daisy

8

I got so close to running my fingers against it