Page 4 of Pushing Daisy
Upon entering, she sees Steve and Carey, the other bartenders for the night, already there. They give a small wave as she walks to the back. Daisy hasn’t even started yet, and her mind is already wandering, ruminating, picturing Norma and Levi being put through the portal. She closes her eyes and tries to focus her thoughts. Giving her head a shake, she huffs out a breath and saunters back to the front, tying her apron around her waist.
“Hey, D. How you doin’?” Carey asks.
“Meh, I’m doing. Hoping it will be a quiet one tonight. How about you?”
“About the same,” he replies before heading to the back for supplies.
She falls into the routine of cleaning, stacking, filling, and fake-smiling at every customer. Though a bit busier than she would have liked, the night passes quickly, and in what feels like a blink of an eye, she’s heading home. Thankfully.
If she didn’t need to work to pay bills, she would probably stay curled up under her blanket on the couch, which is exactly what she does when she arrives home at two a.m., still wired from all of the stimulation of working at a bar and needing to wind down. Daisy changes out of her bar clothes, grabs a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream, and curls up to watch the latest episode of Toil & Trouble, her favorite supernatural dating show.
The next morning, a cool fall breeze from the open window gently wakes her. She doesn’t remember opening a window last night. She also doesn’t remember finding her way to her bed. The last thing she remembers is Corey from Toil & Trouble trying to fight with Jax over Vera. She must have been more out of it than she thought she was. She climbs out of bed, throws a sweater on over the top of her tank top and shorts, and goes to the kitchen while rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.
“Good morning.”
Daisy screams, jumping back. “Goddess on a fucking motorcycle. What are you doing here?” She holds her hand to her chest. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry.”
“How the hell did you get in?”
“The front door,” Stella, Daisy’s ex-girlfriend, responds, pointing down the hall. “I used the spare key you keep on top of the door frame. You really should choose a more secure location, by the way.”
“Noted,” Daisy responds flatly. “Why are you in my house?”
“You called me, remember? Last night.” Stella says, her eyebrow quirked suspiciously. “Are you okay?”
Daisy’s lip quivers, threatening a waterfall of tears. She swallows. Holding it back. Why is that simple question—Are you okay?—always the one that breaks her? Why is it the one that shatters her walls, showing how not okay she is?
She straightens her shoulders, standing up straighter, resolving not to break. To not let Stella see her crumble.
Daisy steps into the kitchen properly, taking a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water from the fridge dispenser. She takes a seat at the dining table, facing Stella and her scrutinizing gaze. “I’ll be okay,” she replies, not sure she believes it.
Stella merely nods while continuing to assess her.
“So, refresh my memory. Why did I call you over?” Daisy asks.
“Honestly, not sure. You spewed out a lot of things on the phone, and it wasn’t really clear what the problem was. You kept telling me that you wanted me here. But when I arrived, you weren’t answering your phone to let me in—evidently, you had already passed out. I used the key, but, um, I had to break the charm on your door to get in. So you’ll need to reset that.”
Yeah, with her barely-there magic, she’ll get right on that. She hated that magic could be so fickle—rather than rallying around her in a time of need, it chose to hide. A witch’s power wasn’t fully living, but it was perceptive. It could retreat inside its owner when it felt the witch might misuse it, or sometimes it would hide as a protective measure when the witch or warlock was under extreme stress. It could also react outwardly like Petra’s magic did last year when it manifested as a shield around her. The general belief was that it hid to allow the wielder to have a clearer head to deal with their problems. Daisy, however, believed hers was hiding from her because it felt like being a prick, and really, with her luck, why shouldn’t she lose the only thing she had left?
“So you broke into my house and did what exactly after getting in?” Daisy asks, agitated. She knows she’s being unreasonable, and she doesn’t mean to insinuate anything nefarious, but the words are out before she can stop them.
“Don’t get pissy with me. You were the one acting all weird and begging for me to get here. I didn’t know what was wrong and had to find a way in,” Stella snaps back, crossing her arms over her chest as she leans against the counter. “I came in and found you on the couch. It looked like you were generally okay—not hurt, that is—so I helped you get into bed so you wouldn’t wake up with a horribly sore neck. You’re welcome, by the way. I then slept on the couch. I didn’t try and take advantage of you, physically or materially, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”
Daisy hangs her head. There was a reason things fizzled out with Stella last year. A big one was that Stella had a tendency to assume the worst of Daisy. Their trouble communicating meant that they fought more often than not. After the breakup, they decided they’d be better as friends, and clearly, Daisy, in some mentally drained stupor, felt that reaching out to Stella was the right thing to do. Now, though, she’s wishing she could kick Stella out without causing any drama. Instead, she opts for trying to diffuse.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that,” Daisy says, her voice soft as she gazes at a spot on the table. “I’ve had a rough couple of weeks, and I guess I was upset last night. I just don’t remember calling you, so I’m a little confused and trying to figure out what happened.” She looks up and sees Stella’s tense stance relaxing and her face softening, shifting from frustration to sympathy.
Stella pushes away from the counter and joins Daisy at the table. She reaches out tentatively for Daisy’s hand, pausing with her hand suspended over Daisy’s, waiting for consent. Daisy nods gently, and Stella’s hand finds hers. It’s warm. Comforting. Stella’s magic reaches out, tickling her dormant spark, which sizzles like a fading sparkler inside her.
“No, I’m sorry. I should have asked. Do you wanna talk about what’s wrong?”
“Nah. I think I just need some time,” Daisy says, noting Stella’s slight deflation, as though she’s hurt that Daisy doesn’t want to lay herself bare before her. They had never had that kind of relationship, so she was unsure why Stella would expect anything different. “Thanks for asking, though.”
“Anytime.”
“Look, thank you for coming over. I’m not sure what led to that call last night, but it’s nice to know that even though we aren’t together anymore, someone cares enough to check on me.”
