Silence stretched between them. Outside, a bird sang. Downstairs, a truck rumbled past on Main Street. The apartment felt very small, very quiet, the air thick with tension and expensive perfume.
Finally, Daisy's shoulders slumped slightly—a subtle tell that meant she was about to abandon one strategy and try another.
"Fine." She sank onto the sofa, artfully arranging her silk robe around her. "There is something I wanted to discuss with you. A business proposition."
*There it is.*
She stayed where she was, keeping the kitchen counter between them like a barrier. "I'm listening."
"You know I've always had an eye for opportunity." Daisy's voice shifted into her "business" register—the one she used when she was pitching something ridiculous. "And I've found an incredible investment opportunity in Sedona. A spiritual wellness retreat. The market is booming, Marigold. Absolutely booming. People are desperate for authentic experiences."
"Spiritual wellness."
"Crystal healing, energy work, that sort of thing." Daisy waved a hand dismissively, as if the details were beside the point. "The property is perfect. A little run-down, but nothing a good renovation couldn't fix. The current owners are desperate to sell—divorce situation, very sad—and we could get it for a steal."
"We."
"Well, that's where the proposition comes in." Daisy smiled—her charming smile, the one that had convinced four men to marry her and countless others to fund her various schemes. "The flower shop is doing well, isn't it? You've made it quite profitable."
Her stomach dropped. She knew where this was going. She'd known the moment her mother walked in.
"Mom—"
"Just hear me out." Daisy leaned forward, her eyes bright with the familiar fervor of a new obsession. "The shop must be worth—what, a hundred thousand? More? The location alone is valuable. And you could take that money and invest it in the retreat. Be a partner! We'd work together, mother and daughter. Just think of it!"
"You want me to sell the shop."
"It would be an investment! The returns would be?—"
"You want me to sell my shop. The one I rebuilt after you left it in ruins. The one I've poured two years of my life into. So you can buy a run-down property in Sedona and play at being a spiritual healer."
Daisy's smile faltered. "That's a very negative way to frame it."
"It's an accurate way to frame it." Her voice stayed level, even though something was burning in her chest. Real, genuine anger, not the suppressed kind she'd grown up swallowing. "This is what you always do. You find a new passion, a new scheme, a new opportunity. And when it falls apart—because it always falls apart—someone else pays the price. Usually me."
"That's not fair?—"
"I spent my childhood cleaning up your messes." The words came out hot and fast now, years of resentment finally boiling over. "Every time you got bored with a husband, I was the one who packed the boxes. Every time you ran out of money, I was the one who found a way to keep the lights on. Every time you bought something ridiculous on a whim—" She gestured around the apartment. "—I was the one who figured out how to make it work."
Daisy's face had gone pale. "Marigold?—"
"This shop was supposed to be yours. Remember? You bought it because you thought it would be 'charming' to own a flower shop. You lasted three months before you got bored and moved on to Marco or whoever came next. I was the one who stayed. I was the one who learned the business, who built the customer base, who made this place into something real."
"I never asked you to do any of that."
"No. You didn't. Because you never had to ask." Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them back. "I always just… did it. Took care of things. Cleaned up after you. Because that was my job. That was what I was for."
Something shifted in Daisy's expression. The dramatic hurt was fading, replaced by something that looked almost like genuine emotion.
"That's not—I didn't mean for it to be like that."
"Maybe not. But that's how it was." She uncrossed her arms, letting her hands fall to her sides. "I love you, Mom. I do. But I can't keep doing this. I can't keep being your safety net while you jump off cliffs."
"I'm not asking you to be a safety net! I'm asking you to be a partner?—"
"No, you're asking me to fund your latest adventure with everything I've built." She shook her head. "The answer is no."
The word hung in the air between them. Simple. Final. A complete sentence.
