5. Daisy
CHAPTER 5
daisy
You’re not on the homestead anymore, Daisy.
“Homework? Man, she’s trippin’ if she thinks I’m reading this shit when I get back from practice,” grumbles the boy sitting closest to the door. “I don’t care how hot she is.”
“Watch it, Damien,” Tenley Robin’s nephew, Ethan, growls back at him.
“Why, she another one of your aunties?” Damien laughs and nudges the kid in front of him, and I pretend not to notice as I straighten the papers on my desk.
“Maybe she is. Either way, if I were you, I’d be more worried about catching a pass every once in a while,” Ethan replies and shoots him a dangerous glare just as the bell rings. Thankfully, everyone scatters before things get too heated.
“See you all tomorrow. Have a great afternoon,” I call out, but my voice is drowned out by the herd of juniors scrambling to vacate my classroom.
“Ugh. She doesn’t even wear makeup,” says one of the girls walking out of my last period class. I force a smile when she turns her nose up in disgust.
“That’s because she doesn’t need to,” replies another girl bitterly. This one turns to shoot me an apologetic look before she locks hands with Ethan, and he leads her out to the hallway.
I exhale loudly and return to my desk to stare blankly at the walls. It’s not that I expected teaching to be easy. But I hadn’t imagined it would be this hard. I’m barely a week into the school year, and there’s so much to do that I don’t even know where to start. I can’t imagine doing this without all of the lesson plans and activities that Loren had prepared for me.
My chin trembles and my eyes sting, but I sniff hard, refusing to give in to those feelings of hopelessness. Because I can do this. I have to do this. I’ve survived much worse, and I’m not giving up on this job, at least not until I get the hang of being self-sufficient. Then I’ll worry about finding my way and figuring out whether this is what I’m really meant to do. I blink back the tears and take a few deep breaths, reminding myself to trust in God’s plan for my life. I’m sure I’m meant to be where I am now for a reason, even if it’s not for a long time or for reasons I understand.
I’m reciting one of my favorite prayers when I hear JD’s voice at the open door.
“Knock, knock,” he calls out before he appears. “How’s it going, Miss Daisy?”
His expression falls as soon as he sees my face, so I paste on a smile. “Oh, it’s great. So far, so good, you know!”
“So that’s why you’re sitting here contemplating all of your life choices and wondering how you got to this point, right?” He laughs softly, and another teacher walks in behind him.
“Yeah, pretty much,” I reply, my smile feeling more genuine now.
“Daisy, I’m not sure if you’ve gotten the chance to meet Mrs. LeBlanc, our amazing Ag teacher,” he continues, gesturing to the woman who comes to stand beside him.
She’s wearing thick, navy cargo pants and a matching Carhartt button down with steel-toed work boots, and her brown hair is pulled back into a tight French braid. It’s all a stark contrast to my purple linen sundress and light green ballet flats, as well as the flower pinning back my long blonde waves.
“No, I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure. But it’s great to meet you,” I offer cheerfully, moving to extend a hand. She only lifts her chin in a silent nod and crosses her arms, so I pull my hand back quickly.
JD clears his throat. “Claire is also the head of our CTE department, so I was thinking the two of you could get acquainted now. Mr. Soileau already talked to you about Mrs. Joanie retiring at the end of the semester, leaving us with a permanent opening for a home ec teacher. And home ec falls under the career and technical education umbrella. If we’re lucky enough to get you to take Mrs. Joanie’s place, Claire would become your mentor teacher.”
“Oh, well, that’s … that sounds great,” I say, nodding too quickly.
“Except no one will ever replace Mrs. Joanie.” Claire presses her lips together in a flat line as she looks me up and down. “She’s a Camellia High institution. She’s been here longer than some of us have been alive.”
“Absolutely,” JD confirms. “All the more reason she deserves to retire.”
“Hmpf,” Claire grunts. “You certified yet?”
“Who, me?” I squeak.
“No, the other flower-child Barbie. Of course I mean you.”
JD glares at Claire and clears his throat, and she rolls her eyes. “Sorry. It’s been a long day,” she mutters after a second.
I nod. “I graduated with a minor in elementary education, but I still have to take the certification exams for high school. I hadn’t planned on teaching older kids.”
“No kidding,” she deadpans.
“Hey, we all know alt-cert teachers are the best because they’re forged by fire. If you can survive your first few weeks in a high school classroom with little to no prep, the next thirty years will be a breeze, right?” JD says, his eyes roaming my desk. “You don’t have any snacks in here, do you? Didn’t Lo—I mean, Ms. Reed—leave some peanut butter cookies behind or something?”
I stifle a laugh. “Sorry. All out of snacks.”
He lets out a disappointed hum, and I know it doesn’t matter, but I still feel guilty for letting him down. I make a mental note to bake something tonight and keep it on my desk for later. Truthfully, JD’s been nothing but nice to me, and I need all the help I can get.
I glance over to Claire, secretly wondering what I could do to impress her. She’s wearing the same look of disapproval as the catty girl with the contoured cheekbones and the unnaturally thick eyelashes from last hour. I’d be lucky to get her to not hate me at this point.
“So, I guess this means I need to get to work studying for that high school pedagogy exam?” I say after a while.
“Exactly. The sooner you pass that test, the sooner we can get you a full teacher’s salary and benefits,” JD remarks, making my stomach dip, and not in a good way. “Claire, think you can help her with the test prep?”
“Wait, I’m sorry, but did you just say I won’t get benefits?” I ask carefully. “As in, no health insurance?”
“Subs don’t qualify for health insurance in our district. But pass that test in the next few months, and you’ll get a bump in pay as soon as the board approves your hire for that full-time position,” he explains.
I swallow hard, ignoring the panic rising inside. “Oh right, of course,” I reply, my voice cracking. “Thanks for clearing all that up for me.”
They both frown, apparently sensing my distress. “I still have a test prep book in my classroom. You can use it to study,” Claire offers, to my surprise. Her posture softens a little when I thank her.
“Let me know if you need anything, Miss Daisy,” JD says. “Hang in there. It’ll get better. And let me know if my boy ever causes you any trouble.”
“Ethan’s been great,” I tell him, and he grins proudly.
“He’d better be. And the same goes for the rest of the football team,” he adds, making me cringe. Claire huffs out a laugh when his tone shifts. “Text me a list of names before practice this afternoon,” he adds, his voice almost a growl.
I assure him that everything’s fine before ushering them out, mostly because I’m afraid the kids will only get worse if they suspect I ratted them out to their football coach. At least Claire seems to have warmed up to me a little.
After that, I go down to the teachers’ lounge to heat up my lunch. Unfortunately, I don’t get in before the rush to the microwave, and I’m stuck waiting in line as precious seconds tick away before the impending bell.
I try to start up a friendly conversation with a few of the other teachers, and although most of them are generically nice, they’re also too busy to socialize. And the ones who have time to chat also seem a little cliquish.
“Well, well, well, Jaz,” croons the French teacher, Madame Beth. “If it ain’t our favorite coach.”
Jasmine, the pep squad sponsor, rolls her eyes when one of the baseball assistants passes by in a rush. “A grown man walking around with a backpack at work, let that sink in.”
“ Mais, gardez donc ,” Beth continues, clicking her tongue. “He must be using it to store his boudin stash, because he’s sure not using it to carry the test papers he grades at home.”
“Ah, that’s what that smell is.” Jasmine smirks.
“All I know is Dora needs to get his ass to school on time so the rest of us ain’t stuck babysitting his classes,” Mrs. Rachel chimes in as she passes by.
Teachers don’t like having to pick up one another’s slack. Noted.
“Oh, speaking of, I’ve gotta leave about thirty minutes early for tomorrow’s meet. Can you take my last period?” Jasmine asks Beth, who happily agrees.
“You still covering my parking lot duty Friday morning?” Beth goes next.
“Yep. I got you,” Jasmine returns.
“ Merci beaucoup ,” Beth says, grinning.
Hmm. Okay. Correction to that last observation— teachers like feeling appreciated when they have to pick up one another’s slack.
The bell rings again, and I’m left with my cold leftovers in hand. I shovel it in on my way back to class, and the last few periods of the day go even worse than the first. I rush down to the copy room as soon as the dismissal bell rings, only to find the machine already backlogged with jobs. I feel my stress levels rising as I watch each sheet come off the copier, one at a time, hoping it’ll clear up by the time Landry gets here to pick me up. Then my phone chimes at the same time a paper jam ensues, and I’m doing my best to multitask between the copy machine and the group chat my sisters have started. My mom and dad have been leaving me in peace for the most part, settling for a daily text or a phone call every other day, but I know my sisters will only pester me more or alert my parents if I don’t reply right away.
Marigold
How’s it going, Daisy?
Iris
Are you teacher of the year yet?
Magnolia
Did you snag a man yet?
Rosemary
How have you been feeling?
Violet
Are you coming home this weekend? I need your help with a sewing project.
Iris
Why aren’t you answering us?
Magnolia
Are you still at work?
I groan and use the speech-to-text feature on my phone to send them a reply.
Daisy
I’m fine but I’m still at work and the copy machine’s broken so I can’t answer now but don’t worry because oof oh you son of a mother trucker oh I’m sorry Madame I didn’t mean to stop your copies but it was jammed yes okay I’ll just come in early tomorrow okay thanks have a great afternoon.
I glance down at my message and growl again in frustration. My sisters are going to jump all over that. My phone buzzes again, but I switch to Do Not Disturb mode and tuck it away before I run upstairs to grab the rest of my things. Then I head outside to find Landry’s Jeep parked at the gate with him looking practically irate from his place in the driver’s seat.
“Hi,” I say cheerfully. “Thanks for coming.”
“Where the hell were you? I’ve been waiting almost twenty minutes,” he spits out.
I flinch. “I’m sorry. The copy machine jammed, and I couldn’t just leave it that way.”
“Then why didn’t you answer me?” he grumbles as he turns onto the main road.
“You texted me?” I pull out my phone.
Landry
Hey, I’m here.
Everything okay?
Do I need to come inside to help you?
Daisy, if you don’t answer me soon, I’m calling the school.
Shitake mushroom salad.
There’s also a missed call from him, along with another dozen texts from my sisters.
“I’m so sorry. My sisters put me in a group text and I?—”
“Look, I don’t mind helping you. But I have enough on my plate without needing to worry about whether you’re in there having a freaking seizure on the stairs or getting accosted by a student, so the least you could do is answer the damned phone when I call.”
He’s not yelling, but his stern tone is enough to push me over the edge. I’m powerless to stop the tears from flowing this time, as much as I wish I could hold it together for a few more minutes until I make it to the sanctuary of my own bedroom.
“I’m sorry, Landry,” I choke out.
He glances over and groans. “Of course you’re crying.”
“I’ve been having a rough day, all right?” I reply quietly, trying not to break out into full-on sobs.
“Yeah, well, spending the day in the NICU with my sister and my nieces wasn’t exactly a walk in the park for me.”
“Is everything okay? Did something happen today?” I ask quickly.
“Nothing’s changed,” he says flatly.
“Oh. Okay,” I reply, sniffling and wiping my cheeks.
We’re both silent from then on, and Landry slams the front door angrily behind us once we’re back in the house. I’ve made it a point to stay out of his way each time he gets like this, which seems to be every time he returns from a visit with his family. And he’s been checking in on Loren and the twins nearly every day since we moved in together a couple of weeks ago.
Although I intended to hide away in my bedroom for a while, I stop by the kitchen first once I remember how hungry I am.
“Landry?” I call out reluctantly. I hear him shuffling around near the laundry nook. “I’m making myself something to eat. Would you like anything?”
“Is it more eggs?” he retorts sarcastically.
I frown at the carton in my hands. “Maybe.”
I think I hear him snort before yelling, “No thanks.” But before I can finish heating the frying pan, he stomps into the kitchen and tosses a small bundle of clothes onto the counter.
“Um, can I help you?” I ask curiously.
“Is there anything left sacred here?” he rants, snatching something from the pile and waving it in front of me.
My lips twitch, but I bite back a smile. “Whatever do you mean?”
“You leave me no space! Everywhere I go, the shower, my Jeep, the couch—all I find is blonde hair. I can’t make a trip to the grocery store without you. You drank the last of my milk this morning. And God forbid I wash a load of laundry without something of yours ending up in it!”
I should be upset. Usually, this is the part when I’d start crying again. But whether it’s a culmination of this lousy day or the fact that he’s using my underwear to prove his point, I can’t find it in me to do anything but laugh. I cover my mouth and choke back a giggle, which only serves to further annoy him.
“What the hell is so funny?” he grumbles.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about the hair,” I barely get out. “But I promise to be more deliberate about keeping our laundry separate if you’re really all that threatened by my panties.”
His dark brows draw together before he glances down at the fabric in his hands. Then he picks them up and inspects them for a second. “You were wearing these when I walked in on you the other day,” he mumbles absently, and my laughter subsides.
I swallow hard and reach out, but he quickly snaps back into Irate Landry mode and tosses the underwear at my chest as if it were a ticking bomb.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, shaking my head. “I didn’t realize mixing our laundry would bother you so much.”
“Yeah, well …” He crosses his arms and looks away.
“Is it the washing or the sorting that makes you uncomfortable?” I ask carefully.
“What?”
I sigh. “If you have something against washing our clothes together, we can get separate laundry hampers and set a schedule for using the washer. But if you just don’t like finding my clothes when you go to fold yours, I don’t mind taking over that chore for both of us.”
“You want to do my laundry?”
I shrug. “Sure. It’s not a big deal. And I know you won’t have as much time to do it yourself when you start working full time at the clinic.”
He presses his lips together in a hard line. “Okay. Fine. You can handle laundry. I’ll supply the detergent.”
“Deal.” I smile cheerfully. “And while we’re at it, would you mind terribly if we made a trip to the grocery store? I need to get more eggs … and some baking supplies.”
“Baking supplies?”
“I want to make peanut butter cookies for … some friends.”
“What friends?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Loren … and JD. He mentioned that your sister used to keep peanut butter cookies on her desk, so I thought it would be nice if I made a batch to share with him at school since he’s been so kind to me, and we could bring some to Loren to cheer her up, you know?”
“You want me to bring you grocery shopping so you can bake cookies for JD mother-freaking Bourgeois?” He enunciates the words so carefully that I know he means to show me he’s censoring himself.
“Maybe?”
“Do you even know how to bake peanut butter cookies?” he asks through his teeth.
I lick my lips nervously. “Not exactly. I mean, we never made anything with peanut butter back home because of Rowan’s peanut allergy, but I’ve seen my mom make other cookies before. How hard can it be?”
He growls.
“Oh.” I cringe. “And I almost forgot. Tomorrow is the Feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Mother, so it’s a holy day of obligation. Would you be able to bring me to Mass at six in the morning?”
Another loud rumble resonates from deep within his chest, and he stomps off without giving me an answer. I should have known that would push him over the edge, since he’s apparently more of a night owl and prefers to sleep in, while I’m an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kind of girl.
I sigh and return to my eggs, wincing when I hear him slam the bathroom door a few seconds later. He marches back into the kitchen, this time wielding a small silicone cup and an expression that makes me warm all over.
“Daisy.” He pauses to inhale deeply. “Do I even want to know what the hell this is?”
“Nuh-uh,” I squeak and shake my head.
“Daisy.”
I shiver at the sound of my name in his deep, authoritative tone. Maybe I should be worried by the way he’s staring at me with his jaw clenched and his eyes blazing. But I know Landry would never physically harm me, no matter how much I annoy him. He might say something hurtful, but he wouldn’t mean it. And the truth is that he’s … well, he’s kind of sexy when he’s angry.
I clear my throat and move forward to carefully pluck the item in question from his hands. “It’s my menstrual cup.”
“Your … what ?”
“My menstrual cup. It’s what I use in the place of … you know, tampons.”
He blinks at me. “And you thought it’d be cool if you left your period cup on the sink … next to my toothbrush?”
I bite my lip. “Sorry?”
His nostrils flare, and I know I shouldn’t be thinking it, but gah , he’s hot.
“I can’t …” He pauses, swallows hard, and breathes through his nose before he begins again. “Look, Daisy, I wanted to help you. But I didn’t sign up for PMS and panties and period cups and … baking cookies for your work crush. So you can either grow the hell up or find another damned roommate.”
This time he stomps out of the front door, slamming it behind him.