Chapter 5 #2
But the Hall sisters have festooned every wall with Miss Philippa’s artwork and souvenirs from Miss Edie’s world travels.
Gold-framed paintings generously clotted in colorful oil adorn the walls along with wooden masks from multiple cultures, framed maps, and a gorgeous but faded kimono in a glass case.
A rainbow of paper parasols hang from the ceiling.
There’s even a beat-up piano in the corner that looks like someone rode it through a cattle stampede.
I know Miss Helene plays, but I’m guessing her real piano is in her apartment.
Daisy laughs in delight and throws her arms wide before pretending to pluck the parasols out of the air.
“Red,” she calls out. “Pink, green!”
Seeing the space through her eyes helps me appreciate how whimsical and cheerful all these bright colors and happy memories are. The sisters have really brought us into their home. They’re not trying to impress anyone with the giant foyer. They’re showing us what they love and where they’ve been.
“Want to see your room?” I ask Daisy.
“No,” she says, heading right for the piano.
I frown and jog after her. It’s not just that she shouldn’t touch someone else’s musical instrument. The thing looks like there’s a chance it might collapse or maybe just disintegrate into a pile of sawdust.
“That belongs to Miss Helene,” I tell her. “She plays the piano. Should we ask her to play it for you tomorrow?”
“Me,” Daisy says firmly.
“I’m sorry, Daisy,” I tell her. “You can’t play it without permission. But we can look at your room and then go see my friend, Liv. She has a cupcake for you.”
I hold my breath. Sometimes I can redirect Daisy, sometimes I can’t. Like most four-year-olds, she can be super stubborn.
“Cake?” she asks.
“Yes,” I tell her, praying that Liv is at home and really has put aside a cupcake for us. “I think you’ll like it a lot.”
“Okay,” she says, putting her hand out for me to hold it. “Thank you, Daisy.”
She knows I always say this when she decides to cooperate. It’s really hard not to chuckle when she does it.
“Thank you, Daisy,” I echo, nodding without cracking a smile.
The afternoon sun is just dipping below the trees when I open the door to our new apartment.
Liv’s apartment, my brain whispers.
Through the French doors, we can see the sun setting over the lawn. The yellow leaves of that gorgeous sugar maple are lit up like the tree itself is made of sunlight.
And inside the apartment, all of Daisy’s toys and books are out where she can see them.
“Book,” she squeaks, taking off and grabbing Where the Wild Things Are off the shelf.
It was my favorite when I was a kid too.
“Read you,” Daisy says, making herself right at home on a big, lumpy sofa that’s probably older than I am.
“Thank you,” I tell her, taking the seat beside her.
“Max,” Daisy says, pointing to the picture of Max chasing his dog with a fork in his hand, one of her favorites. “Bad.”
She’s grinning ear to ear. It tickles Daisy that Max is being bad, and she likes his costume.
And just like that, we’re in the midst of one of our rituals and this new place feels like home.
When we’ve finished the book and wandered most of the apartment, talking about Daisy’s bed, her clothes, and her toys, she remembers my earlier offer.
“Cake?” she asks me hopefully.
“Let’s see if Liv is at home,” I tell her, pointing over my head. “Her apartment is upstairs.”
Daisy stacks her fists on top of each other and raises the top one up and down. That’s the sign for umbrella.
At first I’m confused, then I remember all those colorful parasols hanging from the entry hall ceiling.
“She lives in the apartment that’s above this one,” I tell her. “Not up in the umbrellas.”
Daisy nods sagely. That makes more sense to her.
We head out of our own apartment and up the stairs, taking them carefully.
I pull in a deep breath when we get to Liv’s door, but Daisy makes a fist and bangs on it, two nice knocks, just like she used to do on Mrs. Stern’s door back in the city.
It’s quiet for a moment and I’m worried that Liv isn’t home. Daisy is being so good that I hate to think of disappointing her.
I’m thinking about where I might score a replacement cupcake when soft footsteps finally approach and the door swings open to reveal Liv, wearing what looks like the softest pair of oversized flannel pajamas I’ve ever seen.
“Hi, Daisy,” she says, her face lighting up when she sees my daughter.
“Daisy,” Daisy replies excitedly. “Daisy.”
She recognizes Liv from the daisy pancakes she made her at the diner, though Liv probably won’t get that.
“You remember the pancakes I made?” Liv asks her, looking amazed.
Daisy nods up and down, and I’m impressed at how well Liv communicates with her. It’s rare for someone who doesn’t spend a lot of time around Daisy to just get her like that.
“I made more daisies today,” Liv tells her. “But not pancakes. Want to see them?”
Daisy marches right in, no invitation needed, and Liv gestures toward the kitchen, which sure enough is right above ours.
The two of them head off and I’m left feeling like a third wheel, which is just fine by me. I’m glad Daisy has a new friend in Bluevale who isn’t a therapist or a family member.
Liv pulls a small container from her fridge and shows it to Daisy, who squeals with delight, causing Liv to smile brightly and tugging at something inside me in a way that’s partly pain, but also I can’t quite identify, except to know that it’s a feeling I’d love to have more of.
“Let’s ask your dad if you can have one now, or if it’s better to take them home for tomorrow,” Liv tells her.
“Are we interrupting anything?” I ask Liv.
“Nope,” she says. “I was just reading. A little company sounds nice. Want to sit at the table?”
She’s pulled her dining table over so that you can see the lawn through the French doors. And I can see why. The sunset over the hills is beautiful.
Daisy is already industriously climbing into a chair, so I move to the one beside hers.
“No,” Daisy says, shaking her head at me and grabbing the back of the chair with one little hand as she looks over at Liv.
She’s saving her seat. Have I ever seen her do that before? I don’t think so. It makes me smile.
“Okay,” I tell Daisy. “I’ll sit across from you. And you’ll tell me if you need anything.”
Daisy nods.
Liv brings three glasses of water, a stack of napkins, and three small plates to the table, then carefully places a cupcake on each of our plates.
“I get another one?” I ask her.
“Of course,” she says. “It’s no fun to eat a cupcake by yourself, is it, Daisy?”
But Daisy is too busy examining the pink flower on her cupcake to answer.
Liv takes a sip of water and watches Daisy while I take the wrapper off my cupcake.
I’m not normally into sweets, but these are truly amazing. I close my eyes around my first bite, and try not to groan out loud.
“You really like them,” Liv says with a smile.
“Delicious and beautiful,” I say, nodding. “You’re an artist.”
“Thanks,” she says simply. But I can tell my words meant something by the way she ducks her head down, like she doesn’t want me to see that she’s pleased.
Daisy, meanwhile, has finally dug into her own cupcake. She’s got pink frosting on one cheek and she hums as she chews.
“Why aren’t you a cook?” I ask Liv. “You’re a great waitress, but these are phenomenal. And the pancakes were amazing too.”
“I’d love to bake for a living,” she says. “But so would half the world, probably. It’s a fun hobby, and the diner pays the bills.”
“Well, if you ever want to test out new recipes on anyone, Daisy and I will help,” I say. “Right, Daisy?”
But once again, Daisy is too busy to talk.
This time she’s playing with the frosting, smearing it on the plate, like she’s drawing with it.
I wince inwardly at the idea of Liv being annoyed or worrying that Daisy’s going to get her frosting-covered fingers all over her apartment.
But I also know that this kind of activity is really great for Daisy. And if she did it at home I would absolutely let it play out.
Just as I’m trying to decide how to handle things, Liv turns to Daisy.
“Are you decorating with frosting too?” Liv asks her.
Daisy pauses what she’s doing and thinks about it.
Most adults just answer for Daisy when she pauses for this long, but Liv waits, like she knows for sure she’s going to get an answer.
“Yes,” Daisy says, proving her right.
“Do you want to decorate your own cupcake?” Liv asks her.
“Yes,” Daisy says.
“Okay,” Liv says. “Hang on just a second.”
She heads into the kitchen and pulls something out of the fridge, then she bangs around in the cabinets, and there’s the sound of a fork hitting the sides of a bowl, like she’s mixing something.
A moment later, she reappears with two plain cupcakes, a bowl of white frosting, an empty bowl, two frosting spreaders, and a container of rainbow sprinkles.
She sets down a cupcake on each of their plates.
“Daisy,” she says. “The first thing we do is put frosting on the cupcake. I don’t have all the colors, so we’ll decorate with sprinkles instead. Watch this.”
I’m impressed that she expects Daisy to be interested, and that she’s giving her the real tools to give it a try.
A lot of people look at Daisy and only imagine what she can’t do. Liv is doing the opposite right now.
Daisy does watch Liv spread white frosting on her cupcake.
Liv doesn’t make the frosting completely smooth, like maybe she wants to set the bar a little more reasonably for Daisy.
“Me,” Daisy chirps plaintively.
“Yes,” Liv says. “Your turn.”
She pushes the frosting and a spreader over to Daisy.
After a lot of effort, she manages to transfer a gigantic glob of frosting onto her cupcake.
It also gets on the paper and the plate.
Her fine motor skills will be a work in progress for a while, and like any preschooler, she’s more enthusiastic than careful anyway.