Page 22 of Picking Daisies on Sundays

plant you more

The next morning, I was a pile of bones trying to lift myself out of bed. A headache knocked on the front of my forehead from last night’s events as I got ready for the day.

I know, this was profoundly dramatic; I’ve only seen Levi three times. But that’s what makes this dramatic: I’ve seen him three days in a row for the first time in four years. And I haven’t stopped thinking about him at all these four years.

Seeing him again has brought back every fiber in my body that found him attractive in high school. But I needed it to be different now. I needed to realize that this was not going to end in a romantic happily ever after. Levi and I were meant to be friends, that’s all.

So, I took an Advil, washed my face, refrained from writing Dad an email, and left for class. The walk to the university was too long, so it required a train in between. But the walk from there was beautiful this time of year. New York in the springtime was ethereal. It’s why all the best romance movies were set in New York during this season, i.e.,How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days, Maid in Manhattan, Enchanted,etc. With its flowers and parks full of greenery; trees lining the cozy neighborhoods that you see on your walk to the bagel shop around the corner.

Which is where I was headed now. Every Monday morning like clockwork.

“Hi Marty!” I greeted the older gentleman rolling dough behind the counter.

“Dani! How are you? Are we getting the usual?”

“The usual would be perfect, please.”

“Half a dozen French toast bagels it is,” he quickly moved to the glass case that separated us, pulling out six bagels and bagging them.

Classes ran Monday through Friday, and I had 9 AMs every one of those mornings. Ironically enough, the classes tended to be pretty small, so each of my 9 AMs had the same five girls. So we each assigned ourselves a day of the week to bring something for everyone. Mondays were my day with bagels as my go-to. Some of the girls brought egg sandwiches, some did pastries, and others even cooked us breakfast. I was always eager to see what Daya cooked—last week was strawberry pancakes.

You’d think coffee was a go-to, especially since we were at the end of senior year, crippling under procrastination and exhaustion. But the coffee Vera had spilled on a dress she spent two weeks working on was so traumatizing for everyone that we only drink water in the room now.

After dropping off Josh-from-the-restaurant’s peonies, and a subway ride later, I was immersed in the heart of the city. I walked by Central Park, admiring its forest green trees, its bright dog walkers, and picturesque grass. Even the smell of the fried food sold on the sidewalks wasn’t bad enough to ruin it.

My campus building was a block away, made of the red brick many of the homes in the West Village were made of. It was quaint compared to the financial buildings and hotels that surround it.

Walking through the entrance, I showed the receptionist my student ID, and made my way up the stairwell to the second floor. I felt like a pack mule going up the staircase because I was not only heaving, but was carrying three different bags: the bagels, my tote bag filled with fabrics I had experimented on, and my backpack which held my laptop, notebook, and sewing supplies.

Before you even have the chance to ask why I was bringing my own sewing supplies to a place that already had everything, it’s because I was particular.

The sewing kit I used religiously was a gift from Dad for my 12thbirthday. He said that when he first started dating Mom, one of the things he loved most about her was her ability to overthink and color code and schedule absolutely everything, except what she loved. She never overthought her work, not a single stitch in a single dress.

I would sit on the hardwood and watch her for hours as she ran seam lines through her sewing machine. She’d glimpse at me every once in a while, to see if I nodded off—which did happen on occasion. But when it didn’t, she’d tell me to grab my sewing kit and sew with her.

A year later, they bought me my first sewing machine—a John Lewis in peppermint green. It was the most gorgeous pastel green color. I loved it so much that I carried it around the house with me like a doll. I still used it every day.

“Dani!” the five girls shouted as I walked in the door with the bagels.

“French toast bagel time!” Vera shouted with excitement, squeezing my shoulder as she relieved my arms of the bagels and cream cheese.

“I brought you a lactose intolerant pill, Sandra, in case you forgot again,” I mentioned as I put my bags down on the large table.

There often weren’t desks in the design rooms, but rather large, wooden tables each made for multiple students. That way we had room for cutting and measuring fabric in the same space without getting in one another’s ways. My designated space was with Vera and Daya. While Sandra, Lexi, and Camille sat at the table beside ours. The rest of the room was pretty messy; there was a spot for the professor to sit at the front at their desk, while the walls had cork boards with sketch designs. Numerous sewing machines were lined against the left side of the room, followed by dress forms—AKA mannequins—piled in the corner like a set from a horror film.

“Poor Sandra, she’ll never truly be able to appreciate cream cheese,” Camille said, moaning as she consumed her bagel.

“I appreciate cream cheese!” Sandra said defensively to Camille. Turning around, Sandra began walking in a hunched stature towards me. “I just need a little extra help,” she whispered as she approached me with an open hand, presumably for the pill.

I handed it to her like we were doing a drug exchange. She played along, stuffing it in her mouth so quickly that I thought she missed her mouth, making me snort with laughter. “Thank you,” she whispered before leaving to grab her bagel from the table.

“Here you are my dear,” Daya spoke as if she were a duke, handing me my bagel. I briefly noticed her neon plastic rings, accentuating her dark skin and bright nails. Today she was wearing blue-rimmed glasses, a watercolor midi skirt, and a short sleeve top that’s cropped just enough to show her belly button ring. She always had this ability to look cool, but without making it look like she was trying. Like when a supermodel leaves their million dollar apartment to grab milk or walk their dog.

Despite our different wardrobes, we agreed on most celebrity fashion looks, hence why we started a club together on campus:Look of the Week.We spend an hour debating the best, and worst, celebrity looks of the week. For a meeting that usually only included fifteen women, you’d think we were hosting fight club because of how intense it gets.

We don’t watch the time for when class starts because it’s so laidback. Our Monday 9 AM was designated to our senior capstone project, so the professor always arrived late since they were only here for feedback. The project was due in four weeks, and then they would be showcased in a runway show to the whole school, along with friends and family.

When we finished speaking and eating our bagels, we collected our garments from the side tables to start working. I reached my hand into my bag, wiggling my fingers around for my sewing kit.