by Kate Rorick
“And I can cover my tattoos with makeup if I need to.”
“Well . . . that makes a certain kind of sense, I guess,” Quinn replied. “At least you were an individual, not the carbon-copied blondish-blowouts everyone strives for around here. Me included.”
Daisy looked down at her arms, lovingly. “The stories that these tell are so much a part of me that I don’t want to take them off. It’d be like taking off my stretch marks.”
“You . . . wouldn’t want to take off your stretch marks?” Quinn asked, aghast.
“When I’m faced with a bikini model on a billboard, yeah . . . but most of the time, no.” Daisy shrugged. “Carrie is a result of said stretch marks. It’s kind of hard to regret them.”
Quinn looked down to her trim waist. All those hours spent in the Pilates studio, all those half-empty cream jars in her cabinet she’d slathered over her stomach to prevent any lines when she was swollen with Hamilton. Not that they actually prevented them. They were still there.
“Do you regret yours?” Daisy asked.
“Right now . . . I’m regretting all the time I spent trying to maintain perfection.” She sighed. “I am an interior designer. My whole life is about shaping things to look a certain way. To look perfect.”
“You look great,” Daisy said, trying to placate.
“Thanks. But it’s kind of blown up in my face.”
Daisy bit her lip. “With the videos, you mean.”
“I thought my work would speak for itself. I thought my drive to create perfect spaces for my clients would be enough to show my design firm that the videos didn’t matter. But no.”
“Did you get fired?” Daisy asked. She seemed strangely fearful of the answer.
“No,” she answered honestly. “After they broke their promises to me, I left.”
It had been so easy to walk out the door of Crabbe and Co. on Monday. It was a mere few minutes after she had walked in, and thrown her hard copy of the latest issue of Martha Stewart Living on the table.
Jeremy protested, of course. Saying that the work that got highlighted was the firm’s achievement. That she should really be thanking Jeremy for keeping her name out of the pages. “After that last video came out, I did what I thought would protect you—would protect our firm.”
“The problem is that the text for the article has been set for weeks. I may not know the magazine business, but I know that these copies are printed well in advance of release.”
Jeremy had the gall to look affronted.
“And the firm is going to take credit for the charity ball too, no doubt,” she added.
“I doubt the hospital trust is going to want your name anywhere near it,” Jeremy said, bristling. “Now, Quinn—” he tried, coming around the desk, conciliatory. “I know you feel thrown around. But we at Crabbe and Co. are still on your side.”
“So you’re going to make me a partner? You’re going to put my name on the door and back in front of clients?”
Jeremy looked at her like she was a stupid child. And she’d realized that he’d been looking at her that way for a decade.
So she left. On the way out, she ran into Sutton.
“Quinn!” she said, startled. “I . . . I had no idea that he’d do that. I mean, you’ve been my mentor here, and I—”
“Congratulations on the magazine, Sutton.”
“Oh, I . . . thank you.”
“You have a lot to offer.” Her eyes shifted to the side, to Jeremy’s door. “Just beware what he’ll take from you.”
She’d cried the entire drive home.
Now, a little shaken, she looked at Daisy across the table. But Quinn’s eyes traveled down from Daisy’s to the Cartier watch sitting next to her sweating glass.
“That’s not the only thing that blew up on me. Because apparently my pursuit of perfection still wasn’t perfect enough for my husband. Who left me New Year’s Day.”
Daisy’s jaw dropped.
“He left?”
“He’s taking some time, to figure out what he wants. And I do not get it, because . . . I gave him everything he wanted. A beautiful home, a kid, and absolutely no demands about either.”
“No demands?”
“He has a really important, stressful job, and it takes priority. So the house, Hamilton, our schedules, all of that falls to me. And I think I might have done it too well.”
“How so?”
Now it was Quinn’s turn to get silent and contemplate her drink. “The Halloween thing, that wasn’t my biggest parenting fail. I’m pretty sure that my biggest parenting fail is that my son has only asked me once where his father is.”
And now it was Daisy’s turn to reach across the table and hold Quinn’s hand.
“So, yeah, trying to be perfect has kind of screwed me over. Okay, time for another subject change,” Quinn said, forcing herself not to cry. This morning was turning into afternoon and this conversation was swinging wildly between heartrendingly cathartic and endlessly silly. She needed more silly. “Oh, I know! Should I get a tattoo?”
“Nooooooooooo,” Daisy said immediately. “I mean, not unless you want one.”
“Not really—besides, what if it turns out imperfect?” Quinn said, mock serious. “I would not be able to handle that. It would be like . . . shiplap in a town house.”
“What?” Daisy said, choking on a laugh.
“As a designer, I have a personal vendetta against shiplap.”
“But . . . what if your client really likes it?”
“Seriously?” Quinn said. “We’ve had this discussion, people! It’s wall board! We killed this off in the eighties, but suddenly we put it on the horizontal and a little whitewash and you all think it’s so effing quaint. I will never put shiplap in a home as long as I live.”
“Ohhhkay. I think we might want to moderate our drinking a bit,” Daisy said. “If only because we have to drive our cars through a blizzard and pick up our kids in about five hours.”
“Fair,” Quinn replied, reaching for the menu. “Then we are going to need more terrible-for-us food to cement our friendship.”
“Friendship?” Daisy said tentatively.
“A lot of strange things have happened to me since the video came out—but one of the only good ones is this lunch today, so yes,” Quinn said, decisively. “You are my friend now, whether you like it or not.”
Daisy took a moment, seemed to digest that. As if she was deciding something. And Quinn couldn’t help but hope she decided in her favor.
Then, with a tentative smile, she raised her glass. “To friendship.”
Little Wonders Preschool February Newsletter
Hello, WONDER-ful parents!
First a big thank you to everyone for making the Martin Luther King Jr. Day Pizza Party a rousing success! We are so very grateful to the Giordano family for their donation of pizza supplies from their restaurant—“I Have a Dream” spelled out in pepperoni was truly inspirational for our kids. who can’t read, but hey, pepperoni.
For those of you whose kids TERRY are pining for the chicken coop, I assure you, again, that the chickens are safe roosting in the barn. Please don’t attempt to visit without express permission from Ms. Anna, and the accompaniment of Francisco, our chicken wrangler. AKA, keep your kids out of the locked barn unless you want to find frozen chickens all over the play yard, TERRY. We will not tell you again!
A reminder to check the attached calendar: Spring Break is the last week of February. (because that’s as long as most of us can take these winters before we need to hit the beach for some vitamin D). But while we still shiver away in the gray wasteland snow, it’s a great time to perform your volunteer hours at Little Wonders! We have a number of planned celebrations and ample opportunity for you to get involved! First up is the Groundhog Day Puppet Theater and Cookie Party—I highly recommend signing up! Seriously none of you have signed up for this and we need stage hands. Come on.
And of course, we hope to see as many of you as poss
ible at this month’s parent meeting! We are deep into planning the Family Fun Fest and need your help! We need all of our regular helpers, official and unofficial, to make this the best—and most lucrative—Family Fun Fest ever! Seriously, where the hell were you, Daisy? Shanna is a horror monster if she doesn’t have you to boss around.
We look forward to seeing you and your money at the first Wednesday of the month!
If you don’t show up, you don’t want your kids to have the best and you might as well just let them watch Teen Titans Go! all day for all the importance you place on their care and education.
Together in Parenting!
Suzy Breakman-Kang
Parent Association Secretary
Chapter Fourteen
Quinn: Good morning! You’ve got everything together.
Daisy’s phone buzzed. Her body gave a reciprocating flutter when she saw it was Quinn. Even when she was standing in the middle of the morning madness, the house a complete wreck—the basement being torn to shreds on weekends, but the work on it was stagnant during the week. Carrie was running around without her glasses bumping into things, Rob was on the phone with work while he tried to find his socks, she hadn’t showered in two days and had to be at the boutique in an hour—she still smiled to herself.
It was exactly what she needed in that moment. And somehow Quinn had known it. It was one of the drunken promises that they had made during that first fateful lunch.
“Let’s text each other inspirational crap every morning!” Quinn had said, still tipsy from the Long Island iced teas they had finished off an hour previously. “I go online and see all these inspirational mom things and I hate them so much but I want them, too.”
Daisy deliriously agreed. After she sobered up, picked up Carrie at school, adamantly skipping the Parent Association meeting, drove home and phoned in dinner with mac and cheese in order to nurse the most horrific hangover she’d had since college, Daisy didn’t think she’d ever hear from Quinn again. But there, first thing in the morning (after she’d gone to bed at eight PM and woke up at two to wander around the kitchen for forty-five minutes agonizing over her life choices), there was a text message dinging into her phone.
Quinn: Your hair is shiny like a new kitten.
Baffled, Daisy had texted her back.
Daisy: Is new kitten fur especially shiny?
Quinn: I have no idea. Go get ’em today, mama!
After a few seconds, Daisy texted her back.
Daisy: Thanks. And you have the tolerance and iron stomach of a binge-drinking college athlete.
Quinn: Awwww . . . I’m touched.
That had been the beginning. Every day since then they had been texting like junior high school crushes—both enjoying the thrill of a new friendship. Its intensity and its fun.
It almost made Daisy forget that she was the one who’d caused Quinn’s life to break into itty-bitty pieces.
Almost.
Because of course Quinn’s life wasn’t perfect. She was dealing with the weight of a lost career and an MIA husband and (Daisy learned at that lunch) a son who refused to be potty trained and an entire support system that had broken down. And in the middle of all that, Quinn had decided the best thing to do first thing in the morning was to send ridiculous texts to her.
She began to crave them like a junkie craves their smack of choice.
It had been three delicious weeks of silliness. Of grabbing a coffee after dropping off the kids. Of having a friend. A real friend. Here! In Needleton!
“You texting with Shanna again?” Robbie said as he wandered through the kitchen, shoving his phone in his pocket. “Hey, sweetie!” he said, picking up Carrie as she blew in, swinging a screwdriver she had grabbed from somewhere. “Wow, okay, can I see that screwdriver? Thanks!” he said, disarming his daughter and sending a wide-eyed look to Daisy. “I gotta lock up Grandpa Bob’s tools.”
“As long as you let her in the basement with you, she’ll find them. We gotta close it off until it’s all fixed up for Grandpa Bob.”
“So—Shanna?”
“Hmm?” Daisy said. “Oh, no—just another mom.”
“Jamie says Shanna’s getting a little overwhelmed.”
“With what?” Daisy replied.
“Well, she’s five months pregnant. On top of everything else. Gotta be overwhelming, right?”
“Hmm, right. I’ll give her a call later,” Daisy said, as she thought of the perfect pep talk for Quinn that morning and texted it to her.
Daisy: Your taste is impeccable and shiplap will destroy itself under your withering glare.
“We got the paperwork from my uncle’s lawyers. The down payment will go into a trust—where do we stand on that?”
“A couple more months of good sales at the shop, and no car emergencies, and we’ll have ten percent,” Daisy said.
“Good—we’re on track,” Rob said, lifting his cereal in one hand and his daughter in the other. “Right, sweetie? Everything is going perfectly.”
Daisy took a swig of coffee, wrinkling her nose. Huh, more bitter than she expected. “Yup. Perfect.” Her stomach swished a little. “Okay, ready to go to school!” she said, grabbing her bag. “Let’s get in the car!”
“Um, well—Carrie needs to find her glasses,” Rob said. “And you are still in pajamas.”
Daisy looked down to see her ratty Carrie Fisher History Has Its Eyes on You tee and a pair of Rob’s flannel Red Sox sweatpants.
“Okay—not quite ready, but will be in five—three—minutes.”
* * *
As she trotted down the Little Wonders hallway that morning, Daisy’s good mood ceased as soon as she saw Shanna at the other end of the hall, moving toward her.
“Daisy! There you are!” Shanna said. “You are a hard person to get hold of these days.”
“Oh, I’ve just been putting in a lot of hours at the boutique.”
“I thought you were a seasonal employee.”
“I was a good one so they decided to keep me on.”
“Must be a lot of sweater sets to sell this time of year,” Shanna replied, sarcastically.
Daisy set her jaw at the dig. “Well, we have a down payment to save for. I’m doing everything I can.”
Shanna shifted her eyes to Carrie, and gave her a big smile. “Jordan’s in class already, she’s waiting for you!”
Carrie, strangely for her, hid behind Daisy’s leg.
“We’re having a shy morning,” Daisy said by way of explanation.
“Of course,” Shanna replied. “Daisy, I wanted to run some Family Fun Fest ideas by you, a couple of figures and projections from last year don’t make any sense at all and I—”
“Um, yeah, sure—but I need to get Carrie to class.”
“Oh, that’s no problem, I can wait.”
This was the point at which Carrie was usually dragging her down the hall, trying to get to the Tadpole Room and the fun therein. But today, Carrie was holding on to her like she was Luke Skywalker about to swing them across a Death Star ravine.
Daisy bent down, picked her up (only a little pee at this unexpected dead lifting), and began to step down the hall.
“Actually, I’ve got to open the shop in twenty minutes. Can I call you at lunch?”
“Right—of course,” Shanna said. “I’ll email you the stuff I’m talking about.”
As Daisy opened the Tadpole Room door, she absolutely intended to call Shanna. She did. She knew she was remiss in their particular friendship. Although, is that what it was? It hadn’t felt like friendship—not the text-heavy jokey one she had with her friends back home, or that she was developing with Quinn. She never saw herself turning to Shanna with a problem.
Although ever since Shanna took over the Parent Association, she sure as heck turned to Daisy with all her problems.
When Daisy hadn’t shown up at the January meeting, Shanna had been livid. Oh, she’d gracefully accepted Daisy’s cover story about feeling under the weather (more like
under the table, but whatever) and been willing to move on, but . . . Daisy wasn’t. She couldn’t help remembering how Shanna had been so gleeful about Quinn’s downfall. How she had sunk her teeth into schadenfreude like it was a delicious German pastry.
She’d asked Quinn about it, once they had moved on to the dessert portion of that first brunch.
“Why doesn’t she like you?” Daisy blurted out, enjoying a surprisingly decent crème brûlée from Ye Olde Needleton Pub.
“Nobody likes me,” Quinn replied after her own spoonful. “As I have learned.”
“But Shanna’s dislike is . . . different.”
“I don’t know.” Quinn shrugged. “I honestly don’t. When Jamie and I were copresidents, he always said she was amazing, and how well we’d get along, and that we should have dinners and be couple friends.”
“I don’t get their marriage sometimes,” Daisy said, surprising even herself. The alcohol might have worn off but her tongue was still loose.
“Trust me, neither do I. Jamie’s so great,” Quinn said quietly. “He’s always there.”
“Always there?” Daisy had asked.
“You know . . . for Parent Association stuff. Shanna’s going to have an easy go of it planning the Family Fun Fest, as long as she’s got Jamie helping her.”
But Jamie wasn’t going to help her, and Daisy knew it, because he was helping Robbie rebuild their basement in his rare free time. Shanna wasn’t happy about that either. And Daisy thought it best—at least for a few weeks—to keep an arm’s-length distance.
But now, glancing back at Shanna, standing by herself in the Little Wonders hallway as Daisy hauled Carrie into the Tadpole Room, she wondered if she’d kept her distance long enough.
No reason she can’t be friends with both, right?
But that desire flew right out of her head the second she set Carrie down in her classroom.
“Carrie, sweetie—keep your glasses on.”
“Carrie, my friend!” Ms. Rosie said as she knelt down. “You know you have to wear your glasses to see, sweetie.”
Carrie obeyed the will of her teacher—albeit unhappily.