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It happened on a cool fall day. Daisy and I were sitting in her impeccable veranda alone, surrounded by the colors of the season. She had invited me over earlier in the day. My phone rang and that exhilarating voice of hers came sputtering through. I remember now that she was going on about how Tom was in the city for something and there was “simply nothing to do all alone in that big house.” I was really only listening to the faltering in her cadence. There was something off with her. Behind that breathy tone, there was an undertone of silent misery that seemed out of place coming from her. So I agreed to visit if only to find out what was wrong with her. That's how I found myself face-to-face with her on that over-decorated back patio of hers. “This one's a special brew!” she exclaimed “Tom bought it for me all the way over from Thailand.” She poured the tea into my cup diligently and punctuated the action with a smile. “He ought to have bought a few new flowers too.” I responded quite quickly. The purple hyacinths in the vase centerpiece were dying, and I was in no mood to hear praise of the male Buchanan. “Oh, maybe.” Daisy glanced down at the vase with a more neutral expression, then looked back at me and gave a pitiful grin. “Yknow, actually it wasn't Tom who bought me these…” I raised an eyebrow at that “Jay did, he sent them over, after the party.” She locked eyes with me finally and I gave what I hoped was an understanding nod “He put a note in there too, all fancied up and wordy, but I knew that he was only trying to apologize.” I suddenly remembered something Gatsby himself had told me about another note he sent her way. “He seems to like doing that, the writing.” As I looked back at her I noticed her fallen expression “Right.” she spat out, like she was trying to rid herself of the thought. Immediately she grabbed her own cup in both of her hands and took it to her mouth. The autumn breeze filled the silence, rustling through the marigold leaves. It seemed to miss us entirely, leaving a bubble filled with stuffy awkward air. At that moment I knew I had misspoken and the urge to separate myself from the patio, and Daisy, became overwhelming. Before I could conjure up any excuse to leave she started up again. “Actually, did you know Jay sent a letter to me on my wedding day?” I did know, of course. Still, I let her go on, it seemed I had found the source of that off-ness I sensed about her. Just then I took a sip from my tea as well to avoid the burden of a response. She set her hands in front of her, clasping tightly to each other, as she gathered her words on the tip of her tongue, “It was... very beautiful. The most beautiful letter anyone's ever written to me.” And she said it with such a sense of reverence that I was obliged to believe her. Gatsby had never gone into detail on the contents of what he wrote and my curiosity regarding it hadn't dwelled since he mentioned it, “Well, what'd he say?” I cut the sentence short at the risk of sounding like Jordan’s gossip-loving nature had overtaken me. It was clear Daisy hadn't expected me to ask about that. Her eyes went sort of wide and she released the grip on her hands to cross her arms. “Well, he said a lot… Mostly it was uhm…” She glanced around the patio, the question clearly throwing her off. She seemed to pull enough of herself together to look back at me. She set her face before asking, “Nick, could you keep a secret?” I never imagined myself going off to tell stories about other's lives, it almost offended me. I didn't want to be seen as another shallow cog of East Egg. “Of course I can.” I said with a jerky nod. Her face was riddled with candor as she finally admitted ”Well the letter Jay wrote, it was mostly... romantic.” I raised my eyebrows to act as if Gatsby hadn't already mentioned their history to me. “He and I were an item a while back,” Her loose grin returned “I got with Tom while Jay was already off in the war.” and then added “It's not easy for a girl to be alone in this world y'know?” as if to defend herself against claims I hadn't raised against her. I nodded once more, honestly wanting for her to just move on with her story. “Tom had been so lovely. He was charming and kind…” I had a lot of rebuttals against that characterization of Tom but I held my tongue. Daisy’s eyes were slightly hooded when she looked back to the trees making music in the distance. “ Everything was different then,” Then she turned back to me with a downtrodden face. It seemed her facade of cheeriness had fallen. “I'm sure you understand Nick” And even though I didn't agree with everything she had done, how could I not? “Yes, I do.” was all I could muster before she began her next sentence “What Jay wrote. It was a goodbye.” I'm sure my face reflected my surprise clearly because she let out an amused breath at that. “He was telling me all about how much he loved me, how he could forgive that I had gone with Tom.” She let out a wet chuckle then “He said that he would wait for me, isn't that crazy?” She laughed again and tears threatened to spill from her eyes, “he called me his north star, Nick.” Her composure fell further as she all but sobbed for a moment. I could only think to lay my hand onto hers. “You still love him.” I stated. “Is it that obvious?” She asked with her now raw voice. At that moment I began to understand the hope Gatsby clung to. Maybe his fantasy could be more than what it was. Then she took her hand from under mine and leaned back in her chair. “But at the end of the day, I married Tom, right?” and she smiled but her eyes were wistful as they were damp. She looked at me for my thoughts but for once I wasn't sure of my own opinion. “Uhm yes.” It was rare for me to not have any words even for something like this and Daisy seemed to notice. “Not that I don't love Tom.” She included with another small pitiful smile, for my sake. It seemed like I should have expressed that I supported her. I didn't, fully, but I certainly didn't support the relationship she chose. I decided to make it clear with my face since my words had failed me. My brows furrowed as I asked, “Why do you stay with him?” Another shocking question to Daisy. She went silent for a moment. Her face turned grim as she glanced down at the tablecloth and then back to me. She exhaled as if I were a child she had to explain this to. Her face was the most serious I had ever seen. I couldn't handle the mood and had to look elsewhere. I chose to stare out at the opulent pond sitting nearby. The stone cherubs and their jocose smiles were off-putting at the moment. It looked as if they were unaware of their gloomy surroundings. “Sometimes Nick, you have to make sacrifices.” Her voice came from in front of me. She seemed somewhat mournful when I looked back. I knew then that the faith I had garnered in Gatsby earlier was misguided. It was clear that she had already let go of him. She had already grieved the relationship they had. Again the mood was too much to handle. I echoed her curt response from earlier, “Right.” Just then a knock on the door rang through the silence, startling the both of us out of the bubble we had been in. The abrasive nature of it immediately clued me off as to who was entering the house. At that, Daisy shot out of her seat and looked through the glass door of the patio and into the house. “I hate to end it like this, really.” And the truth of her statement was written on her face “Maybe we can meet some other time.” I was still a bit shocked as I stood from my seat and followed her to the door. I almost ran into Tom as Daisy was almost pushing me out. “Oh! Nick.” And there was no pleasantness to the words. He seemed livid from whatever annoyances his day had offered him. His brows were set aggressively on his face and his mouth was pursed as if he had eaten something not to his liking. His face only softened slightly upon seeing me. His jaw was set as he struggled to deliver his statement calmly, “Had I known you were here..” I made sure to cut him off quickly. “I was just leaving.” I gave another glance to Daisy as I wedged my way out the open door. Her face was white as a ghost and her eyes red-rimmed from the evening. She was looking between me and Tom, seemingly unsure which one to focus on. Her worried expression was my last sight as I exited the house and walked back into the cool evening air. This time I could feel it, there was no stifling air surrounding me. It was refreshing. The world had visibly darkened since earlier and I could smell the petrichor in the air. However pleasant it was outside, the walk back to my house felt longer than usual. I was thinking deeply the whole way back. Thoughts of Daisy and her feelings, Gatby’s ever-extant obsession, and Tom’s insufferable nature clouded my mind. I wondered if, at the same time I was making my way home, Gatsby was out reaching towards that green light.