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“Not yet. But I can showyou.”
I strain to hear, but there’s only the sound ofshifting.
“Oh. It’s beautiful. You know, I had a few designers send things over to my apartment. But I haven’t tried them onyet.”
Mom likes to be here, being waited on, but it’s good to hear my mom so engaged and genuinely happy. She is, right now, and I wonder when the last time was I heard her sound so light. Or maybe it’s a projection of how I’mfeeling.
“I’m sure we could have them bring the dresses here. Though there’s not much room to try thingson.”
When I go back in, Daisy smiles and my mom beams. “We were justrehearsing.”
“I see. D, could you give us asecond?”
“Of course. It was so nice to see you, Ramona. Call me if you need someone to read a script with. What I lack in acting talent I make up for withdiscretion.”
We wait for Daisy to go before my mom turns back tome.
I sit beside her. “The staff said they don’t have any concerns about your well-being. You could move backhome.”
“I can have my things readytomorrow.”
I blink at her insurprise.
“As Daisy said, I need to be finalizing my dress choice for this event. Though her dress is quite special.” She leans in,smiling.
As we work to make arrangements to get Mom back home, my throattightens.
“When was the last time you brought a woman to meet me?” sheasks.
“You already knowDaisy.”
“I’d like to know her better. She’s good for you, Ben. She softens youredges.”
When I say goodbye to my mother and head back out to D in the hall, I can’t kick the thought that Daisy doesn’t only soften my edges, she makes me question whether I needed them to beginwith.
“That went well,” Daisy says, seemingly oblivious, as I hold the door for her. “I don’t think shesuspected.”
“No.”
I follow her out into the twilight and unlock my car. I shift into the driver’s seat and stare out the windshield. My hand reaches across the console and finds Daisy’s fingers without melooking.
“You don’t have to fix her, Ben. Just be withher.”
When I look over, Daisy’s face is filled with empathy. Her thumb strokes the back of my hand, taking my frustration down a notch with every brush of her skin onmine.
“It’s that simple,” I say with a drylaugh.
“When was the last time you went to visit her when she wasn’t in rehab? Or when you and Tris involved her in yourlives?”
I cut her a look. “All thetime.”
“Give meone.”
I can’t come up with an example, which makes me more frustrated. “You’re saying this is myfault.”
Her brows pull together. “I’m saying she loves you. The only thing she wants is for you to behappy.”
I pull my hand away to grip the steeringwheel.
