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The night before Daisy Fay became Daisy Buchanon, she vowed to never cry over Jay Gatsby again. The moment she dried her tears, let go of the destroyed letter, and put the string of pearls back around her neck, she stepped back into the role she was expected to play. The moment she walked down the aisle and said I do, she put the future she had once dreamed of behind her. The moment she chose to stay with Tom despite his public infidelity, she accepted that even though her life may belong to Tom now, her heart never would. In this manner she lived for years, going one step further as to never allow herself to even think about Gatsby. Instead, she performed her duties as Tom’s wife, gifting him with a child, conforming to his expectations, succumbing to his cruelty. Her youth, alongside her memories of Gatsby, were long locked away. That is, until the day Nick Carraway walked in, and brought with him whispers of a name that brought it all back.
~ ~ ~
Even after Daisy learnt of the fact Gatsby lived just across the water, she was still highly uncertain of the circumstances under which they might meet again, if they did so at all. And although she told herself that if the moment did indeed come, she wouldn’t allow herself to be affected, but in the moment, she was instead rendered immobile. As soon as was physically possible for her, she let out a light laugh that sounded artificial even to her ears, and spouted some sort of customary greeting, busy trying to hide the fact that for a fraction of a second, she could’ve sworn she was eighteen all over again, and staring into the eyes of Jay Gatsby for the very first time. As a result, she was rather thankful when Gatsby himself suddenly grew awkward and inelegant, a stark contrast to the image of a sharp, successful man he had painted when he first walked in. He appeared to be as shaken as she was, which is why it didn’t come as a surprise to her when he soon vanished outside with Nick, even if the feeling came with the smallest twinge of disappointment that she tried to ignore. She was shocked, however, when he entered back in unaccompanied, thus leaving them alone for the first time since they had parted ways.
The conversation that followed seemed to Daisy too fragile to even replay in her head. Truthfully, even if she were to try and do so, she would probably find that the details of the conversation had already faded. Every word had penetrated so deep it went straight to her heart, barely stopping to linger in her mind. Besides, the details weren’t what had mattered; all that mattered was, with only a few glances, a few sentences, her entire being had come undone. The wall she had built up using her pain came crumbling down, her cage of iron-strong will shattered, and every thought, every feeling, every memory she had suppressed came tumbling out. As she sat there, laying her heart bare for Gatsby, the tears finally came, flowing freely for the first time in a long while. Yet, even as she was there in her most vulnerable state, she lied to herself. Gatsby may have triggered her tears, she decided, but she wasn’t crying over him. No, she was just crying because he reminded her of Daisy Fay. But she was Daisy Buchanon now, which meant, even if she missed Daisy Fay, she still wasn’t allowed to cry over Jay Gatsby.
When Daisy walked into Gatsby’s mansion for the first time, she was unsure how to feel. The wealth and glamour that emitted from the walls wasn’t something she was used to; it seemed almost artificial, somehow. But these thoughts quickly left her mind, and were replaced by endearment as Gatsby eagerly put on display the evidence of his unwavering devotion to her. They made their way around the house, and she used the time to take in the man, as compared to the boy, that was Jay Gatsby. He seemed so different now, she observed. But then again, she probably did, too. The years gone by had altered them both drastically, but, somehow, she felt like they still fit together perfectly, like their souls were two pieces of a puzzle, reunited at least. And when they reached the bedroom upstairs, with these thoughts swirling in her head, she grasped the shirts he proudly presented to her, and felt her emotions unraveling again. The shirts were beautiful, she gave as an excuse. Yes, they were beautiful. This spotlight that she was embraced in when around Gatsby, was beautiful. The glimpse at this life, the one that she might’ve had if she were named Daisy Gatsby instead, was beautiful. And no, she wasn’t crying over Gatsby, not exactly, she insisted to herself. She was crying because she was unable to understand how something so beautiful could be right in front of her, and yet still be so far out of reach.
~ ~ ~
The moment she had shown up at Gatsby’s party with Tom attached to her side like a guard, she knew that coming had been a bad idea. Not only was she witnessing the start of her two worlds colliding, she was being forced to accept truths that she had been turning a blind eye to until now. Even the half hour that she had been able to spend alone with Gatsby wasn’t enough to make up for all the things that seemed wrong. The flashy, gaudy, cheap affair reminded her that although Gatsby may have raised himself up from the ground and transformed his rags to riches, he still couldn’t compete with the status that was old money. No matter how much they may wish to be on the same level, to be equals, it was simply impossible. So she went home that night, downtrodden and faced with reality. Once again, she had to fight against tears that eventually won. But she wasn’t crying because of Gatsby himself, exactly, she felt. She was just crying over the fact that no matter how hard he may have tried, Gatsby could never truly fit into her world, and as much as she wanted to, she could never fit into his. And she was crying because despite how much she had believed maybe she would finally have someone by her side, she realized that she was very much still by herself in this world.
~ ~ ~
Regardless, they chose to live in denial for a little while longer, creating their own world where it didn’t matter who they were, where they didn’t live in the past or future, but the present.
Upon departing for the hotel alongside Tom, Gatsby, Jordan, and Nick, she had foolishly let herself believe that by managing to ride in the car together, she and Gatsby had come out victorious against Tom. Later, she realized couldn’t have been more wrong. As the conversation in the hotel room spiraled out of control, she started to sob uncontrollably. She was ready to give it all up, her life of status, everything she had ever known, if it meant a chance with Gatsby. But it wasn’t enough for him. It was never enough for him. He had pushed her to the point where she felt herself fall off the edge, and started to shut down. It hadn’t been enough for Gatsby, but he didn’t seem to understand it was all she had. She cried because everyone else always wanted more, more, more; but all she’d ever asked for was just enough. And now everyone was left with nothing at all.
~ ~ ~
It had all happened so fast. She had been driving, focused on the suffocating silence. Then, out of nowhere, that woman just appeared in the middle of the road. And in that split second, Daisy had to make a choice. She could swerve to the left, and crash into the incoming car. The woman would be saved, but she herself could be hurt. Or she could save herself, by not even giving the woman a chance. For a second, in a moment of bravery, Daisy turned to the left. But at the very last second, she panicked, and turned back, ramming straight into the woman. It was all a blur after that; Gatsby had taken over control of the car, and she just sat there, numb, motionless, a part of her dying with that woman she didn't even know.
When Tom arrived home, Daisy immediately told him what had happened. She knew she had no choice. Tom promised he would take care of it. She believed him. Then she went upstairs, locked herself in her room, and cried for the second time that day. She cried because no matter how much she wished to be free of him, here she was, still depending on Tom. She cried because she had killed a woman. She cried because no matter how much she told herself that no, she hadn’t been selfish; she had saved both Gatsby and herself, she had decided that two lives were worth more than one. But she knew, even if she had swerved left, Gatsby would’ve been okay, since he’d been on the other side of the car. In fact, she knew that Gatsby would suffer more now, rather than if she had made the other choice. She wouldn’t be held accountable. Tom would make sure of that. And so she cried, because the only life she had chosen to save was her own. She cried because she hadn’t just chosen between herself and the woman; she’d chosen between herself and Gatsby.
~ ~ ~
The day Daisy received the notice for Gatsby’s funeral was the day she finally admitted to herself she had broken her promise. As she cried and cried and cried, she accepted that maybe she had broken her promise a long time ago; maybe she had broken her promise many times. Maybe every time she had cried since making that promise had been because of Gatsby, in one way or another. And so she carried on crying. She cried for herself, for dreams that were never meant to be, a version of herself she could never become. She cried for Gatsby, for a life that had ended before it truly started. She cried because she had lost Gatsby again, for real this time. Mostly, she cried because she realized despite everything… Gatsby had never even been hers to lose.