Daisy
Why the helldidn’t Celeste shut this down? I’m caught in a drama that isn’t about me, feeling as if I walked into a theater in the second act, and instead of being allowed to take a seat, I got yanked onstage.
The game started fine. It seemed whatever issue Liam had, he was determined to save face by beating Tom at cards, and yes, that’s weird, but whatever. Tom seemed to be willing to go along with it. Let Liam restore his pride through a pointless game.
It is pointless, too. Liam proposed stakes, but Celeste vetoed that with a meaningful look my way, and Liam didn’t insist.
The drink situation doesn’t help. There’s that damn bottle of scotch. Tom tries to demur by saying he’d like something cold instead, and Celeste brings him a scotch and soda.
“You mixed eighteen-year scotch with soda?” Liam says.
“I gave my guest what he wanted. A cold drink. And as the scotch was a gift, it was mine to do with as I like, was it not?” She turns to me. “Coke, I’m guessing.”
“Plain soda, actually, please.” When she brings it, I wait for both her and Liam to look away and switch my glass with Tom’s. He mouths his thanks.
Celeste serves popcorn, and we settle into the game. After a few more hands, I decide that either Tom is terrible at poker, or—more likely—he’s pretending he is, refusing to rise to Liam’s implicit challenge.
Celeste plays decently but, clearly, doesn’t have much experience with it. Liam does, and so do I. Keith loved his Friday night poker parties, and when they were shorthanded, I’d step in, at first because the men all thought it was cute teaching me to play, and later because I became a formidable player, thanks to that teaching.
I’d enjoyed those poker nights, and I’d continued by playing with coworkers. That’s one thing I can credit Keith with. There are others, too. If I’m being snarky, I’ll say he taught me how to avoid guys like him, how to grow armor against charm and charisma, and how to keep my inner books balanced at all times. That’s true. Yet he also had some positive influence on me, teaching me skills my parents couldn’t, particularly business and financial ones. Life with a stepfather like Keith was not 100 percent hell. I don’t think life with anyone can be. Yet it feels as if we need to only remember the terrible parts or else someone will say, “See, it wasn’t so bad after all.” It was the worst four years of my life, and the fact that I got a few positive things from it doesn’t balance the negatives at all.
The game proceeds with Liam or me winning most hands, Celeste popping up with the occasional bit of luck and even Tom taking one or two, probably to avoid Liam realizing he’s playing badly on purpose.
The trouble starts right at the point where I’ve decided we’re out of danger. Did Liam sense everyone relaxing?
“Our Miss Daisy seems to have a hidden talent,” he says. “Any others I should know about?”
He could say this with sincerity. An honest compliment, paired with a friendly conversation starter where we could all divulge secret talents. He could also make it a lascivious joke, with an exaggerated leer, one that might not invoke a laugh in current company but could be brushed off as frat-boy humor. The way he actually says it...? I can’t describe his tone. I only know that I feel he’s taken a legitimate compliment and used it to demean me. To remind me of my place in his world.
You’re a fine poker player, Daisy. But you’re still a woman, and I’m sure you have talents I’d appreciate a whole lot more.
I often worry I’m too sensitive to that. Working in construction, it’s a common refrain.
That architect does great design work, and did you check out her tits?
That engineer knows her stuff, and did you see her ass?
It’s like we can prove ourselves legitimate experts in our field, worthy of respect, but still cannot rise above our biological role.
So, yep, I might be overly sensitive. Even as I tense with Liam’s comment, I tell myself to chill. Except Celeste notices his tone, too, her brows rising in a way that says I’m not misinterpreting. But she only shakes her head. Boys will be boys. It’s Tom who reacts, his head whipping Liam’s way.
“What did you just say?” Tom asks.
“I asked if she had any other talents,” Liam says blithely. “Celeste mentioned she’s a good cook, too.”
Tom’s eyes narrow as he recognizes the trick women have dealt with forever. Call a guy on an inappropriate comment, and he pretends you’ve misunderstood, makes you feel foolish for overreacting.
“I can also wiggle my ears,” I say. “And I can sense snowstorms, which is completely useless in Florida.” I turn to Tom. “How about you?”
He relaxes and tosses me a grateful smile. “I am the best karaoke singer you’ll ever meet. Outside of karaoke, though, I can’t carry a tune to save my life. Celeste? Any hidden and useless talents?”
“Celeste is very talented,” Liam says. “But perhaps you already know that, Tommy.”
Tom meets his gaze with a level stare. “I’m afraid I don’t know Celeste all that well.”
“No?”
“No, Liam,” Celeste says. “If you doubt that, just come out and ask. But you aren’t actually asking. You’re just being an ass.”