I opened my eyes again. And their anger was so palpable I could almost feel it burning up my skin, almost see the heat of the late afternoon and their voices rising in the air in visible swirling waves. I had the sensation that my life was exploding all around me, and I couldn’t stop it. But maybe I didn’t want to stop it? Maybe I wanted my life to explode.
I looked at Tom, his face even redder. “Once in a while I go off on a little spree, but I always love Daisy. In my heart I love her all the time,” Tom insisted to Jay.
He loves me, in his heart?
I thought of Rebecca Buckley’s plump pink child cheeks. Her small breasts illuminated in the midnight lamplight in the stables. Was he loving me in his heart then?
“You’re revolting,” I said to Tom, suddenly finding my voice. It was surprisingly loud and strangely sober. Nick looked at me, his mouth wide open. “Do you know why we left Chicago, Nick?” I said to him. “I’m surprised Tom didn’t treat you to the story of that little spree.”
Jay walked over and stood next to me. “Daisy,” he said softly. “None of that matters now.” Yes, it did. It mattered to me. “Just tell him that truth—that you never loved him.” Who was Jay to think he knew the truth about me?
“She loves me!” Tom spat at Jay, indignant.
“How could I possibly love you?” I snapped back at Tom. My words practically sizzled in the air, but they felt like the truest words I’d spoken in some time.
Jay smirked, satisfied by my outburst. But I didn’t love him, either. I’d felt something for him, once, years ago. Maybe it was love or maybe it was the stupidity of a youthful flirtation. Now, I felt nothing. And that was the truth, the hard, hot truth. I felt nothing. I loved no one. Except my daughter.
“You never loved Tom,” Jay was saying now. “Tell him, Daisy.”
Tom’s eyes met my eyes, and they were suddenly soft and vulnerable and a little hurt. It felt like the most honest look we’d given each other since the South Seas. “Not even in Kapiolani?” he said softly.
Kapiolani. I remembered that morning, the intoxicating scent of the Pacific and the morning dew on the grass that soaked through my dress to my knees. I remembered the inebriating power I’d felt, giving Tom pleasure, just like that, so fearlessly, out in the open. And the truth was maybe I had loved him then. Before he’d ruined it only weeks later, in Santa Barbara. Before he’d ruined me, years later in Lake Forest. And again here, this summer, in New York.
Tom and Jay went on arguing, but I couldn’t listen anymore. I just couldn’t bear it. Jordan had lain back against the couch and closed her eyes, draping her arm against her face—she was done too. I was hot and tired and I hated everything about this day, this suite, this burning useless moment in my life.
“I want to go home,” I said, suddenly. And it wasn’t East Egg I meant. It was Louisville and my normal-sized house and my childhood bed and the old snow goose trilling my name up the stairs. No one heard me—they were still arguing—so I said it again, louder. “I want to go home.… Please, Tom! I can’t stand this anymore.”
He suddenly turned from Jay to look at me, his face red with heat and anger, and something burned up in his eyes that looked strangely like desire. This fight, this stupid reckless fight made him want me again, and it felt like such a cruelty to only be wanted by your husband when he believed another man wanted you more. If that was Tom’s idea of love, then maybe he’d never truly loved anyone or anything in his entire life.
“You two start on home, Daisy.” Tom’s voice softened, and I thought he meant me and Jordan. But then his face curled into a wicked grin and he nodded toward Jay. “In Mr. Gatsby’s car,” he added.
A smile erupted across Jay’s face, like maybe he thought he’d won, and I wanted to tell him I was not some prize at the county fair, not some object to be tossed around and desired and gambled away.
But it was so hot in this room, and I could barely breathe, much less think. I didn’t want to argue anymore; I didn’t want to be in this suffocating room any longer. All I wanted to do was go home.
* * *
OUTSIDE ON THE street I walked two steps ahead of Jay. The air wasn’t any cooler out here even though the city had fallen into the gloaming while we were all drinking and arguing up in the suite. Dusk hovered over us like a blanket, and as much as I wanted to race ahead of Jay, farther, faster, I felt weighed down by the hot air and too much gin.