Just Another Honest Mistake

Daisy had a habit of mangling details.

We would agree on Saturday, and only after I arrived at the cafe would she call, breathless and giggly, swearing she had meant Sunday all along. We would pick a restaurant, and she would confuse the street numbers or the name, leaving me wandering through the damp city streets for hours while my phone battery dwindled to nothing.

I cried about it more times than I could count. In the beginning, Austin used to snap at her on my behalf. He would tell her to get her head out of the clouds, tell her to stop being so careless with my time.