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Finally managing to sneak away, Jay Gatsby sauntered onto the porch of his neighbor’s home, his own grand garden in view, just a few steps away, with Daisy’s hand wrapped around his forearm and her warmth radiating into his side. Peals of quiet laughter emerged from the two of them, and he turned to smile at her, as charming as he’d ever been, the feel of his mouth pressing into his cheeks to ensure Daisy knew he loved her, he saw her, in this moment and in all the moments they’d been forced to hide.
“Jay,” she gasped, “this is wonderful.”
“Isn’t it?” he agreed, staring into her lovely eyes, sparkling with the reflection of the garden lights. “And with Nick keeping watch, we can stay here all night, Daisy.”
“Oh, but won’t anyone look for you?”
“If they do, they can wait.” No business could be more urgent than Daisy, finally descending like an angel into his house, into his arms. He brought his other hand up to caress her cheek. “It’s just like back then, don’t you think? The two of us, alone at a party…”
Daisy nodded along to his words, a thoughtful furrow in her brows. “Oh — yes, haven’t we kissed in a garden with shrubs just like yours?”
“I don’t believe we have,” Gatsby replied, frowning. He withdrew his hand, bringing it to his chin in thought. “Why, were you—?”
“Right, of course,” Daisy said innocently. “How silly of me. They were just so gorgeous, I thought more gardens ought to have shrubs like those.”
Gatsby puffed up with pride. “Well, the gardener who planted them said they were his very best shrubs. I did him a favor once, and he landscaped this whole area back here and even planted those flowers by the front gate. I told him I thought the place might benefit from some more majestic trees, but he assured me that from all his twenty years of work, he was certain that this was going to accentuate the mansion.”
Daisy hummed, a melodic sound even in its tunelessness. “…That sounds delightful, Jay.”
He was a bit put out at the lackluster response. “It was nothing, really,” he added, summoning a chuckle from his dry throat. “I suppose you’ve seen all kinds of flora and met all kinds of people, travelling around like you do.”
“That’s more Tom’s scene,” Daisy mused, before she winced, letting go of his arm and shrinking away. “Ah… I mean…”
She fell into silence, and Gatsby followed. The magic of their getaway seemed to fade as the not-so-distant sounds of uproarious laughter became their only backdrop. The lights were once again just lights, the shrubs were haphazardly thrown around the grounds, the porch led into a lowly shack, and Gatsby was there, shivering, with a woman who hadn’t waited for him in the way he’d waited — or the way he’d been willing to wait, forever — for her.
No, he thought, I shouldn’t think like that. It was a mistake, that’s all. Daisy’s here, she’s with me, she’s only ever loved me. But he still felt cold in the night.
Some trace of his traitorous hesitance must have shown on his face, for Daisy murmured, “I’m sorry.” She patted around in her coat pockets and produced a box of cigarettes. Offering one to him, they began to smoke in silence instead.
In the lull, as the two exhaled at the same time, Gatsby suddenly blurted, “Does he… Is he… good to you?”
Daisy glanced at him, waving away the smoke. The longer she spent merely staring, the further his heart sank. But soon, she turned away, took another drag on the cigarette, and sighed. “Why, I don’t know what you mean.”
“Daisy.”
“Yes?”
Gatsby’s eyebrow twitched against his will, and he forced himself to smooth out his expression. “Just answer my question.”
“Oh,” she said dismissively, waving a hand once more, “he’s revolting.” How wonderful! A surge of hope immediately rushed to fill and uplift his heart. “But I don’t really want to talk about Tom. Do you really want to talk about Tom?”
“No,” he said, voice low to hide his giddiness. “Certainly not.” A puff of smoke later, he was calm again. “Let’s just think about us, then, Daisy. That’s all we need.”
She nodded in agreement, a frown of agreeable seriousness on her face. “That sounds marvelous.”
Gatsby wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close again. “You could come over to my house more often, Daisy, in the afternoons,” he whispered into her ear. “I’ll drive you wherever you want to go.”
“How exciting!” She giggled, the cadence of it tickling his chest.
“There’s a film playing in the movie palaces right now whose the lead actress is here tonight.” He nodded in the direction of the party. “We could watch it together — wouldn’t that be romantic?”
Daisy leaned her head on his shoulder, exhaling a whimsical cloud of smoke. “I can’t wait.”
“And in the fall, when it isn’t so hot, we can drive down south. Have you ever been to Pennsylvania, Daisy?”
“I’ve passed through.”
“I know a man down in Pennsylvania who has connections everywhere. He could get you an audience with the President, if you wanted.”
“Mmm.” And then, suddenly, Daisy shot up. “Oh, but I can’t go on any trips for very long.”
“What?” This was the first he’d heard of this. “I thought you love seeing new places. You had that book…”
At this, a small, cynical smirk grew on her face. The novelty of this expression captivated Gatsby, and the length of his stare forced her to cover her mouth, laughing politely. “Well, I’ve seen a lot of cities since then, Jay. In the end, they’re all much the same.”
Gatsby hummed, contemplative. Though he hid it with another drag, he felt unsteady at this revelation, the tucking away of something he thought he knew into knowledge of the past. The past, he thought to himself, faintly distressed.
“And Pammy wouldn’t like it,” she added. “She cries and cries when I’m away for too long. Goodness knows Tom won’t know how to take care of her without me.”
Tom again! “Useless man,” he remarked.
“Isn’t he?” She laughed again, the sound more vibrant in its sincerity.
“Why don’t you leave him?” Gatsby demanded. Daisy’s eyes widened, and she dropped her cigarette. She blinked down at it for a moment before stubbing it into the porch. Then her eyes returned to him, roaming his face.
“What?”
“Just think about it, Daisy,” he insisted, stamping out his own cigarette in solidarity. “Neither of you are Catholics, and marrying him was all a rotten mistake, anyhow. You’re unhappy, so you can leave him, and we could just… be together again instead. Own all the best clothing, know all the most interesting people, spend all our time dancing in my music room…”
Daisy continued to say nothing as he babbled on and on, humming instead an acknowledging tune whose troughs and peaks pulled him forward in desperation for her judgement. At last, she began to murmur, urging him to draw closer. “I suppose I’ll have to think on that. I’ve never considered it.” She smiled and pecked him on the cheek, and as she leaned back, the spot her lips had touched tingled with longing. “But I like you, Jay. I like you, and I’ll be certain to visit you no matter what.”
It almost mirrored a promise he had made to her, that month five years ago, and his heart hammered in his chest. “Okay—” Gatsby’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat to reply with what, since then, he’d wished Daisy had said. “Okay, Daisy. I’ll wait for you, always.”
Far too soon, Nick came to check up on them. He said he wasn’t sure if something had happened, and Daisy told him, of course not, and hadn’t she asked him to keep watch? He was doing it, Nick insisted, but he’d been watching the party so much that he hadn’t actually seen the garden area connected to his home. Oh, she understood, Daisy said playfully, winking theatrically at Gatsby, Nick was too busy watching beautiful young actresses. Nick sputtered out a denial as Daisy laughed, and with her triumphant stroll back to the party, Gatsby’s private moment with her was over.