Page 9 of The Christmas Letters
She clears her throat. “Preston Charles Vanderhorst, the third.”
“Oh man. That’s a name. He sounds like he probably runs in the same circles as Daisy Mae.”
“Oh trust me. He totally does.”
That gives me pause. Does TessknowDaisy? Uneasiness swirls in my gut.
I liked Daisy. A lot. And sometimes, when she relaxed and just hung out with me, I could see us having a future together. But whenever we were with her friends, or her family, especially, she was completely different. Society mattered to Daisy. And I was never enough for her. Not rich enough. Not ambitious enough. Not good enough.
I didn’t need Daisy’s approval to feel okay about my life. I’m a paramedic because I want to be, not because I have to be. But I did get tired of feeling like she was constantly measuring me against some invisible yardstick of accomplishments.
A week after we broke up, she started dating some guy from up north whose family owns fifty bazillion hotels. Or something like that. Let’s just say he fits in her world a lot better than I did.
Sounds like that’s Tess’s world too.
“Do you know Daisy?” I ask, suddenly scared to hear her answer. Weird as it sounds, I like talking to Tess. I don’t reallywantDaisy’s world to be her world. Because that means it can never be mine.
“Calhoun, right? Daisy Mae Calhoun? We were in cotillion together, and we debuted the same year, but we went to different high schools, so we weren’t really friends.”
Cotillion. Debutante balls. ItisTess’s world.
“Huh. Small world,” I say easily, hoping I’ve managed to hide my disappointment.
The conversation drifts to other things as I let Tess ask me question after question. Hobbies, favorites, childhood memories. It’s easy to answer, easy to talk to Tess, and if it helps her stay calm, I’m happy to do it. But the stirring of excitement I initially felt when we started talking is gone.
The last thing I need is another woman with expectations like Daisy’s. Not that I’m getting any vibes that explicitly remind me of Daisy. But Tess is behind a heavy bathroom door.
How can I really know what she’s like?
“Hey, AJ’s back,” Ben says, sticking his head into the bathroom.
“What? Who’s AJ?” Tess asks.
“He’s the guy who’s finally going to get you out of here,” I say.
AJ steps into the narrow space, saw in hand.
“We’re going to cut through the hinges, all right?” I say to Tess. “Can you back away from the door? As far away as you can.”
The closer we come to freeing her, the more nervous I begin to feel. Not for the process—AJ seems like he knows how to handle the saw—but for seeing her. Making eye contact. I may not be interested—not truly—but that doesn’t mean I haven’t enjoyed our conversation.
Actually, that’s an understatement. I’vereallyenjoyed our conversation. And Iwasinterested. Right up until I realized she was a society girl just like Daisy.
Society with a capitalS.
Ben hefts my bag of supplies and hands it to me. “You’ll need to check her vitals once she’s free,” he says. “Just to make sure. I moved a chair into the hallway so she can sit.”
I nod, gripping the bag a little too tightly.
When Tess emerges from the stall, my throat goes dry.
Oh man,she is not making this easy.
Tess is gorgeous.
Like, tongue-stuck-in-my-throat-I-can’t-form-words gorgeous.
Suddenly, I’m rethinking everything I decided just moments before. Maybe Tess is different. Maybe she isn’treallya society girl.
