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When I left New York, I truly had no intention of speaking to anyone involved in Gatsby’s tragedy again. Jay is the only one I’d like to speak with anyways.
That is partially the reason I had been avoiding opening the letter which had been sitting in my mailbox since last Tuesday. It was a small envelope, addressed to myself, with no return address and a postage stamp from Hawaii.
Whatever Daisy wanted from me, I was sure I wasn’t going to reply. If she thought I had so soon forgotten about that fateful summer, she was sorely mistaken.
In any case, eventually my suspense got the better of me.
I sat down at the kitchen table in my small Minnesota apartment and gently ripped the top of the envelope off. The enclosed letter was written in a familiar curly cursive script and smelled faintly like floral perfume. Daisy had a habit of rubbing off on everything she touched.
The letter read as follows:
“My dear Nick,
I understand that you do not want to hear from me. However, I do not know of anyone else to write to. As you know very well, Tom is terribly brutal. I’ll spare you details, but I cannot stay here. Ignore this letter if you wish, but I had to write to someone or I think I’d go mad. Jordan is upset with me after all, and has stopped returning my letters. I am planning on escaping with Pammy sometime in the near future, and I was wondering if we could stay with you in Minnesota until I can figure out what to do. Again, I understand if you decline this proposal.
Much love,
Daisy”
Oh, Daisy. Always finding her way back to you when you need her presence least.
My last morning living alone was largely uneventful. It was much like every morning, my new normal, besides maybe fixing up the guest bedroom for Daisy and Pammy. However, living with other people did unfortunately mean I couldn’t just lounge about the house in a sweater and slacks, so I figured changing clothes would be my final act of charity towards my cousin for the day.
I decided that my slacks were acceptable enough, but I did exchange my white sweater (Jay’s) for a nice shirt (also Jay’s) and vest (Somehow also Jay’s. Most of my clothes were).
I wasn’t exactly sure what time Daisy was planning on arriving, so I put the kettle on and sat down at my desk to write while I could.
I made but little progress, though, because the sound of a knock at my front door came before the kettle had even whistled.
I quickly closed my notebook before getting up from my desk and heading towards the front door.
I found myself ever so slightly nervous as I approached, almost like I was about to open my door for a wild animal. My hand which was reaching out towards the doorknob trembled lightly and I suddenly felt rather sweaty.
You see, it’s not that I hadn’t wanted to be reminded of that summer in West Egg. If that had been the case, I wouldn’t have been dressed entirely in Jay’s wardrobe or have a large chest of his belongings in my bedroom. I liked thinking of Jay just fine. In fact, I thought about him almost constantly. Most things reminded me of him. I simply believe that speaking with Daisy might give the both of us too much to think about.
Either way, my hand eventually made contact with the doorknob, turning it to the right and pulling the front door of my apartment open.
Standing in the hallway, Daisy looked exactly as I remembered her. I hadn’t expected anything less, of course; Daisy wasn’t a person you would expect to change.
It was almost as if I had just seen her yesterday. Her dark hair was cut and styled exactly how it had been before and I would put money on having seen the yellow dress she wore before. She wielded a large suitcase in one hand and the other held onto Pammy’s.
Conversely, Pammy, now five years old, did in fact look different. Her hair was incredibly long now, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if it hadn’t been trimmed since the last time I’d seen her on that day in Daisy’s parlor with Jay.
“Oh, Nicky. You just look like an absolute rose.”