Chapter 22
The apartment smelled like expensive perfume and burned coffee.
Marigold paused on the landing, her hand still on the doorknob, taking in the evidence of her mother's presence.
A silk scarf draped over the back of the sofa.
An open suitcase spilling designer clothes across the armchair.
Three—no, four—empty wine glasses on the kitchen counter, because Daisy had never learned to wash a dish when there were still clean ones available.
Her mother stood at the window, silhouetted against the morning light, one hand pressed dramatically to her chest as if she'd been caught mid-soliloquy.
"Marigold." Daisy's voice trembled. "How could you?"
*Here we go.*
In the past, those words would have sent her into a spiral of guilt and anxiety. She would have immediately started apologizing, trying to smooth things over, doing whatever it took to make her mother's distress go away. The pattern was so ingrained it was practically muscle memory.
But this morning, something had shifted.
Maybe it was the way Thallos had looked at her—really looked at her—as if she was the only thing in the world that mattered.
Maybe it was the sound of her own voice echoing in her ears as she'd dressed down Rachel on the sidewalk.
Maybe it was simply the accumulated weight of twenty-six years finally reaching its tipping point.
Whatever the cause, she felt… calm. Centered. Like her feet were planted firmly on solid ground for the first time in her life.
"Good morning, Mom," she said, closing the door behind her. "I see you helped yourself to my wine."
Daisy blinked, clearly thrown by the neutral tone. "Your wine? I needed something to calm my nerves after last night. The way that—that male spoke to me—"
"His name is Thallos." She crossed to the kitchen and began washing the abandoned glasses. The hot water felt good on her hands. Grounding. "And he spoke to you that way because you were embarrassing me on purpose."
"Embarrassing you? I was telling harmless stories! Family anecdotes! That's what mothers do when they meet their daughter's—" She waved a hand vaguely. "Whatever he is."
"Boyfriend." The word came out easier than expected. "He's my boyfriend. And those stories weren't harmless, Mom. You know exactly what you were doing."
Daisy pressed her hand to her chest again. "I cannot believe you're taking his side over your own mother's."
"I'm not taking sides." She set the clean glasses on the drying rack and turned to face her. "I'm setting a boundary. There's a difference."
Something flickered across Daisy's face—surprise, maybe, or calculation.
She was trying to figure out this new version of her daughter, trying to determine which approach would work best. Marigold had seen that look a thousand times before.
Usually it preceded either tears or a sudden change in tactics.
Today, it preceded tears.
"I can't believe you're being so cold to me." Daisy's voice cracked. A single, perfect tear rolled down her cheek. "I came all this way to see you. I've barely slept. I've been so worried about you, all alone in this little town with that—that—"
"With the male who defended me when you were humiliating me in public?"
"He stormed out like a child having a tantrum!"
"He left because watching someone I love be cruel to me made him angry." The words came out steady, even though her heart was pounding. "And honestly, Mom? It was the first time in my life someone's gotten angry on my behalf instead of at me."
Daisy's mouth opened. The tears stopped, replaced by genuine shock.
Good, she thought. Keep her off balance.
It was a strange thing, applying strategic thinking to her own mother.
But years of cleaning up Daisy's messes had taught her exactly how this woman operated.
Every emotion was calculated for effect.
Every crisis was manufactured to achieve a goal.
And if you looked closely enough, you could usually figure out what that goal was.
"Why did you really come to Harmony Glen, Mom?"
"To see you, darling! To make sure you're happy and settled—"
"The truth."
Daisy's face went through several expressions before settling on injured innocence. "I don't know what you mean."
"You never visit without a reason." She leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. "Usually you need something. Money, a place to stay between husbands, someone to clean up your latest disaster. So what is it this time?"
"That's a horrible thing to say."
"Is it untrue?"
Silence stretched between them. Outside, a bird sang. Downstairs, a truck rumbled past on Main Street. The apartment felt very small, very quiet, the air thick with tension and expensive perfume.
Finally, Daisy's shoulders slumped slightly—a subtle tell that meant she was about to abandon one strategy and try another.
"Fine." She sank onto the sofa, artfully arranging her silk robe around her. "There is something I wanted to discuss with you. A business proposition."
*There it is.*
She stayed where she was, keeping the kitchen counter between them like a barrier. "I'm listening."
"You know I've always had an eye for opportunity.
" Daisy's voice shifted into her "business" register—the one she used when she was pitching something ridiculous.
"And I've found an incredible investment opportunity in Sedona.
A spiritual wellness retreat. The market is booming, Marigold.
Absolutely booming. People are desperate for authentic experiences. "
"Spiritual wellness."
"Crystal healing, energy work, that sort of thing.
" Daisy waved a hand dismissively, as if the details were beside the point.
"The property is perfect. A little run-down, but nothing a good renovation couldn't fix.
The current owners are desperate to sell—divorce situation, very sad—and we could get it for a steal. "
"We."
"Well, that's where the proposition comes in." Daisy smiled—her charming smile, the one that had convinced four men to marry her and countless others to fund her various schemes. "The flower shop is doing well, isn't it? You've made it quite profitable."
Her stomach dropped. She knew where this was going. She'd known the moment her mother walked in.
"Mom—"
"Just hear me out." Daisy leaned forward, her eyes bright with the familiar fervor of a new obsession.
"The shop must be worth—what, a hundred thousand?
More? The location alone is valuable. And you could take that money and invest it in the retreat.
Be a partner! We'd work together, mother and daughter. Just think of it!"
"You want me to sell the shop."
"It would be an investment! The returns would be—"
"You want me to sell my shop. The one I rebuilt after you left it in ruins. The one I've poured two years of my life into. So you can buy a run-down property in Sedona and play at being a spiritual healer."
Daisy's smile faltered. "That's a very negative way to frame it."
"It's an accurate way to frame it." Her voice stayed level, even though something was burning in her chest. Real, genuine anger, not the suppressed kind she'd grown up swallowing.
"This is what you always do. You find a new passion, a new scheme, a new opportunity.
And when it falls apart—because it always falls apart—someone else pays the price. Usually me."
"That's not fair—"
"I spent my childhood cleaning up your messes.
" The words came out hot and fast now, years of resentment finally boiling over.
"Every time you got bored with a husband, I was the one who packed the boxes.
Every time you ran out of money, I was the one who found a way to keep the lights on.
Every time you bought something ridiculous on a whim—" She gestured around the apartment.
"—I was the one who figured out how to make it work. "
Daisy's face had gone pale. "Marigold—"
"This shop was supposed to be yours. Remember?
You bought it because you thought it would be 'charming' to own a flower shop.
You lasted three months before you got bored and moved on to Marco or whoever came next.
I was the one who stayed. I was the one who learned the business, who built the customer base, who made this place into something real. "
"I never asked you to do any of that."
"No. You didn't. Because you never had to ask." Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them back. "I always just… did it. Took care of things. Cleaned up after you. Because that was my job. That was what I was for."
Something shifted in Daisy's expression. The dramatic hurt was fading, replaced by something that looked almost like genuine emotion.
"That's not—I didn't mean for it to be like that."
"Maybe not. But that's how it was." She uncrossed her arms, letting her hands fall to her sides. "I love you, Mom. I do. But I can't keep doing this. I can't keep being your safety net while you jump off cliffs."
"I'm not asking you to be a safety net! I'm asking you to be a partner—"
"No, you're asking me to fund your latest adventure with everything I've built." She shook her head. "The answer is no."
The word hung in the air between them. Simple. Final. A complete sentence.
Daisy stared at her as if she'd sprouted a second head.
"No?"
"No."
"But—the retreat—the opportunity—"
"I don't care about the retreat." She moved to the armchair and began folding the clothes Daisy had scattered there, needing something to do with her hands. "If you want to buy a property in Sedona, find another way to fund it. I'm not selling my shop."
"You're being incredibly selfish."
She laughed—a short, sharp sound that surprised them both. "Selfish. That's rich, coming from you."
"I beg your pardon?"