Page 69 of Picking Daisies on Sundays

“I’m making blondies,” I replied with a smile, collecting Mandy’s books, and laying them on the counter.

She groaned again. “I shouldn’t.”

“But you should. You probably haven’t eaten anything since you fell asleep.”

She took a seat on the barstool of the island while I measured ingredients. This was a silent yes from her.

“The sugar will be good for your lack of energy.”

She laughed. “It sounds like you’re also convincing yourself. Is there a reason you need more energy right now?”

I blew a strand of hair out of my face because my hands were covered in flour. “I may or may not need to start on my last dress for my senior project.”

“You haven’t even started it?”My mother has always been a Type-A, two weeks ahead of the due date, planner. Other than our love for design (and sugar), my mother and I were very unlike. The shape of our noses and color of our eyes, yes, they were the same. But I did not have any of her strength, decisiveness, or confidence. She took her decisions in sprints and didn’t second guess them. Whereas mine were in strides; second guessing every stitch.

“I have the sketch down!” I said in defense. “I’m just nervous it’s not high-class enough.” I continued to whisk until the ingredients were mixed thoroughly enough to be poured into the pan.

“Why do you say that?” she asked.

“I’m a haute couture design major, my pieces should be

grandiose and avant-garde, not simple,” I emphasized with my hands.

“What makes it simple?”

“It doesn’t have a lot going on. There’s nothing groundbreaking about it or special.”

“Do you like it though?”

“Well, yes but—”

“Daisy, if designers only made garments that they thought fit some sort of criteria, then there would be no such thing as haute couture to begin with. You should be designing from the heart; something that you love and care about. Or then, what’s the point of designing at all?”

I could continue to feel as unsure as I wanted, but she was right. “Thank you,” I said wholeheartedly.

“Your mother doesn’t design dresses for celebrities for a living for nothing.” She joked with a wink, making me laugh.

There was a pause as I started the timer on the oven and tucked the pan away into the heat. The kitchen was already beginning to smell like melted brown sugar and chocolate.

“Have you given Paris anymore thought?”

My muscles tensed up. I was trying to avoid checking my emails for a response from Lazaro, but it was on my mind all day, along with Levi’s book.

“I have…but I’m still waiting to hear from Lazaro.”

“I’m surprised you wouldn’t be more excited about this opportunity with ESMOD. It’s inParis, the city of love and fashion. It’s made for you.”

“I don’t know, Mom, it’s just a big change: leaving New York for a year.”

She exhaled, leaning her chin on her fist, mulling her thoughts over before speaking. “When you were younger, you dreamed of going to Paris. You used to go through all of my pictures and scrapbooks of my trips to southern France and Paris fashion weeks. You said that you were going to make your own scrapbooks one day and that they’d be filled with photos of the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre. But when your father died, it’s like all the excitement and light had disappeared in your eyes. I felt the same way for a long time.” She paused. “I’ll have a crack in my heart until the day I die; he was mybest friend. But to see you never speak of traveling again, to only watch Paris through a lens in your Hepburn movies…I’ve always worried. You stopped taking chances. I remember when you applied to a summer fashion program in high school and didn’t get in, and then you never applied again because you thought it meant you didn’t deserve it.”

Tears were finding a home in my eyes; I pinched my hands together to keep them from escaping. I was so tired of taking things personally, so I tried to keep my thoughts on the side as she spoke.

“And then Levi came into your life, and it’s as if he gave you inspiration again. Your father inspired so much of my work too. He pushed me to follow my dreams, no matter how much physical distance it created between the two of us at times. So I know he wouldn’t want to be the reason you’re not challenging yourself. I just, what I was trying to say is that he would be,he is, happy for you and everything you’ve accomplished. He wouldn’t want you holding yourself back because of what ifs. You have to do the scary stuff to get to the good stuff, remember?”

32

Burden me with your secrets