Page 3 of Spiced Chais and Secret Spies
DAISY
AfterIsay goodbye to my co-workers,Itoss my apron into the bin, sling my bag onto my shoulder, and head outside.Myapartment is one-third of a mile from theCoffeeLoft, and there are three different pathsIcould take when walking home.Ilike to let fate (a.k.a. my phone) decide which oneItake.Iactivate voice control, then say, “Picka number between one and three.”
Itpicks three.Meanderingpath, it is!Itdoesn’t have sidewalks for half of it but goes past some cool homes with interesting landscaping.I’mwalking past one with a stone bench and some purple and yellow asters when my phone sounds with my sister’s ringtone, soIpull it out of my bag and answer.
“Areyou on your way home from work?Makesure you stop by the store to pick up milk!”
“Thanks,Laurel,”Isay, trying to make my voice sound appreciative.Ilove my sister.Imiss my sister.Ido not love or miss her bossing me around.MostlybecauseIreally do need milk, yetIknowIwon’t get it because, well, she’s not the boss of me.
There’sa pause, and then she says, “You’renot going to stop and get it, are you?”
“Nope!”Isay, and this time my voice does come out cheerful.
Shesighs. “Becauseyou’re an adult and you don’t need your sister parenting you anymore?”
“And?”Iprod.
“Andyou’ve lived without me for six months now, and you’ve been getting milk just fine on your own.”
“Exactly.”
Okay, truth be told,Iforget more often than not.ButI’ma twenty-four-year-old woman.Whetheror notIhave to eat my cereal dry should be squarely on my mental list, not cluttering up my sister’s.
“Buthey,”Isay, “Ithink you’re making progress.Thisis only the second time this week you’ve bossed me around.”She’sonly a year and two days older than me, but she’s been acting like she’s my mom more than my sister since we were little.
“Wow—only twice?IthinkIshould get a gold star for that!”
Ilaugh.Ilike change.Adoreit.Asurprise change of plans?Signme up.Anunplanned detour?Rightup my alley.Aleap into the unknown?Soundsexciting.ButI’mnot a fan of the personI’mclosest to moving a three-hour drive away.
“Thanksfor looking out for me, sis.”
Wechat asIwalk past a home with an elaborate rock garden—complete with a miniature replica ofStonehenge, with garden gnomes arranged like they’re having a birthday party in the middle—clear up untilI’mwalking up the stairs to the second floor of my apartment building.
Sixmonths ago, my sister andIwere sitting on my bed in our apartment, chatting about everything under the sun, andIsaid, “Iwant someone to share my space with.”
Laureljust raised an eyebrow, soIcontinued. “Youknow, someone to go do things with.Someonewho is always up to go with me wherever anywhere at any time.Someonewho will be there for me.Who’llbe happy to see me.Whowill miss me whileI’mat work.”
Laurelhad crossed her arms and said in a flat tone, “Youmean someone who’s not going to go off and get married in two days and move out, likeIam?”
“Yep.”Icould tell by the look on her face that she’d thoughtIwas talking about the roommate who would replace her.Butinstead,Isaid, “SoIdecidedIeither need to get myself a man or a dog.”
She, the blissfully-in-love sister, voted for me to get a man.
Iknock onRuthieBeisinger’sapartment, which is right across the hall from mine, and the moment the white-haired woman opens her door,PrinceCharmingbarks his happy-to-see-me yips as he runs to me as fast as he can with his little corgi legs.Iscoop him up into my arms, and he licks my face like we’ve finally been reunited after a year apart.
Ithink the dog was the correct choice.
Alsoa correct choice: lettingPrinceCharmingspend the day whileI’mworking withRuthie.Theolder woman was lonely during the day; my adorable dog was lonely whileIwas at work.Thetwo of them spending the days together has been a match made in heaven.
“Thislittle guy,”Ruthiesays as she leans in and grabs hold of my dog’s cheeks, giving them a rub, “was such a gentleman today.Wehad a tea party, and he was the perfect guest.Helet me dress him up in a cute little suit and he sat straight up in the chairIhad for him at the table.Heeven waited to drink his little teacup of water untilIstarted drinking mine.”
PrinceCharmingknows thatRuthieis telling me what a good boy he is, and he’s sitting tall in my arms, an open-mouth smile on his face.
“Thenwe ate biscuits together—well, his was a dog biscuit.Minewas a cookie.Hewas the cutest thing you’ve ever seen in his suit.Oh, let me send you pictures of it.”
Theelderly woman pulls out her phone asIsetPrinceCharmingback on the ground and scratch him along the sides of his neck, just as he likes.
“Myson told me thatIcan share pictures through theGooglerright from my phone!Iknow,Iknow.He’salways sayingIshould call itGoogleorGoogleDrive, but it’s not a person, so it doesn’t care ifIcall it the right name or not.Andwhy in the world would you call something by its normal name when the more fun-to-say name is right there waiting for you to use it?Okay,bam!They’reuploaded to theGooglerand shared with you.”
