7. Daisy
7
DAISY
I stand leaning against the kitchen counter, strong aromas filling my senses.
“Pass me the turmeric, please, Daisy?” my mom asks, and I lean over, grabbing the freshly ground spice as my mouth waters. She’s in the zone; she loves cooking, and her dahl is amazing.
“What’s Dad doing?” I ask, peeking out the window at my father, who looks to be attempting some handyman work outside, and handy is one thing my father is not.
“Fixing the lock on the gate. It broke last week.” Not looking at me, she stirs the curry.
“Does he need some help?” I ask as I see him give up on it already and walk back inside.
“You know your father. He’ll get it, eventually.” She sighs, and I smile before I look at the side table he made for Mom’s crystals. It’s on a little lean and is a bit wobbly, but she wouldn't change it for the world. He’s great with numbers, not so great with tools.
“Will there be enough for me to take home?” I ask, remembering Trisha wanted some.
“I’ll have a container for Trisha, don't worry,” she says with a smile.
“Smells good in here,” my dad says, announcing his entrance.
“Hey, Dad.” I push off the counter to go to him.
“Hey, Sparkie.” He says my nickname, something he’s called me since I was a kid, because with red hair and a fiery personality, he always thought of me as a bit of a firecracker. I’m calmer now as I’m older, or so I thought. My interactions with Connor these past few days have uncovered my old traits and tested my limits of civility.
Dad wraps me up in a hug so big and so warm there’s no safer place in the world. In his weekend uniform of slacks with trainers, he’s the average suburban father, who works with numbers, is a little overweight, a little balding, and I’m pretty sure he’s a member of the neighborhood watch committee. I think he was a nerd in school. He and Mom really shouldn’t be together. They are complete opposites, as she is crazy and carefree and makes decisions based on the moon cycle, whereas Dad is straitlaced and focused on data. Yet when he was out driving one day, coming home from a conference, he picked up a beautiful hitchhiker, and they’ve been together ever since.
“No luck with the gate?” my mom asks him as I move around them and set the table. Sunday lunch is our weekly get-together.
“No. I need a different tool, I think,” he says, and I grin before a small yawn filters through my lips.
“You seem a bit tired today, honey. Did you meditate this morning?” Mom asks me as we all take a seat and start to dig in.
“No. I had a late night,” I tell her, my body soothing as the first bite hits my taste buds and the spices clear my nostrils immediately.
“Oh, anything exciting?” she asks.
“I covered Trisha’s shift at the stadium. She had a date,” I tell them, my dad quietly observing.
“Oh, with Graham?” she asks innocently.
“No.” I shake my head.
“Oh, Christian.”
“Nope.” I shake my head, and she frowns, trying to recall.
“That girl…” My dad sighs, shaking his head, but otherwise remains quiet.
“His name is Tom,” I say, and they both nod with knowing smiles. This is just how Trisha is. I can’t wait to meet the guy she actually marries one day, since she thinks each person she goes on a date with is it for her.
“What about you, Daisy? Any man on the horizon?” Dad asks, and I give him a small smile. Because my parents met and married young, I think they expect the same of me.
“No. Still footloose and fancy-free,” I tell him, pulling at my sweater, the mere thought of dating making my skin itch. My mind flicks to Connor last night and the buxom blond date he had. She was rude, completely horrible, but when I heard Connor admonish her for her horrible comments about me, and then tell her to leave, a part of my frustration and anger with him fell away. I haven’t really had many people stick up for me before, and certainly not a man I barely know. It made me think that there’s more to him than I first thought, and if he was willing to have my back in a situation like last night, then in business, I know he would be supportive too.
“Stop pulling at your sweater. Here, let me get the clear quartz,” Mom says quickly, jumping up and going to the table of crystals she has nearby and passing one to me while holding one herself.
“I am strong. I am capable. I am enough,” Mom chants, and I look at my dad, who gives me a soft, encouraging smile. He isn’t into all this woo-woo, but he never dampens her shine. I hope I find a man just like him.
I close my eyes and grip on to the crystal, then take a few deep breaths.
“I am strong. I am capable. I am enough.” I repeat her words of affirmation and keep my eyes closed a little longer, taking another few deep breaths.
“Thanks, Mom,” I say, opening my eyes, feeling a little more relaxed, but hanging on to the crystal in my lap as she sits again.
“So how was it? The Jets had a hell of a game,” my father says, grinning. He’s a Jets fan. Has been all my life. I sometimes think if he had a son, he would be more involved in the sport, because he has only been to a few games. He says he doesn’t like all the people and prefers to have some space. Hence why he and Mom live here in the outer suburbs, with more grass, more room. But he does love watching them on TV.
“I wouldn’t even know. I just served drinks all night,” I say, clenching the crystal in my lap tighter.
“Whose suite did you manage last night?” Dad asks, apparently more aware of the work that Trisha does than I am.
“Connor Whiteman,” I say, my eyes flicking to Mom. Her eyebrows rise.
“The sound healing Adonis who came in on Friday?” she asks, putting two and two together.
“That’s the one. His girlfriend was not overly friendly,” I murmur, putting another forkful of curry into my mouth. I really need to stop talking. But he’s all I’ve been thinking about. Six figures is a lot of money. Whispers looks like a nice town. At first, I was offended by his arrogance and the way he pointed out all the faults at Sunshine, but now, I’m feeling different. Like this opportunity is one that I would be silly to pass up.
“Bad words create ugly people, I’ve always told you that,” Dad says, and I smile. He has always told me. In primary school, when the girls would be mean because I was bigger than them all, I would cry in my room and my dad would always be the one to console me.
Then in high school, when the boys started calling me Daisy Cow because of my weight, my dad marched down to school to see the principal, threw around a few professional words, such as harassment and verbal assault , and those boys got suspended. But it didn’t stop. I’ve been teased about my weight all my life.
“I know, Dad,” I say, sighing, thinking back to the woman. She was stunning. Model perfect. Exactly the kind of woman you would expect to be on Connor Whiteman’s arm. Although certainly ugly on the inside, if her words about me are anything to go by.
“Did he remember you?” Mom asks, looking at me innocently, and my guilt starts to fester. Am I really considering leaving her and Sunshine to work in a small town?
“Well… about that.” I put down my fork and look at both of them. “Connor actually offered me a job,” I tell her, and she sits up straighter. My nerves dance, not sure what they’ll say or think.
“A job?” my dad asks, frowning.
“He owns a whiskey distillery in a small town a few states over. They’re opening a spa, and he needs a consultant to help him get it up and running.” My palms sweat a little, and I grab on to the clear quartz harder.
“And he wants that to be you?” my dad asks, brows still pinched, clearly not liking the idea, which is in complete contrast to my mom, who’s beaming.
“Mm-hmm. He fell asleep during my treatment and then stayed back for a bit afterward, asking me a lot of questions. I think he saw my passion and knowledge and wants to bring that to his business,” I say, swallowing. I searched for him online last night when I got home from the game. Trisha was right. He’s a gazillionaire. There were lots of images online of him in suits, at high-end bars, at different functions with the president. It was all a little overwhelming, to be honest. But he’s clearly well regarded, his business brain in high demand, and he’s also very well connected. I feel from a business perspective, I would learn a lot from him, and though our banter has been mostly snide comments, we do riff off each other well, both full of energy.
“Well, I did say the universe would decide…” my mom says, but my father isn’t so easily convinced.
“So, he just expects you to, what? Pack up your life and move halfway across the country?” He’s worried, I can tell. As an only child, I’ve been here with them all my life, so he’s probably freaking out a little.
“Oh please, I was hitchhiking across the country when I was her age,” Mom quips.
“Exactly!” Dad says, looking at her pointedly, like they share a piece of information I’m not privy to. I ignore them and continue explaining.
“He would fly me and provide accommodations, as well as a consulting fee.”
“Whatever amount you’re thinking of charging, I want you to double it,” Dad grumbles. “It’s basically a relocation. Whether you’re there for a few days or a few weeks, it’s the same. You have commitments here that you need to uphold. Your mother needs…” he trails off.
I look at Mom as my stomach dips. I feel bad about leaving her, but I know in my gut, despite how infuriating Connor is, that this job opportunity will be a good move for me. To my surprise, Mom interjects.
“Nothing. Actually, I’ll cut down my hours and start to only open a few days a week when you’re gone. My hands are giving me too much pain these days anyway, so this is perfect. It allows me to slow down, and it allows you to try something new. When you finish, you can come back and consult with some of the amazing places here in the city. It’s a great skill set and experience to have,” Mom says, giving me a smile, and I can’t believe that I worried so much about what she would say. She may not like my ideas or growth plans for Sunshine, but she isn’t going to hold me back. I shouldn’t have underestimated her.
“I’m not totally sold on it,” Dad murmurs, although I see him softening.
“I don't really have a lot of other options for career growth at the moment, Dad. I didn’t go to college. I work all day at Sunshine. I feel like this might be a really good opportunity, and it isn’t forever. It’s a few weeks, a month or two, tops, maybe? You won’t even know I’m gone,” I tell him, and he sighs. The more I think about it, the more it feels like the right decision. I can’t work for my mom forever, and this will give me the experience of not only learning more about business but having new colleagues and new bosses to report to.
“That’s at least four Sundays…”
I give him a small smile, because that’s as good of an approval as I’m going to get.
“Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind?” Mom asks, looking at me expectantly, and I huff a laugh.
“Not at all. The job would be great, the small town looks quaint. But Connor is frustrating. Pretty arrogant at times. I’m not sure working with him would be worth it.” I scoop up more dahl as I think about it some more.
“Things don’t always go to plan in business, Daisy. You and your mother work well together, but when you work for others, compromise is a key attribute to utilize, as are negotiation and communication,” Dad says, as only a professional can.
“I know. But I enjoy what I do. I love working at Sunshine. I enjoy the treatments, yoga, the teas and elixirs, crystals.”
My mom smiles proudly, and my heart sinks a little as I realize I want more. I want to be more.
“Sunshine is your mother’s business. It doesn’t have to be yours,” my dad says, and Mom and I look at him.
“He’s right, honey. Sunshine is my passion; it was what I always wanted to do. But it may not be the way forward for you. Not in the way it is now. You’re always coming up with new ideas, but I’m happy with how things are. You need to find your passion.”
“I enjoy instructing, teaching, and building the business… I feel like all these years working with you, Mom, and helping out running Sunshine has really given me all the skills I need to take on this new role.” My creativity and positivity are now flowing as we talk more about it. Maybe it’s because I’m still holding on to the clear quartz.
“Well, when you do yoga flow classes, they are always well attended. You have many skills, darling, and you would be perfect for this opportunity,” Mom confirms, and I nod.
“Think about it some more. Just promise me you won’t rush into anything.” Dad gives me a serious look, and I can see the initial shock of it has worn off and he’s slowly coming around to the idea.
“Meditate on it, honey. The right answer will come to you, and we’ll be supportive of whatever you decide.”
I tried meditating. I closed my eyes and tried to find the clarity I was searching for to help me with my decision. But all I saw was his bare torso and his hard-as-rock abs and that little V that delved into his shorts that makes my mouth water just thinking about it.
I clear my throat and grab my fork again, digging into my food. Nope. I won’t meditate on it anymore.
But I can push my feelings for him aside in order to create a better future for myself. I would be a fool for doing otherwise.
Connor Whiteman and his abs can stay deep in the recesses of my mind. I can be professional, and I’m sure he can too.