by Kate Rorick
Daisy stepped out into the hall, avoided the questioning glares from other parents (it could have been about the meeting, it could have been about the hair, she decided to not care), and dialed Shanna’s number.
“Daisy!” Shanna sounded so relieved when she picked up.
“Shanna, where are you? Are you okay?” Daisy said.
“I am much better now that I’m talking to you,” Shanna said, sighing. “You would not believe the day I’ve had . . .”
“Um, yeah, and I would love to hear about it, but I’m here at the Parent Association meeting—the one you’re supposed to be leading?”
There was a pause. A possible penny dropping. And an “Oh my god . . .” from the other end of the phone.
“Did you forget?”
“No, I . . . there was a lot of stuff that happened the past couple of days, it slipped my mind. I called to tell you about it but you never called me back.”
“I’m sorry—”
“No, I know you’re busy . . . I just thought since you aren’t working anymore that you were a bit available.”
“I am,” Daisy found herself saying. “I am available.” Guilt swamped her. Yes, she’d been avoiding Shanna, but clearly something serious was happening, and she should have been a better friend.
“Is it the baby?” she asked.
“Partly. I need to bring my blood pressure down, according to the doctor.”
“Oh dear,” Daisy breathed. There was a choke in Shanna’s voice. Blood pressure in pregnancy was no joke—preeclampsia was life threatening to both mom and baby. Which Daisy knew from her own pregnancy. She knew that Shanna had been stressed, but this . . . this news meant that she needed to do everything in her power to protect her health and the health of the baby.
Shanna would have to quit the Parent Association.
And Shanna wasn’t a quitter.
“Shanna, listen—nothing matters except taking care of yourself. Nothing. There are people who can take over. You know, help you out.”
Shanna gave a sad little laugh. “You have no idea how good it is to hear you say that. Can you help me out?”
“Absolutely,” she replied immediately.
“Great—I need to address the Parent Association. Can you facilitate that?”
Daisy tried not to grind her teeth at the word “facilitate” and instead reminded herself that sometimes Shanna’s lawyer/boss lady snuck back into her vocabulary.
“Of course.”
Daisy crept back into the room, where Suzy Breakman-Kang was very slowly addressing a question from the floor. “Thank you for asking that, Terry—I would like to remind everyone that the chickens will move out of the barn and into their yard coop after the frost melts, but in time for the kids to enjoy the new chicks at the Family Fun Fest—”
This time Daisy slipped inside and moved quickly down the aisle to the stage. She caught Suzy’s eye, and Suzy beckoned her up to the dais.
“All right, everyone—Daisy Stone has something to share!” Suzy said.
“Actually, it’s not me who has something to say,” Daisy said, addressing Suzy, who jerked her head toward the crowd. So she turned, and faced the audience.
It wasn’t the most crowded Parent Association meeting she’d been to (that record was still held by the post-Halloween debacle) but it was close.
“Uh, hi, everyone.” For the first time since she had gone back to her old appearance, she wished she was still Cosplay Daisy. But then, she realized, she could still channel Cosplay Daisy’s confidence. “Hello, and thank you for coming tonight. Obviously there’s been a little bit of a kerfuffle, and Shanna isn’t here tonight. So she’s asked me to help her out. Shanna, take it away.”
Daisy held up her phone, put it on speaker mode. She grabbed a mic from behind the currently unused podium, switched it on. A loud wince of feedback, and then it was working. She held it up to the phone’s speaker.
“Hi, everyone, I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there tonight,” Shanna said, sounding calm, confident, and passably contrite. “As most of you know, I’m about six months’ pregnant. And I had my checkup earlier this week, and my blood pressure was a little too high for the doctor’s liking.”
The crowd shifted a bit in their seats. Yes, parents of small children tend to have less in the way of conversational limitations, but it’s not often you get a neonatal update at the preschool parent meeting.
Shanna paused, either to gather her courage or to up the audience’s suspense. Either way, Daisy wished she would just rip the Band-Aid off. It would be a lot easier once she said she was resigning.
“So,” Shanna said, after clearing her throat. “I would like you all to thank my best friend and cousin, Daisy Stone, for stepping up to act as my unofficial deputy.”
See? That was so much bett . . . wait, WHAT?
“While I’m still your devoted Parent Association president, Daisy will be point person on all things organizing for the Family Fun Fest, reporting directly back to me. She’s got all of the volunteer position breakdowns—Daze, I just emailed them to you—as well as the CBAs for each event station and stall—”
“Shanna, I just want to note that due to objections from some parents as cruel,” Suzy interjected, “that the goldfish toss is going to be replaced with a cultural music performance/hula hoop hop.”
“Duly noted—Daisy, take that down. Also, Daisy will be organizing and soliciting the donations and gift baskets for the silent auction, which has historically been our biggest fund-raiser.” Shanna gave a slight chuckle. “Although I have no doubt that Daisy’s and my combined genius will take those totals to new heights.”
“Wait—Shanna,” Daisy finally managed to interject, “what do you mean, unofficial deputy?”
A pause on the other end of the line. “You know, you’re absolutely right. I shouldn’t be appointing a deputy willy-nilly.”
“Thank you—”
“We are a democratic institution. Positions like that need board approval.”
“Wait, I—”
“I nominate Daisy Stone to act as deputy president of the Parent Association,” Suzy Breakman-Kang said immediately.
“I second the nomination,” came from Jay, the VP, who looked horribly relieved.
“Wait—”
“All those in favor?”
The room resounded with ayes.
“Opposed.”
Not a peep. Of course not. Because no one else wanted to be saddled with the responsibility.
“Everyone thank Daisy for now being my official deputy!” Shanna said. “Now, I should get back to my meditation. Daisy, take me off speaker?”
Daisy dropped the mic that she had forgotten she was holding like it was made of lava, swiftly pulling the phone up to her ear.
“Shanna, what the hell—”
“Daisy, I cannot thank you enough for helping me out. Like you said you would.”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“Oh, it will be fine. Don’t worry, half the work is done already anyway, you just have to collect all the donations, call all the vendors, take all the deliveries, pay all the invoices, oversee setup and breakdown—honestly, it’s nothing. Come over tonight and we’ll go through everything.”
“I—I have things to do.”
“Really?” Shanna said, brightening. “You got another job?”
“I . . . I have Carrie, and Rob’s schedule to consider, and—”
“Bring Carrie with you! I know Jordan would love to see her. She really misses her best friend.”
Daisy pulled up short. “Best friend?”
“I know you *think* that Jordan might have been causing Carrie some . . . growing pains, but really, Jordan is just a dynamic leader, one that we should all aspire to be,” Shanna said, brooking no argument. “Can’t wait to see you! Take a lot of notes!”
And with that Shanna hung up.
Daisy stared at her disconnected phone. The Family Fun Fest was a month away. The entire
production had just been dropped, half finished, in her lap. And if Daisy didn’t step up, April ninth was going to be the preschool equivalent of the Fyre Festival.
And she would be the one going down for it. Because you can’t blame the pregnant lady for needing to protect her health. But you can blame her hapless purple-haired cousin for not being up to the job.
Daisy looked up. She was still on the stage. Every eye was turned to her, as it seemed she was now leading the meeting.
“Okay . . . um, let me pull up all the stuff that Shanna sent me, and we’ll get to, erm, handing out volunteer posts,” she said, as she quickly went into her phone, and sent a single text.
QUINN. HELP.
Chapter Nineteen
Quinn Barrett had three things she needed to accomplish in the remainder of March.
Give her marriage the attention and care it needed to repair itself.
Talk Daisy off the ledge and help her pull off the Family Fun Fest that was unceremoniously dropped in her lap.
Audition for the interior design challenge of The Brand New Home.
These tasks were listed in order of importance, because obviously her marriage came first . . . and auditioning for the show was just a foolhardy lark. Just a “Well, let’s see if this is even possible, and if it’s not, then don’t worry about it!”
Of course, these items were on top of her normal everyday accomplishments—including but not limited to the care and feeding of Hamilton, getting the home ready for spring, putting all of her winter clothes away in the closet, paying bills, making doctors’ appointments, readying their taxes, making dentist appointments, attempting a workout regimen again (this fits into making her marriage work, so double!), calling a plumber to deal with the tankless water heater when Stuart discovered there was no hot water one really cold morning, and begging their plowing service to come out one last time and plow their driveway. (Damn that last snowfall! Come on, it was March already!)
And while said tasks were listed in order of importance, they were not listed chronologically, which was why Daisy was in her house, freaking out, while the plumber banged around in the basement and Quinn dug through her closet.
“She just dumped it all on me! But she’s not stepping down, just . . . delegating. So I have to report everything back to her.” Daisy was chugging green juice at Quinn’s kitchen counter, like she was three whiskeys in and not about to slow down anytime soon. “God, this is horrible, what’s in this?”
“The blood of your enemies,” Quinn called back from the closet. She was digging through her file boxes from last year, looking for a particular folder. She was as meticulous about her filing as she was everything else, but it was eluding her. Damn, she had just gone through these boxes a few months ago—where was it?
“She’s got me coming over once a week,” Daisy was saying, “to quote unquote ‘check in.’ But I know it’s going to be more than that—it already has been! She had me come over last night after the meeting and this morning, to go over some things she’d forgotten. And she’s wants me to bring Carrie, because Jordan misses her ‘best friend.’ Which is just a whole other level of manipulation, because Carrie has to see Jordan all day and I feel like she only just got her confidence back. But Shanna won’t take no for an answer.”
“Because she’s lonely,” Quinn said, then, “Aha! Here it is.”
She hauled the box she had been looking for out of the closet, and into the kitchen, where she saw the shocked look on Daisy’s face.
“What?” Quinn said.
“You think she’s lonely? That’s . . . more charitable of you than I expected.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, was this just a venting?” Quinn asked, sincerely. “Was I supposed to commiserate and not empathize?”
“You were supposed to hate her more than I do right now, so I could say, ‘She’s really not that bad, she’s family,’ and feel superior for my largesse.”
“Got it. I’ll try again? ‘Grrr! That Shanna! She’s terrible! I curse her with hyperactive triplets!’”
Daisy gave a weak smile, but then fell silent. “Do you really think she’s lonely?”
“Being a stay-at-home mom isn’t easy.” Quinn shrugged. “I’ve only been doing it for a couple of months, and I crave adult conversation.”
“Hence you’re lowering your standards to hang out with me.”
“Ha-ha. But really. She’s also the one in charge. And often that means you’re talking to people, not with people. If you don’t have a copresident, or a friend to share it with . . . Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”
“I have been blowing her off a lot, recently,” Daisy admitted.
“I hope not for my sake,” Quinn said. “I know Shanna and I have had our issues, but that doesn’t mean—”
“It wasn’t because of you—well, only kind of, and it’s part of a bigger thing, but . . .”
“But . . .”
Daisy bit her lip, then shook her head. “But . . . it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is how am I going to do this? I’ve never done anything like this before.”
Quinn scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, of course you have.”
Daisy looked at her like she had just claimed she was from Tatooine (yes, Quinn had seen a movie too). “I promise, if I ever organized a preschool Family Fun Fest, I would remember it.”
“What did you do at the Cranberry Boutique again?”
“Sales associate, but—”
“And before they let Cosplay Daisy on the floor?”
“Invoices and inventory. Straightening out the books.”
“Wow,” Quinn said, mock facetiously. “Sounds like you have strong experience convincing people to give you money, and then allocating that money and resources to their purposes. Which is basically soliciting donations for the auction and baskets, and ordering supplies and keeping track of needs.”
“Okay, fair point, but that’s certainly not everything, and not in such a short time frame,” Daisy argued. “You should see what Shanna handed me the other night—she said it was half done, but NOTHING is done.”
“Oh? As someone who worked in independent film production you don’t have experience pulling together the impossible on a significantly shortened time line?”
Daisy shot her a level glare. “There’s a saying in film production. ‘You can make something quickly, cheaply, well: pick any two.’”
“Daisy, I am here to tell you that you are going to beat the odds, and manage all three.”
“Again, the question is how.”
Quinn grinned.
“With me, of course.”
Quinn handed her the folder she had disrupted her entire filing system to find. A simple red folder, divided into subjects, tasks, and subcommittees, neatly labeled with all the relevant information and broken down into easy-to-follow instructions.
She handed it to Daisy with the reverence usually reserved for the Ten Commandments, inscribed on stone.
“What is this?” Daisy asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“Everything you need to pull off a festival. All of my vendor lists, my donor lists—and the people you need to talk to at those organizations that are receptive to donating—all of my builder and handyman workers to help with something complicated like the auditorium build last year—”
“You . . . built the auditorium last year?”
“We built the little stage,” Quinn qualified. “And a cross-reference list of costs of party supplies so those bastards at party supply stores can’t jack up the prices on a bouncy house on you.”
“I . . . Does Shanna have access to all this stuff via Jamie?”
Quinn smirked. “Not all of it. Not my personal notes.”
“And this is so well organized! Shanna basically threw a box of handwritten invoices at me. You’re amazing.”
“Yes, I am.” Quinn checked her vintage watch. “I have a couple of Parcels to spare. Let’s start calling vendors, and then we can star
t dividing up the parent volunteers and conquering. Conscript them into serving on a subcommittee. Most parents would love to be able to burn their involuntary volunteer hours on something they can do during their lunch break.”
Daisy hesitated. “I don’t like bothering people.”
“People are there to be bothered,” Quinn said. “They are there to be told what to do. You get to be a total bitch over email, demanding people contribute to their community and their children’s education. You gotta strut down that preschool hallway and own it. Congratulations! You’re the boss now!”
Daisy eyed her dubiously. “You scare me sometimes.”
“And the rest of the time I inspire you.”
“You know, the real problem is money,” Daisy said. “No matter that the kids will have fun, but we have to beat the fund-raising number from last year—”
“You mean my number?” Quinn said. “It’s okay, I appreciate the irony.”
“And if I don’t, it’s me that fails. Not Shanna.”
Quinn leveled a frank look at her friend. “Then let’s not fail. Come on, let’s dive in.”
They flipped through the folder, Daisy taking the food vendors (because history has shown that everyone loves a food truck), and Quinn taking the list of the Main Street shops for gift basket donations.
“If you’re this organized in your designer life, then you are a shoo-in for the show,” Daisy said, as she picked up the phone and started to dial.
“Hmm,” Quinn said, as she stared very, very intently at whatever paper was in her hand.
Daisy lowered her phone.
“You are going to apply, right?”
“I’m . . . I haven’t really thought about it.”
“What is there to think about?”
What was there to think about? How about Stuart? After Daisy had dropped off the papers the other day, she and Stuart had a slightly heated exchange about their contents. She mostly brushed off his concerns by saying that she wasn’t all that interested in it. That seemed to placate him.
The problem was . . . she was interested. She read over the forms, she had all the requisite experience and accreditations to be considered. And, before Stuart had moved back in, she’d been idly researching what it would take to open her own small company.