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DAISY BECKETT

Ifold the bed linen just the way I like it before looking around the room.

“Was there any other special requirement?” I call out to my mom. The two of us are the only ones here at the moment, a small reprieve from the long line of clients we’ve had all day.

“What’s that, dear?” Mom asks, her voice serene, even when she’s raising it.

I ensure the essential oils are tidy and light a few candles. Our Sunshine Space Wellness Clinic is one of the most tranquil places in all of New York. Somewhat of an institution, it’s where I’ve worked and trained with my mom since I left high school. Sure, the place is pretty old now and needs a total refurbishment, and Mom hasn’t invested in any of the modern technological upgrades. Her life of natural well-being is something she was born with, and it remains to this day.

“I said, did they require anything else with this couples’ booking?” I take one last look around and walk out of the special treatment room, heading toward our tiny kitchen. Mom has a few jars of mung beans on the small window ledge, as well as our herbal tea collection, one we developed ourselves. She keeps our cupboards full of remedies for everything from insomnia to sexual appetite.

“They? Oh no, sorry, honey, I must’ve forgotten to tell you in between the shiatsu treatment I did this morning and the acupuncture treatment I had straight after it…” She looks a little flustered as she steeps some of our homemade herbs in some hot water to make a tea concoction.

“Forgot to tell me what?” I ask, puzzled, watching what she’s doing.

“There’s only one person coming today. They had to cancel the duo. Can you still do it, though? My hands are aching,” she asks, and I frown as I look at her hands. She seems too young for arthritis, but it’s starting to riddle her joints, especially in her hands and wrists. Her knuckles are getting a little larger, creating some disproportion to her fingers.

“Sure. It's not like I have a hot date or anything,” I murmur, only half joking. It’s Friday, and while most girls my age are heading out for afterwork drinks, maybe at a nice bar in Manhattan, where they’ll flirt with the bartender or a businessman, having the time of their lives, I’m here.

“Oh, have you met any interesting men lately?” she asks, looking hopeful, clearly interested in an update to my very sad love life. I roll my eyes.

“None who like a girl like me.” I pull at my top, glad I chose the flowing tunic today. It hides my rolls and curves a little better.

Her lips pinch as she notices my body language. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re beautiful, inside and out.”

I give her a tight smile as I play with the Daisy chain necklace she gave me when I turned twenty-one a few years ago. Something she made when she was young, now handed down to me.

“You’re my mom, you’re supposed to say that,” I tell her, appreciating her love. Unfortunately, though, the majority of men in this city don’t share her views. I haven't been on a date in months. The last guy took one look at me and told me he “wasn’t really feeling it,”then made a quick exit. We barely even spoke, and the embarrassment of that night still stings, my confidence in dating now at an all-time low. Humiliation is a constant feeling for me when it comes to the opposite sex. Has been even since school. I was always picked on for my weight, and even now, being plus-size doesn’t really sit on the majority of men’s wish lists.

“Soooo, have you thought about that new booking system I was telling you about?” I ask tentatively. While Sunshine is amazing on the wellness front, we severely lack any type of business support, policies, or growth plans, but my mom doesn't have an eye on the future.

“I don’t think we need anything like that,” she says in a tone that I know too well. The one where I know she hasn’t even looked at my proposal to invest in some computers, along with a new software that will book, rebook, and do direct messaging to clients to ensure they’re continually provided information about new products and treatments, making it easier to progress our business.

My passion for business isn’t something that I studied or had any desire for when I was younger. Now, after a few years here, my interest has grown, and I really want to take Sunshine to the next level.

“But Mom, I really think that—” I start to say.

“Honey, computers have too many electromagnetic fields to combat; I’ve told you that.” Still smiling like she doesn’t have a care in the world, she waves off the idea. I, on the other hand, feel my once relaxed shoulders now up around my ears. It isn’t like this is my first time suggesting business growth to Mom. Last month, I tried to discuss commercializing our tea into a brand that we sell online or through other spa sanctuaries and wellness businesses. The month before, I tried to talk to her about my biggest passion, yoga, and offering yoga classes online via a membership subscription. But again, she didn’t like that idea either.

“I understand, but there’s just so much potential at Sunshine,” I tell her, hoping she can see it too, but as she gives me her small smile, I know she doesn’t. A hippie, through and through, not interested in anything that remotely sounds like commercialism. I commend her for her steadfast approach to staying true to her roots. I mean, that’s what makes Sunshine different. But the world is changing, and I want to be a part of it. When she doesn’t answer me, I decide to drop it for now.

“Are you making some tea for your circulation?” I ask, changing the topic. I grab her favorite teacup from the cupboard for her, the one she’s started to have trouble clasping. I smell the herbs, taking a deep breath in, visualizing them coating my insides as my mom hums, the mood around me relaxing again.

“No… I’m just making this up so it’s ready for our next guest. A little afternoon pick-me-up.” There’s a weird look on her face when she glances at me, one I can’t place.

“Are you feeling alright?” I ask her, looking over her body. Her hands are obviously bothering her a lot. But other than that, Rainbow Waterfall Beckett looks exactly how you would imagine. The commune life she grew up in lingers in her appearance, as all these years later, her hair is still long with a few purple streaks, her skin is free from makeup, and her aura is perfectly balanced. My dad, an accountant, is the complete opposite.

“Oh, fine, dear. Just a little tired. Don't forget, it’s a full moon tonight,” she explains, and I nod, making a mental note to clean my crystals, knowing that’s what she’s talking about.

I sit at our small table, watching her with the tea. I have a few more minutes before the next client arrives, so I might as well take a load off.

“You know, we should really be doing a full moon meditation online, or at least a big sale on crystals each full moon or something…” I murmur to her, my mind buzzing with new business ideas, yet fully aware she won't appreciate my business talk because, apparently, she’s allergic to it.

She sighs, like I’m annoying her, and gives me a look. “Sunshine is fine the way it is, honey. I like simple. I like natural.”

I mean, I love yoga, meditation, and natural remedies, too. I try to salute the sun every morning, and I consult the crystals. But I’m my father’s daughter and, clearly, I got my business brain from him.

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