Daisy was taking a long time to come downstairs. He'd told her to pack lightly, that they could always buy the things she needed when they got to Charleston. They had decided to run away together. Daisy needed to get away from this place, from Tom, from the awful memory of hitting that Myrtle woman with the car.
He waits on Daisy's side of the solid mahogany Derby partners desk in the sitting room, tracing the intricately carved daisy designs of the drawer pulls. Glancing through the sliding doors towards the stairwell, Gatsby slides open the top drawer. There he finds a carefully organized array of office supplies-- paperclips, pushpins, and fasteners all settled into origami folded paper boxes; pens and pencils lined up carefully in a row; floral stationary with Daisy Buchanan embossed in gold cursive along the top. He takes out a piece, folds it in half again and again until it is small enough to slide into the inside front pocket of his lapel. He's about to close the drawer when he notices a stray envelope laying upside down in the bottom right hand corner of the drawer. When he turns it over, he sees his name written in a shaky hand-- Jay.
It is because Daisy is always so careful in her penmanship, and because it is taking so long for her to pack a bag and come downstairs, that Gatsby feels a twist in his stomach. Again, he glances out toward the stairwell, then frantically opens the envelope already sure of what he'll find...
My Dearest Jay-
I don't know how to go about explaining this to you in a way that will make any sense. After all that has happened, you're going to think I'm crazy for wanting to stay with Tom-- and I very well might be. But the truth that has always been is that he is the man I love. We've both made mistakes, mine maybe the worst of them all, but during that time you were away fighting the war, Tom and I fell in love and that love shaped us into the people we were meant to be. Granted, we are both our worst selves right now, but I believe it was the pressure of living up to the expectations placed on us--by family, friends, society, each other and ourselves-- that we began to grow apart. While I admit to having feelings for you, they aren't the kind of feelings that you have for me. I'm drawn to the parts of you that remind me of my Tom before he grew cold and distant. You hung on my every word, romanced me, made me feel as if I was the only girl in the room-- just the way he did in those early years of our relationship. I needed that, and so I let you in. But when you talked, I heard Tom's voice. When you touched me, it was Tom's soft hands I felt on my skin. It was his sweet breath I felt on my ear, then my neck, my lips. It was Tom I tasted.
I'm getting carried away. I don't mean to hurt you. I only hope you can understand. I'm staying, Jay. My home-- my heart-- is here.
Love,
Daisy
Gatsby's hands shook. He crumpled the letter and left it with the envelope on the desk. When he was able to catch his breath, the wind having been knocked out of him by an unexpected blow to the gut, he stood up slowly and headed towards the door. He stopped at the bottom of the stairwell, contemplated taking the steps two at a time up to the room she shared with Tom and banging down the door, taking her violently into his arms and kissing her roughly on the mouth.Instead, he turned, walked out the door and headed back to his house intending to clear his head with a swim.
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