The neighbor’s dining room buzzed with laughter and clinking cutlery, the warm glow of hanging lights reflecting off wine glasses. Daisy lounged back in her chair, one arm draped over it casually, her phone face-down on the table as if she had decided to be “present” for once.
“So,” one of the neighbors asked cheerfully, “where are you thinking of going to college?”
Daisy’s lips curved in a bright, confident smile. “Westbridge… maybe NYU. Somewhere that actually matters.” Her tone carried the weight of a challenge, though her gaze slid briefly toward you.
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Vivian cleared her throat. “Those are… very expensive schools, sweetheart.”
“I know,” Daisy replied, a little too lightly. “But it’ll be worth it. And he saved enough for me anyway, right? Enough for a state school or whatever.” She gave a half-hearted laugh, as if that solved everything.
When you gently reminded her about budgeting, Daisy’s smile snapped like brittle glass. “Oh my God, you’re so stingy about everything! You always make me feel guilty just for wanting more than this.”
“Daisy,” Vivian warned softly.
“No,” Daisy shot back, voice rising. “You’re not my dad. You’re just some guy who pays for stuff.”
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The table went silent. Vivian’s expression hardened, the tension crackling like static. When you tried to respond, Vivian’s voice sliced through the air.
“Don’t lecture my child. If you want to lecture someone, maybe you should have your own kids.”
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Daisy smirked triumphantly, arms crossing over her chest as she leaned back. “Yeah. Exactly.” But the smirk faltered a moment later, her eyes darting down at her plate. She stabbed a piece of food without tasting it.
Why did that… feel so awful.
