The Daisy

I'm at a café with Jingyi. I think I must love him because he's the only thing that's ever made any sense to me. 

Black hair like a crow's; eyes piercingly brown and crinkled at the edges like he's the kind of person who smiles a lot, except that he isn't. He sits across from me with a cigarette between his teeth, almost like he's forgotten it's there at all. 

I don't like smoke. I don't like cigarettes. But I like Jingyi, so I don't mind.

I don't remember how I got here exactly, but it must have been on my own two feet. I can tell because I can feel the blisters from my new shoes. They're a nice pair. A totally unnecessary investment, but they were pretty, and I like pretty things.

I remember waking up in the morning. Nine o'clock on the dot. Washing my face, brushing my teeth. Black coffee, tainted with the aftertaste of my toothpaste. It gets hazy after that, but that's okay. 

Everyday life becomes so mundane after you enter the real world. The days are effectively the same, especially for me. They all sort of blend together into one long, neverending day. Wake up, get ready, clothes, writing for clients. Sleep, if I'm lucky. And then it's the same the next day. 

"What's on your mind?" Jingyi asks, blowing a puff of smoke out to the side.

You, I want to say. 

"Writing." I say instead. He gives me a look. I know that look. 

"Are you sure it's not Daisy?" 

I want to laugh. Because maybe that would have been true a long time ago, but it isn't anymore. It hasn't been for a long time. 

"Not Daisy," I confirm. 

"Interesting," He says, crushing the cigarette in the ashtray on his side of the table. He takes a sip of his coffee; it's some kind of sickeningly sweet latte. 

I take the queue and lift my own mug up to my lips. 

"Thinking about me, then?" He questions, after a beat. It sounds like a joke, but I know him well enough to know that everything he says is always dead serious.

So I'm serious right back, "Yes."

He takes another sip from his coffee.

"Interesting."

***

When I sleep that night, I dream of Daisy. 

She's in my kitchen, sitting at the table in the dark. The only light comes from the window outside. It's nighttime, but the apartment complex keeps their outdoor lights on. It's like she's always been here.

"Nur," she says in that sing-song voice of hers. I can't quite make out her eyes.

"Daisy," I say, "Should I turn on the lights? Do you want some tea?" 

"No," Daisy responds, almost like a sigh. I still can't make out her eyes, but I have a clear view of her smile. It's been a while since I've seen her. And it's been even longer since I've seen her happy. 

"I missed you."

My words float in the air. I wonder if she's heard me. 

"I've missed you Daisy." I repeat myself. 

"I'll always miss you, Nur." 

And when I really look at her, I realize it isn't Daisy at all. Or maybe it is, but there's something wrong about her. Like she's one of those life-sized dolls some gross people use for sex. Or a mannequin.

I wake up in the kitchen with her name on my lips. Sometimes I can't tell the difference between dreams and reality.

***

I'm at the café with Jingyi. It's a few days later, or maybe a week. I'm not sure. We meet up every few days for coffee now. He always gets the same thing; some kind of caramel drink. I've been trying a variety of things, but I mostly default to a hot americano. 

We talk about different things each time we meet. I think I must love him. He always smokes, but I don't mind.

"How's Daisy?" He asks.

"Daisy?"

"Your friend."

Ex romantic interest would be more accurate, I think. But that doesn't matter anymore, so I keep it to myself.

"I know. But I haven't heard from her in a long time. Why are you asking me about her?"

He looks at me for a moment and it makes me want to shrivel up. He has a way of making people feel small without having to say a word at all.

"Didn't you talk to her the other night?"

"I did?"

Jingyi looks at me again, tapping his cigarette in the ashtray between us. "Yup. Wasn't she in your kitchen?"

"Oh," I say. I think of the Daisy look-alike from my kitchen and wonder if that's what he's talking about. I must have told him about it and forgotten to specify that it was only a dream.

"So how is she?"

"I don't know. It wasn't really her."

He pauses. I wonder what it would feel like to kiss him.

"I get that." He mumbles, almost to himself. 

And I nod. I wonder if he really does get it.

***

I dream of Daisy again. This time she's kissing me in the living room. Her lips are sort of sticky, so she must be wearing lip gloss. It reminds me of the first time I kissed her. I was only eighteen back then. The last time I kissed her we were still in college. It's been years.

When we stop, I notice it again. It's Daisy. Her face and her smile. But there's something wrong with her eyes. Far too doll-like to be the real Daisy. I look away for a moment and when I look back she's collapsed on the floor like broken porcelain.

I wake up on the sofa.

***

I’m at the café again. This is the third time I’ve seen him this week. Jingyi isn’t smoking this time, but I can smell it on his clothes. He must have had a few cigarettes before coming here. In front of him is that same vile excuse for caffeine that he drinks every time I see him. Sometimes I wonder if he just can’t taste it; maybe all that chain smoking ruined his taste buds. 

As I sit across from him, I find myself mesmerized for a moment. He takes a sip from his coffee. I wonder what his lips would feel like. They look soft. I wonder if he would be a good kisser. I wonder if he would want to kiss me. 

And then I catch it.

It’s the first time I catch it. Jingyi’s eyes are dark and inviting as a spider’s web. And then they aren’t. For just a second, they are like glass. The color change is subtle, but noticeable. For just a second, I would swear they looked entirely black. 

And then the moment’s gone. My gaze falls back to his lips. His mouth twists upwards into a smile. 

“Everything okay, Nur?”

“All good,” I reply.

It dawns on me that I have no real recollection of how I met Jingyi. There was a time that I didn’t know him, and a time that I did. Everything else in between is a little hazy. 

“Good,” he says, “Just making sure.”

I’m not even sure I know his last name. 

***

Daisy sits beside me on the sofa. Our hands are intertwined. Her other hand toys with a loose string from the fraying hem of her dress. 

“Do you love me?” 

Her voice is like a song. One of those absent-minded, ethereal songs that people like to listen to in theory but never in practice. 

“I don’t know, Daisy.”

At one point, the answer would have been yes. Do you love me too? I would have asked. And I would have clung to her answer like a lifeline.

Then she asks something different, “Do you love Jingyi?”

I’m uncomfortable. 

“I don’t know.”

I hear her laugh, but I can’t look at her.

“Don’t you?”

There’s something wrong. I finally look her in the eyes, and there it is again, that doll-like quality that the real-life Daisy doesn’t possess. 

“How do you even know about him?”

“You talk about him all the time, Nur.”

“Oh,” I say dumbly, “Do you remember how I met him?”

My eyes drift to the hem of Daisy’s dress. It’s a nice dress. Expensive, probably. It’s made of a shimmery material, like satin. 

“No, I don’t think you ever told me. Why?”

“Oh,” I say again, “No reason.”

I wake up in my own bed. 

***

I’m careful, this time, at the café. I go with him this time to order, and when he pays for his own drink, my eyes hone in on the name on the card. In bright, bold Latin script is his name in full. 

I must have stared for too long because I’m caught almost immediately. Jingyi shoots me a questioning look. It isn’t an angry look, really. Maybe I wouldn’t know though. It’s hard to tell sometimes with him. 

“Is your last name Four?” 

My only experience with Chinese is from high school, and I haven’t so much as touched my textbook since. The name written there could probably have hundreds of possible meanings. I’m sure Four isn’t right. 

My joke is intended to be a lighthearted reflection of my poor language skills. I expect him to smile back. 

He looks down at me pityingly. “Not quite.” 

A shiver finds its way down my spine. 

***

That night I lie between Daisy and Jingyi on my bed. I’m kissing one of them. I’m not sure who. But their lips are soft and I don’t want them to stop.

I don’t remember waking up.

***

The next day, I’m at the café again. I’m not sure if it’s the next day or a few days later, but it feels like the next day. My shoes no longer make my feet blister, so I don’t know if I walked here or took the bus. But that’s okay. I’m here anyway, and so is Jingyi. 

He’s back to smoking again, cigarette caged between his teeth as he sits across from me. His coffee drink sits on the table, untouched. I don’t mind the smoke anymore. It’s started to feel like home. I take a sip from my coffee. It’s an espresso. Double shot, it seems. I must have wanted something strong. 

I watch him and he watches me. It’s silent until I can’t bear it anymore. There’s a clawing feeling in my chest, and before I know it all the words project themselves out of my mouth. 

“I love you,” I say. 

He doesn’t reply. I wonder if he’s heard me, but I find myself not minding either way. Whatever his reaction, I don’t mind. He’s the only thing that’s ever made any sense to me. I’m not afraid the way I was once afraid of Daisy. 

It’s a long time before Jingyi moves at all, and when he does, it’s to crush his cigarette in the ashtray at the center of the table. My eyes follow the action like a hawk, watch him stand up. 

“Come on,” he says, sticking out his open palm in my direction. His hands are soft and smooth, but lined all over.

I don’t hesitate for longer than a few seconds before I’m placing my hand in his, before he’s dragging me off somewhere. I think I must love him because I don’t care where he’s taking me. He’s the only thing that’s ever made any sense to me. 

Then there’s a door, and Jingyi is turning to look at me. 

“Let’s go,” he says.

I’m not sure where the door came from. There’s something odd about it, too. Maybe it’s the way it’s attached to the hinge. Maybe it’s the fact that there isn’t a hinge at all. 

I watch as he lets go of my hand and reaches forward to turn the knob. The door opens inwards, and he steps to the side to make space for me. I don’t look at what’s on the other side. It doesn’t matter to me, as long as I’m with him. 

“You first,” he says. 

I take one last look at him before I step through the door. For a moment, he doesn’t look quite right. Something about him reminds me of a doll. Maybe a sex doll or a porcelain figure. Maybe a mannequin. It’s only there for a second and then it’s gone. His eyes are soft and brown again. 

I take a step forward.

I’ve never been good at telling the difference between dreams and reality.