She took a deep breath, hugging herself as she stepped out of the obstetrician’s office. At six months’ pregnant, her belly had grown so big she was barely able to zip up her long black puffy coat. She’d had to get new clothes from thrift shops and friends with discarded maternity outfits; aside from her swelling belly, she’d put on a good amount of pregnancy weight.
After a six-hour morning shift at the diner, Daisy had already been exhausted before she’d skipped lunch to go straight to a doctor’s appointment. But the medical office had been running late, and she’d sat in the waiting room for an hour. Now, as she finally left, her stomach was growling, and she thought with pity of her dog at home, waiting for her meal, too.
She quickened her step, her breath a white cloud in cold air that was threatening rain. She couldn’t stop smiling.
Her checkup had gone perfectly. Her baby was doing well, her pregnancy was on track, and after the morning sickness misery of her first trimester, and the uncertainty of her second, now she was in her final trimester. She finally felt like she knew what she was doing. She felt...hope.
It was funny, she thought, as she hurried down the crowded Brooklyn sidewalk, vibrant with colorful shops. Her past was filled with tragedy that she once would have thought she could not survive: her mother’s illness and death when Daisy was seven, her own failure at becoming an artist, her father’s accusation and trial followed by his sudden death, falling in love with Leo and accidentally getting pregnant then finding out he was actually Leonidas Niarxos.
She had decided to raise her baby alone, rather than with a man who didn’t deserve to be her child’s father, but it was strange now to remember how, five months ago, she’d been so sure she wasn’t strong or brave enough to do it alone. But the fight with Leonidas at his cocktail party had made it clear she had no other choice.
And she’d made it through. She was stronger and wiser. She’d never again be so stupidly innocent, giving her heart to someone she barely knew. She’d never be that young again.
Becoming an adult—a mother—meant making responsible choices. She’d given up childish dreams of romance, and someday becoming an artist. Her baby was all that mattered. Daisy put a hand on her belly over her black puffy coat. She’d found out a few months earlier she was having a little girl.
Daisy’s friends in Brooklyn had rallied around her. Claudia Vogler, her boss at the diner, had given her extra hours so Daisy could save money. She’d forgiven all of Daisy’s missed shifts due to morning sickness, and, when Daisy started having trouble being on her feet all day, Claudia had even created a new job for her—to sit by the cash register at the diner and ring out customers. Since most customers just paid their server directly with a credit card, Daisy mostly just greeted them as they came, and said goodbye as they left.
And she was still living in Franck’s apartment, rent free. The middle-aged artist had returned to New York a week after her breakup with Leonidas. He’d been shocked, walking into his apartment, expensive suitcase in hand, to discover a puppy living in his home, which was full of easily breakable sculptures and expensive modern art on the walls.
She’d named her puppy Sunny, to remind herself, even in the depths of her worry, to focus on the brightness all around her. But Sunny was an excitable puppy, and she?
?d already managed to pee on his rug and chew Franck’s slippers.
“I’m so sorry,” Daisy had choked out, confessing her puppy’s sins. She’d half expected him to throw both her and the dog out.
But to her surprise, Franck had been kind. He’d allowed her to keep the dog and told her she could stay at his apartment as long as she liked, since he was leaving anyway, to snowbird at his house in Los Angeles. That had been in October.
She’d fallen to her lowest point in early January, shivering in the depths of a gray winter despair, she’d felt scared and alone.
Franck, returning to New York on a two-day business trip, had discovered Daisy sitting on the fireside rug, crying into Sunny’s fur. When she’d looked up, the gray-haired man had seemed like a surrogate for the father she missed so much, and she’d tearfully told him about her unexpected pregnancy, and that the baby’s father was no longer in the picture.
He’d been shocked. After vaguely comforting her, he’d left for his studio. He’d returned late, sleeping in his bedroom down the hall.
Then, the next morning at the breakfast table, right before his return flight to Los Angeles, Franck had abruptly offered to marry her.
Overwhelmed, Daisy had stammered, “You’re so kind, Franck, but...I have no intention of marrying anyone.”
It was true. In addition to the fact that he was so much older, and had obviously asked her out of pity, Daisy had no desire to marry anyone. Getting her heart broken once was enough for a lifetime.
Franck had seemed strangely disappointed at her refusal. “You’re in shock. You’ll change your mind,” he’d said. And no amount of protesting on her part had made him think differently. “But whether you marry me or not, you’re welcome to stay here,” he’d added softly, looking down at her. “Stay as long as you want. Stay forever.”
It had all been a little awkward. She’d been relieved when he’d left for Los Angeles.
But hearing Franck describe how lovely and warm it was in California had given her an idea. She’d had a sudden memory of her father, two years before.
Daisy had been crying after her first gallery show, heartbroken over her failure to sell a single painting, when her father had said, “We could start over. Move to Santa Barbara, where I was born. It’s a beautiful place, warm and bright. We could buy a little cottage by the sea, with a garden full of flowers.”
“Leave New York?” Wiping her eyes in surprise, Daisy had looked at him. “What about your gallery, Dad?”
“Maybe I’d like a change, too. Just one more deal to close, and then...we’ll see.”
Shortly after that, Patrick had been arrested, and there had been no more talk of fresh starts.
But the memory suddenly haunted Daisy. Pregnant and alone, she found herself yearning for her parents’ love more than ever. For comfort, for sunshine and warmth, for flowers and the sea.
Her mother had once been a nurse, before she’d gotten sick. Daisy liked helping people, and she knew her income as a waitress would not be enough to support a child, at least not in Brooklyn. She needed grown-up things, like financial security and insurance benefits. Why not?
Holding her breath, Daisy had applied to a small nursing school in Santa Barbara.