by Kate Rorick
“Oh, Daisy!” she said. “Come here!”
“Can’t stop, hit you on the way back!” Daisy said as Carrie increased her speed. Daisy didn’t have to stop and question what Shanna had been so dramatically gasping over.
She knew.
Hell, she had been there.
She had seen the video, of course. The new one. She had immediately texted her friends in Los Angeles as soon as appropriate (read: as soon as she thought they might feasibly be awake on New Year’s Day) to—well, mostly to freak out.
Sarah Prime had texted back first.
Sarah Prime: Hey, Daze – Happy New Year! What’s going on?
What’s going on? Daisy thought desperately. Only that she had just started to think she maybe hadn’t completely destroyed someone’s life, when—nope! Turns out Quinn’s life was now Destroyed 2: Destroy Harder.
Then her other friends jumped in.
Allie: Girl, only you would text at this hour. How are you? It’s been so long!
And that’s when Daisy realized . . . she hadn’t spoken to her friends in a very long time. Not since her initial panic over the first video.
She’d told them what was going on, but over the course of the conversation, Daisy realized she wasn’t going to find any advice or absolution from her friends, because they were so removed from this. They loved her, they cared about her (actually, it turned out that Allie was a little worried that Daisy hated her, since they hadn’t really spoken since the Halloween video situation), but they didn’t live the same lives anymore.
They didn’t even know about her hair color.
So, she had gone through the New Year’s weekend friendless. Enjoyed by herself the blind panic and chewing her nails to the quick over her role in Quinn’s latest debacle. And mostly, she just felt tired and sad. And guilty. So deeply guilty over her role in it. And the truth was becoming alarmingly clear.
The Halloween video was never going to go away. Not completely.
And she was just going to have to live with it.
When they got to the Tadpole Room, Daisy was on alert. She hadn’t seen Quinn in person since New Year’s (and Quinn certainly hadn’t seen her there) and she knew she wouldn’t be able to look her in the eyes. It was Wednesday—she had managed to avoid being in the same drop-off window. To be fair, yesterday she had spotted Quinn’s car in the parking lot and had circled the block a few times until it was gone. She was late to the boutique, but she’d done so well over the holidays for Elaine, she’d earned a little grace.
Luckily, Quinn and Hamilton were nowhere in sight. Time for Daisy to do a quick drop-off and trot out the door.
But as Carrie gave her a big squeeze (a bit clingier than normal, but Ms. Rosie said that coming back to school after two weeks off was always a little tough) and shuffled off to join Jordan playing dolls (Jordan, issuing what doll Carrie got, and Carrie meekly submitting. Strange, Carrie was never meek . . .), Daisy was held from her quick retreat.
“Daisy, right?”
It was Elia’s dad, who had just entered, Elia leading the way and straight into a hug for Ms. Rosie.
“Um, yes, hi,” Daisy said.
His eyes flicked to her hairline, and she knew he was remembering her old color, reconciling the two. “You work at the Cranberry Boutique in town, right?” At her nod, he said, “My aunt Elaine runs it—she just absolutely gushed about you.”
“Oh—that’s very nice to hear.” Wow, Cosplay Daisy must really make the right Needleton impression.
“Listen, I know it’s last minute, but Elia’s having her birthday party at the Bounce Palace in Depford next weekend. Is Carrie available to come? I know Elia would love it, I see her give Carrie a hug every morning.”
Daisy blinked—true, Elia gave Carrie a hug every morning. In fact, she was hugging her right now. But Elia hugged everyone. To a degree that made Daisy hope someone would have a talk with her about bodily autonomy in the nearish future. That didn’t mean they were special friends.
But then she realized, this was the first time Carrie, or Daisy for that matter, had been invited to anything, outside of Shanna’s beneficence, since coming to Needleton.
Carrie, and Daisy, were being included.
“Um—sure. I think so,” she said, and nodded.
“Great, I’ll send you the Evite.”
They exchanged emails, and Daisy deposited Carrie’s heavy coat in her little cubby before she headed out. As she headed out the door, she heard Elia’s dad saying to his daughter, “No, honey, you have to let go. Oh, that’s—that’s a great hug, your best ever, but I still need to go to work—”
The little thrill of being invited to the party fled the minute she hit the hall, and ran smack into the still lingering Shanna and Suzy.
Damnit, her goal of Quinn avoidance and a quick getaway was again under threat.
“Daisy, good to see you,” Suzy said, turning an anticipatory smile to her. “How was New Year’s for you?”
“. . . Oh, it was great.” She watched warily as Shanna and Suzy exchanged a glance. “Really nice and relaxing . . .”
“Okay, we can’t stand it anymore. You have to tell us everything,” Shanna said.
“Tell you what?”
“About the ball!” Suzy replied. “Shanna said you went to the hospital charity ball.”
“Oh—it was also nice. We had a good time.”
“And then . . . ?” Shanna said. “We want details. About,” and here she dropped her voice and mouthed the words, “Quinn Barrett.”
“Oh . . . it was . . . it was . . .” But as her eyes registered their eager faces, Daisy lost her placid words. It was what? It was unfortunate. And more than that, it was cruel. And she hated that she was feeding the trough of gossip that Shanna was currently feeding from.
But before she could find any words, Quinn Barrett herself walked in the door.
Quinn didn’t look perfect, for the first time ever in Daisy’s experience. She wasn’t a hobo, or anything like that, but she was wearing a puffy jacket over a paint-flecked work shirt. And her shoes were not three-inch heels—instead she had on snow boots, like the rest of them, with yoga pants tucked in. She looked . . . like a mom who hadn’t showered.
She looked normal.
She still had on the big dark glasses that hid her gaze, but now she wasn’t holding her chin in the air, making it impossible for people to meet her eye. Now, she had her gaze down, stomping snow off her boots and dusting off Hamilton, who looked like he’d rolled around in the fresh powder outside the door.
“Come on, Hammy,” she was saying. “I’m sorry I overslept, but you gotta help me here. What’s our Mommy Ham mantra?”
“Try for perfect,” Daisy thought she heard the little boy say, in a subdued voice, as he was pulled down the hall and disappeared into the Tadpole Room.
“Oh, my,” Shanna said with relish. “How the mighty have fallen.”
“Looks like the remnants of a three-chardonnay night,” Suzy said, with a—as far as Daisy could tell—sincere look of shock. Then, her smart watch beeped. “Damn, I’m late already.”
“Okay—see you tonight at the Parent Association meeting,” Shanna said. “And don’t forget to bring the temp flyers, and the schedule for the vendor calls—oh, and the map of the layout from last year’s Family Fun Fest—and all that other stuff I texted you.”
“Right,” Suzy said, with a brittle smile. “But now I have to go to my actual job.”
Shanna’s eyes narrowed a little, but she air-kissed Suzy and gave her a little wave as she pulled the hood of her heavy coat up and prepared to do battle with the out-of-doors.
Daisy was about to say that she should get going too, when Shanna leaned over and whispered, “She got fired, you know.”
“Suzy?” Daisy said, alarmed.
“No—Quinn.”
Daisy’s eyes went wide.
“Because of the New Year’s video?”
“Must be—or because of her atrocious behav
ior.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Daisy reasoned. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”
Daisy had watched the New Year’s video, several times. And from what she could see, all Quinn did was prevent a fire, and dissuade a stupid kid from compromising his recent organ transplant. And she wasn’t the only one who had felt that way—the vast majority of the comments were on Quinn’s side.
“Hold up—are you telling me your bro was SMOKING UP? He’s lucky to have those lungs!”
“Jax—I love you but LISTEN TO THE MOM. Don’t be a jackass.”
“Do you know how many people are waiting on the transplant list? Your bro got his cuz you’re famous—don’t go rubbing it in everyone else’s face.”
But something else didn’t fit in Daisy’s brain.
“How do you know?” she asked suddenly.
Shanna ripped her gaze away from the Tadpole Room door, waiting for Quinn’s reemergence.
“How do you know she got fired?” Daisy asked.
“Oh—” Shanna said, a little sheepish. “Well . . . to be frank, I called her office. And they said she was no longer with them.”
Just then, the Tadpole Room door opened, and both heads turned automatically to watch as Quinn emerged, freed from the weight of Hamilton and his stuff. When she saw Daisy and Shanna, she started—as if she had been waiting for them to be gone, and was unpleasantly surprised to see them still there. But it was only for the briefest of seconds. Almost immediately, her sunglasses were back over her eyes and a neutral expression frozen on her face.
Daisy immediately dropped her gaze to her toes, guilt sweeping over her.
“Don’t forget, Parent Association meeting tonight,” Shanna said, as Quinn hustled past. “Everyone is welcome.”
Quinn Barrett turned on her heel, cocked her head to one side, and blithely flipped Shanna the bird.
Daisy felt a surge of pride. Good for you.
And then she realized—it wasn’t guilt that had swept over her as Quinn walked by. It was premonition. It was the queasiness that comes from knowing something awful is inbound—and that awfulness emanated from Shanna.
“Well, really—that was unnecessary!” Shanna said, aghast.
“Why would you do that?”
“Seriously!” Shanna took out her phone and began furiously texting. “She has gone off the deep end.”
“No, I mean, why would you call her office?” Daisy asked.
Shanna’s head came up. Her alarm softened into a look of faux concern.
“Okay, Daisy—I know you feel guilty for your role in this situation, but—”
“Yeah, I feel guilty. But you—you’re relishing her pain,” Daisy said, eyes narrowing. “That’s just cruel.”
Shanna’s thumb had frozen over her phone. Her jaw dropped, and her eyes seemed incapable of blinking.
“Daisy . . .” There was a warning in her voice. But Daisy decided not to hear it.
And without an excuse (oh, I’m going to be late, too!) or a goodbye, Daisy turned on her heel and walked out the door.
As she clicked away on the bright linoleum, Shanna called back after her:
“Don’t forget, Parent Association meeting tonight! See you there!”
* * *
Needleton’s Main Street still bore the hallmarks of the recent holidays: strands of Christmas lights were still wound around the trees, there was a garland and wreath strung across the main intersection that likely wouldn’t come down until they got a few days off from constant snowfall. But in the shop windows, time had definitely moved on. After-holiday sales dominated the front of the stores, everything that had a Santa on it was designated to a clearance rack, as well as anything with long sleeves. Believe it or not, the shops were getting ready to make room for spring and summer.
“Thank goodness I had you,” Elaine had said, as she moved some over-embellished holiday sweaters to a circular rack in the back. “You were my top salesperson. You have a very bright future in sales. Why, without you, I might have gone the way of the Knick Knack Nook.”
The Knick Knack Nook was the narrow, dusty store next to the coffee shop on the corner. Despite the stellar location (because who doesn’t like coffee) there was now a Going Out of Business sign in the window, next to a For Lease sign. Tragically, they hadn’t sold enough shell-shaped soaps and carved whale tealight holders over the holidays to keep surviving.
But despite her stellar sales record, almost no one was coming through the door on a random Wednesday morning in early January. Maybe it was the after-holiday malaise. Maybe it was the fresh six inches of snow on the ground, and more that was still falling. Either way, by ten-thirty, Daisy had rearranged the entire store, had updated the computer’s inventory, and was basically twiddling her thumbs.
“You might as well head home,” Elaine said, on a sigh. “If this snow keeps up, no one is going to feel like shopping.”
Great—now she was facing a whole day without earning even her meager precommission salary. But while she regretted the money—every penny she made went into their down payment fund, and the holidays had been such a boon—she was a little giddy to have the free time.
Seriously, what did someone without kids—with time to kill—do? Should she go home and prep dinner? Binge-watch something? Take an exercise class? Paint the Sistine Chapel?
Contemplate the hell she might have wrought with Shanna?
No—she didn’t want to do that. She didn’t want to obsess about Shanna, or Quinn, or any of that mess for once. A few hours to herself were too precious, she had to take advantage . . .
Daisy suddenly had a vision of the glossy, oversized Fifth Edition hardcover sourcebooks buried in a box in the garage somewhere. Their gorgeous illustrations, their tantalizing details. An afternoon wasn’t long enough to put together an entire campaign, but she could plot an adventure. Nothing big, a one-shot for three or four players—four, maybe five hours of game play, max.
Of course, she didn’t have anyone to plan an adventure for. But the idea of immersing herself back in her happy place fueled her enough to have her smiling as she strode into the coffee shop on the corner for a quick caffeine refuel.
And ran smack into what she had been hoping to avoid.
Because Quinn Barrett was at a table.
She had her back to the door, so didn’t see Daisy. Her attention was held by the front window, where she was gazing blankly at the snow, an empty coffee cup in front of her. For once, her sunglasses were elsewhere. But it was definitely her.
Even with the snow, they were not the only people in the coffee shop—although it was close. There was the dedicated typist in the corner, working away at his laptop, who seemed to come preinstalled at every Starbucks (although, this wasn’t a Starbucks—the Needleton town council had voted against allowing a Starbucks into their main street as “too corporate”).
Daisy could have turned and hightailed it to her car, parked behind the Cranberry Boutique, and fishtailed her way back to the house. But then fate intervened, and the barista caught her eye.
“Hi there!” he said, a dopey ray of incredibly ill-timed sunshine. “What can I get for you today?!”
She had no choice but to move from the doorway, and up to the counter.
Daisy froze, fearing that Quinn would turn her head at the words, the movement. But she didn’t. In the quietest whisper possible, she ordered a small black coffee, the drink that would take the least amount of time, get her out the door the quickest. But of course, after the barista had taken her money, he said—
“The carafe is empty! Need a new pot! Be right back!”
And he disappeared into the back storeroom.
As seconds ticked into minutes, Daisy became convinced that Quinn would notice her. That she would look at her, recognize her, and then all of Daisy’s insides would be revealed. And then what would happen?
Just as Daisy was panicking herself into a small heart attack—what the hell was the barista doing back
there, growing the freaking coffee beans?—the inevitable happened.
Quinn did look up.
She did see Daisy.
And then, she turned her head back to the snow.
“Here’s your coffee!” The barista’s mellow voice broke through her haze.
Slowly, she took the cup. And . . . then, what happened next, Daisy would never be able for the life of her to explain. But she found herself walking toward Quinn’s table.
Because . . . because Daisy realized she’d been so worried about Quinn seeing through her that she’d never actually seen Quinn. Not really. Not until their eyes had just met.
And what she’d seen was a mirror.
“Excuse me, Quinn?” she said, her heart going a mile a minute.
Quinn turned her head, a look of frank surprise on her face.
“Hi, I’m . . . I’m Daisy? Carrie’s mom? From . . . from Little Wonders?”
“I know,” Quinn replied, blinking. “Hi.”
“Hi.” It came out on a push of breath, Daisy more nervous than she’d been when running her first game. Hell, giving birth had been easier than this—and Carrie’s birth hadn’t been easy.
The pause must have been interminable, because Quinn eventually said, “Can I help you?”
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” She thought she’d have to force the words out, but once started they just spilled.
“What for?” Quinn said, her head cocking to the side.
“For the . . . for the video,” she fumbled. “Videos, plural now, I guess. It sucks that it happened, it’s . . . it’s total bullshit, and nobody deserves it. Least of all you. And . . . I’m sorry.”
There it was. All of her guilt, laid on the table—if not the whole truth, at least it was the whole feeling.
“O . . . okay,” Quinn said, blinking.
“Okay. Well . . . ,” Daisy replied, awkwardly. Now what? Full confession? Could she do it?
No. No she could not.
“See you around then!” And she scurried to the door before she could stop herself.