"This is darling." Daisy swept into the restaurant like she owned it, her designer bag swinging and her heels tapping against the hardwood floor. "I don't remember eating here while I was living in Harmony Glen."
"You were only here for three months," Marigold said quietly.
"Such a shame I didn't discover this quaint little place, but I'm sure you love it." Daisy patted her daughter's arm with absent affection. "You've always had such simple tastes."
The hostess, a naiad named Coraline who he knew from the chamber of commerce, led them to a table by the window. She caught his eye as she handed out menus, her expression sympathetic in a way that suggested the entire restaurant staff had already assessed the situation.
Small towns. Nothing stayed private for long.
"So," Daisy said, settling into her chair, "tell me everything. How did you two meet? When did you start dating? Is it serious? Mari never tells me anything, you know—I have to hear about her life secondhand from the most peculiar sources."
"We met at a chamber of commerce meeting," Marigold said. "We're co-chairing the Summer Dance Festival together."
"Of course. How… practical." Daisy's laugh tinkled like glass. "Though I suppose that's very on-brand for you, sweetie. You've always been so focused on business. Do you know Thallos that even as a teenager she used to make spreadsheets for her birthday parties. Guest lists with dietary restrictions and everything. Who does that at fifteen?"
"Someone organized," he said.
"I always say that life is meant to be lived, not catalogued." Daisy waved a dismissive hand. "I tried to teach her, I really did. But she never listened. She always had her nose in a book or her hands in the dirt. Do you know she used to cry when I'd forget to water her little garden? Actual tears. Over plants."
Marigold had gone still in the way that meant she was retreating somewhere inside herself. Somewhere safe.
"Plants are important to her," he said. "She has a gift with them."
"Oh, I know. She got that from her father, God rest him." Tears suddenly appeared in Daisy's big blue eyes. "Such a sensitive man. Absolutely useless in a crisis, but sensitive."
"Mom."
"What? I'm just saying. He was the same way. He took everything so personally." Another tinkling laugh. "If it hadn't been for that I would have wondered if you were even mine. Though of course the labor was quite memorable, so I suppose there's no doubt. Twenty-two hours, Thallos. Twenty-two. And she was such an ugly baby. All red and wrinkled and squalling. I told the nurse there must have been some mistake?—"
"I'm sure she was beautiful," he said. "Babies always are."
"Are they? I suppose I wouldn't know, I was so out of it after that labor." Daisy fanned herself with her menu. "Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yes. You two. Tell me more about how you got together. Is it very romantic?"
Marigold finally spoke, her voice tight. "We've been working together on the festival planning. We got to know each other that way."
"How… efficient." Daisy looked at him over the top of her menu. "You must find that refreshing. Someone who approaches relationships with a clear plan rather than all that messy emotion."
"I find it wonderful," he said, meeting her gaze directly. "I admire how thoughtful she is. How deeply she cares about everything she does."
"Everything is very black and white with her," Daisy sighed. "No room for spontaneity. No room for passion. Even as a teenager, she was so serious. You should have seen her face when I'd bring someone home—like I'd dragged the devil himself into her room. No sense of fun at all."
The muscles in Marigold's jaw were working. Her hands, folded on the table, had gone white-knuckled. He reached over and covered them with his own. *I'm here,* he tried to say with the touch. *You're not alone.*
The waitress, a young brownie named Pippa, arrived to take their order. Daisy made a production of asking questions about the menu, declaring herself "tragically confused" by the options and eventually settling on a salad after substituting almost every item on it.
"I'm afraid my health has always been a little delicate. I have to be so careful about what I eat. You wouldn't believe the trouble I had with my last chef in Mumbai—absolutely no understanding of dietary restrictions. I told him, I said, 'If you can't accommodate my needs, then what good are you?' Poor man nearly cried."
Marigold ordered a sandwich without meeting the waitress's eyes. Thallos did the same, though he added a bottle of the restaurant's best red wine. They were going to need it.
"I really don't know how you do it," Daisy continued once Pippa had left. "The responsibility of owning a business was just too much for me. It's a miracle you haven't collapsed under the weight of it all."
"I like the work," Marigold said, almost too quietly to hear.
"Of course you do, sweetie. You're just like your father in that way. Always taking on more than you should." Daisy patted her hand. "You should have told me you were struggling. I would have found a way to help."
"I'm not struggling."
"But all that planning for the festival—it must be overwhelming. I heard it's quite the production." Daisy looked at him and batted her eyes. "You must be a godsend to her. Taking on all the heavy lifting while she handles the pretty details." She laughed. "Sorry, no offense meant, darling. It's just that we all have our strengths. Mari has never been one for the big picture, you know."
