How Much Are Your Daisies?

“Excuse me please, mister, how much are your daisies?”

I clenched my jaw so hard I tasted blood. I ran my tongue along the inside of my cheek. The tiny voice at the front of the line was going to cost me my seven extra minutes to swing through the drive-thru before heading back to work — I guess it’s break room coffee and Altoids for lunch again. I swore under my breath.

A throat behind me cleared. I chewed the inside of my cheek again. That sucker was never going to heal. Maybe I would bite clean through my cheek, and I could get a feeding tube inserted through the hole and straight down my gullet. Then I’d never have to miss lunch because people drive like they have no place to be or some child wanted daisies and her parents couldn’t be bothered to supervise her.

“Well my dear, a single daisy costs 89 cents, and you can get a bouquet of twelve for nine-ninety-nine. How many would you like?” The cashier clearly had no place to be, either. Never mind the eight people in line dressed for a conference room on lunch hour, huffing and stomping like parade horses stuck behind a flag corp. I texted myself a list of sponsors to call and my husband a weekend tournament schedule while the little girl jabbered to the cashier. The answer is a number, I thought. One word. 12:51. Screw it. I stuck Jerry’s birthday card in the candy rack and ducked out of line. One more thing to do after work before I pick Ricky up from swim. Keys, keys, where the…Cindy might have to wait after flag, but she will just have to deal. Call Cheryl, pick a font, fix Dave’s layout, intern meeting, flex notes, Tom…Where are those keys? I pushed through a small knot of people just standing around in front of the crosswalk. What is the deal today? Is everyone else on Sunday afternoon mode? At least I’ll have time to grab lunch now, as soon as I get past all these gawkers. Whatever they’re pointing at isn’t going to get between me and my chicken wrap.

* * * * *

“Excuse me please, mister, how much are your daisies?” I tore my eyes from Hugh Jackman’s glossy forearms on the cover of Good Housekeeping and looked for the source of the voice. A tiny flop of blonde curls barely reached higher than the counter. Who is she with? The woman in front of her had left, and no one nearby appeared to be hers. She was way too young to be here on her own! And why wasn’t she in school? Maybe she was too young for school—then she definitely shouldn’t be here alone! I strained to look past the line of registers as the cashier explained flower prices to a toddler. What is wrong with people? I had half a mind to call someone. Who would I even call for this? The state used to handle these situations, but nowadays kids just run wild and nobody is allowed to say anything.

“…always buys Mommy daisies for her birthday, but he—” So she does have a mother! Fascinating. Leaves a child alone all day, probably no man in the picture…

“Well we can’t have that, can we? Let’s just see what we can do.” Well, it seemed like the cashier at least had some sense. I hope he’s going to call her parents—or her mother, anyway—and get this little angel home.

The other cashier finished with her customer, so I hopped over to purchase my pistachios and Chardonnay. And a copy of Good Housekeeping. The little girl was still counting her change when I left. I shook my head and shared a look with her cashier. Parents these days.

Outside the grocery store I passed a group of people staring up at the roof the building. A mother and father huddled around their son, maybe four, pointing and explaining something to him, the mother crouched down by his side, the father holding his little hand. At least some people still know how to parent these days. I smiled at them and nodded warmly. Maybe there’s some hope for our country yet.

* * * * *

“Excuse me please, mister, how much are your daisies?” I didn’t see my next customer at first, but the polite falsetto cued me to look down over the counter. Adults didn’t talk like that. Most kids didn’t even. The little girl’s dress probably cost 40 or 50 dollars—my daughter had the exact same one when she was that age. My daughter is a surgical resident at Mass General now—this girl must be the 10th or 12th in line to wear it.

“Well my dear, a single daisy costs 89 cents, and you can get a bouquet of twelve for nine-ninety-nine. How many would you like?” I smiled and glanced up at the woman behind her, but she was farther back than I realized, and a divider blocked her ice cream bars and veggie tray from reaching the end of the belt. This little girl was all alone! I turned back to my tiny customer. She squeezed a Ziploc bag of coins and bills with two tiny fists. Her little face scrunched up for a few seconds and she answered, “I don’t know. My Daddy always buys Mommy daisies for her birthday, but he can’t go places anymore.” Oh boy. I didn’t want to pry, but I was already a little worried about this girl, and that really raised the old social-worker radar.

“Oh no! Is your daddy okay?” I watched her face carefully.

“Mommy says Daddy is sick. Sometimes he seems okay, but sometimes I don’t get to see him for a few days, and Mommy can’t go to work.” Her face didn’t look like she was in danger. She looked scared, maybe, but not threatened, just…small. Like a child in the face of something she couldn’t quite understand.

“Do you remember the daisies from last year?”

“Oh, yes! They were so pretty! And they made Mommy pretty. Daddy wasn’t as sick last year, but Mommy was already sad. When she saw the daisies, she smiled again. She’s really pretty when she smiles.” This poor girl. Maybe this was Jim McCormick’s kid. Pam and I went to the fundraiser last summer, and Lily said they always pull the kids out of school whenever Jim has an episode.

I tried to keep my smile. “How big was the bunch? This big” — I showed her a dozen yellow daisies tied with a pink ribbon— “or like this?” and held up a mixed yellow and white bouquet of two and a half dozen.

“That many,” she said, pointing at the larger bouquet, “but not white ones. All yellow. And some pretty green stuff.” I love talking to kids—they know what they want, whereas most adults either can’t decide or lie to themselves about it. Kids are always so straight-forward.

“Okay. I have just the thing.” I glanced again at her Ziploc clutch purse. “The yellow ones are a little cheaper, so I think you’ll have enough. What have you got there?”

“Seven dollars and twenty-seven cents. I counted twice.” She stood herself up as tall as her little body could and held my gaze with a self-assurance most twenty- and thirty-somethings would envy.

Whatever. If Dennis wants to bitch that my drawer is short tonight, so be it. I’m just here for something to do until Pam retires in February. Dennis can su—well, he can just deal.

“That’s perfect. I’ll get those flowers wrapped up for you.” On my way to wrap her flowers I locked eyes with a lady in thick white earmuffs who I think was behind the girl in line. She shook her head and gave the back of the girl’s head a pitiful look, then looked back to me for agreement. I flashed her my best customer service smile. People around here are so judgey. He who is without sin, lady. Enjoy that third bottle of wine I’ve seen you buy this week. You have no idea what this child is going through.

* * * * *

“Excuse me please, mister, how much are your daisies?” Eyes up, Mommy says. I looked up. The face behind the counter is familiar. I’ve seen him here before when I used to come food shopping with Daddy, and sometimes at school when the big kids get done early and we all get picked up together. That’s good. I’m not supposed to talk to strangers by myself. I have to get Mommy’s flowers, even if it means breaking the rules, but he isn’t really a stranger.

“Well my dear, a single daisy costs 89 cents, and you can get a bouquet of twelve for nine-ninety-nine. How many would you like?” His smile seemed nice.

I thought hard for a second. How many flowers did Daddy buy? I couldn’t count that many last time Mommy had her birthday. “I don’t know. My Daddy always buys Mommy daisies for her birthday, but he can’t go places anymore.” Daddy used to pick me up from school, and take me and Kyle to the pet store and the park. Mommy came home later after work. But Mommy says it’s dangerous for Daddy to drive now. Sometimes he can’t be home alone, so me and Kyle stay home from school, and Mommy stays home from work with all of us.

“Oh no! Is your daddy okay?”

“Mommy says Daddy is sick. Sometimes he seems okay, but sometimes I don’t get to see him for a few days, and Mommy can’t go to work.” I don’t really miss Mommy and Daddy at school, because school is fun and my friends are there. But when we all have to stay home, and Daddy has to stay in his bedroom, I miss him a lot. Plus, Mommy stays in there with him or in the bathroom a lot, so I miss her, too. She doesn’t go to the bathroom more though, she just turns on the shower for a long time and then comes back out. Her hair isn’t even wet. But sometimes her cheeks are.

The nice cashier asked, “Do you remember the daisies from last year?” They popped right into my head — the restaurant with the big fish tank, and the nice waitress with the shiny hair, and the big bunch of daisies on the table, and Mommy smiling.

“Oh, yes! They were so pretty! And they made Mommy pretty.” I frowned. Mommy is always pretty, but this was different. “Daddy wasn’t as sick last year, but Mommy was already sad.” Mommy was extra sad the day that Doctor Tom told Daddy he was sick, but she wasn’t sad every day back then. Now Mommy is sad a lot. “When she saw the daisies, Mommy smiled again. She’s really pretty when she smiles.” If Mommy didn’t get daisies on her birthday, she wouldn’t feel special, and Daddy can’t get the daisies. That’s why I had to come to the store all by myself.

“How big was the bunch? This big, or like this?”

“That many,” I pointed to the big bunch, “but not white ones, all yellow. And some pretty green stuff.” I couldn’t even see over them at Mommy’s party, even with the little kid seat that helped me be taller. They were right in the middle of the table, and Mommy kept touching them and smelling them. She smiled so much that night.

“Okay. I have just the thing. The yellow ones are a little cheaper, so I think you’ll have enough. What have you got there?”

“Seven dollars and twenty-seven cents. I counted twice.” I have six dollars from my allowance, and Kyle gave me a dollar and a quarter, but he spent some of his money on ice cream at school. And I found two pennies in the couch cushions right before I came here. I wanted to make extra sure Mommy would have enough daisies. “I counted twice.”

The nice cashier smiled. “That’s perfect. I’ll get those flowers wrapped up for you.” I dumped my money out onto the counter and waited for the nice cashier to come back. Mommy is going to be so happy. She already turned the shower on twice today, and her hair was dry both times. Her cheeks were very wet when she told me to go play outside. Her eyelashes too. Daddy has stayed in his bedroom for more days than ever. Doctor Tom came to our house right before I came here. He looked mean. Doctor Tom is never mean.

The nice cashier handed me the flowers and scooped up my dollars and pennies and Kyle’s money and put it into the cash drawer. I smiled and thanked him, like Mommy said. Then I went back outside through the big double doors, where the cookies and the baskets are.

The sun was shining outside, but it would probably get dark soon. Time to go home. A bunch of people were standing on the sidewalk looking behind me, so I turned around to look too, just for a second. On top of the grocery store there was a big tall bird. A barn owl, like in Kyle’s book from Daddy. Kyle reads that book every night. Sometimes he reads it to me, and sometimes he hides with his flashlight under the blankets after bedtime. I never tell Mommy, but I think she sees him, too. Daddy has a barn owl on his bedroom wall, too. It’s a painting from when he was little, like me and Kyle. His Daddy gave it to him.

The owl on top of the grocery store turned his head and looked right at me. Miss Stephens says they sleep in the day and come out at night, but I guess not this one. I wanted to stay and watch him, but I have to get home to Mommy with her flowers. When I turned to go home, I heard a bunch of people say “ooh!” and “wow!” I looked back and saw the owl was flying after me. He flew over my head and kept going. He dropped a feather though, on the sidewalk across the street. I picked it up and stuck it into Mommy’s daisies. I could tell her Daddy's barn owl said happy birthday, too.