“Ummm.” The ten-year-old girl put her nose to the box and inhaled loudly.
“Amelia!” Daisy burst out laughing.
“Lemon!” The little girl ran off without a backward glance, bold as a blue jay and just as loud.
I used to be that way.
She liked to think she still was on the inside, but at nineteen, Daisy couldn’t escape the fact that she was one of the oldest of her cousins, her great-aunt’s favorite, and the designated “success in the making” for her family. The pressure was starting to get to her.
Daisy waved at various cousins, aunts, and uncles as she headed toward the detached garage next to the kitchen. It was an old house built in the 1920s that her Mexican grandparents had bought as a wreck, then fixed up over the years as they built a life in Central California.
When Maya had passed away in her fifties, her children might have been grown, but they still needed a mother. Which was why, with not a second thought, Daisy’s great-aunt, Tia Imelda, had moved from Mexico to help Daisy’s parents with the house and the bakery.
Now the built-in woodwork shone with love and lemon oil, and the house that Maya and Enrique Rivera had built contained their two children, a son- and daughter-in-law, six grandchildren, and half of Daisy’s mother’s family who had all grown up in the house next door.
Along with at least three Chihuahuas at any given time.
The Riveras and the Oroscos had run in and out of the others’ houses as if they were their own. Luckily, Daisy’s parents, Roberto and Alicia, had decided to get married and formalize the family connection.
They were restauranteurs and contractors, farmers, warehouse managers, and salon owners. Daisy came from people who knew how to work hard and take care of their family no matter what.
But she would be the first one to attend a university. The first one of her cousins, ranked second in her graduating high school class, the pride of the Riveras and Oroscos.
A soccer ball went flying past her, chased by two of her boy cousins and one of Imelda’s Chihuahuas named Ronaldinho, who was unsuccessfully trying to live up to his name.
“If you trip me with that soccer ball while I’m carrying pie” —Daisy snapped at the older one— “I will shave your head, I swear it.”
The smaller one’s eyes went wide, but his older brother laughed. “Your fault for wearing those shoes.”
He ducked away before she could throw one at him.
She set the lemon meringue pie in the garage refrigerator and followed the sound of chatter toward the kitchen.
Daisy was reminded daily how proud everyone was. Her mother and father. Her aunts and uncles. Her great-aunt and even her grandparents who’d passed before she was born. She knew because her aunt told her every morning after mass.
“Hey, Mom.” She glanced at the flurry of activity as she walked to the sink to wash her hands. “I brought a pie; it’s in the fridge. Can I do anything?”
Her mother was stirring the pot of beans on the stovetop while Tia Imelda sat at the kitchen table, scraping the spines off nopales so they could be sliced and put on the grill next to the carne asada that she’d smelled cooking outside.
“Hey, mija.” Her mom’s sister Dolores patted the chair between her and Imelda. “Get these chiles ready for the salsa.”
The smoky scent of charred pepper skin met Daisy’s nose as she sat and started peeling the cracked blackened skin from the roasted chiles. She’d only been working for a few minutes when the questions started.
“So what did the financial aid office at UC Davis say?”
“Have you already gotten your transfer application in? Which schools did you apply for?”
“What options are there for student housing? Like, do you still live in dorms or something? Even when you’re twenty? How expensive is that?”
After high school, Daisy had taken the frugal, practical route of attending the local community college for her general education. Her business-minded parents could appreciate that since they avoided debt like other people avoided lava or undercooked chicken.
But with her general education on track to finish the following spring, she needed to fill out her applications to transfer to a larger university. She had incredible grades. Great transcripts and extracurricular activities. No matter where she applied, her guidance counselor was confident she would get in.
The only problem? She didn’t want to go.
Daisy nodded and made polite and vague answers to all her aunts’ and cousins’ questions, but her heart wasn’t in it.
She didn’t know how to explain it to them! Her brother Kiko had always been the quiet, methodical type, doing well in school but working at their father’s construction company every weekend with every expectation that Rivera General Contractors would eventually turn into Rivera and Son’s General Contracting.
And Daisy would go to university and become… what?
“Have you thought about psychology, mija?” her mother asked. “You’d be so good at that. You could work with kids, really make a difference that way.”
Daisy’s mother had the biggest heart on the planet, so she’d heard that suggestion before.
“What about, like… history or archaeology or something like that?” Her cousin Roni’s eyes lit up. “You could travel and stuff. Find treasures like Indiana Jones.”
Her cousin Olivia turned and grinned at her. “Indiana Rivera!”
“I don’t think real archaeologists have lives like in the movies.” Daisy had to laugh. And cry. On the inside where nooooo one could see it. “I was thinking about botany?” Daisy shrugged. “I don’t know. I like plants.”
The problem with all her family’s suggestions was none of them were staying home and taking over the café downtown, which was what she really wanted to do. Olivia and Roni were starting their own salon once Roni graduated. Her mother kept making noises about wanting to retire. Imelda hardly moved from the register most days. Why wasn’t the café good enough for Daisy?
“Being a great gardener does not mean you should study plants at a university,” her tia Angie said. “What would you do with a botany degree? Is that for research or something?”
Tia Imelda reached over and patted Daisy’s hand. “My niece already is a great gardener. You should be teaching them, not the other way.”
“Thanks, Tia.” She looked up. “I’m planning on taking some business classes in the spring. Maybe I’ll like those.”
“Oooh!” Roni’s eyes lit up again. “Can you imagine Daisy in, like, a superhot business suit? You’d look so bomb. You could, like, trade stocks and stuff on Wall Street and be so fu—”
A collective gasp cut her off. “Veronica Cristina Jimenez Orosco!”
“Freaking rich!” Roni’s face was red. “That’s all I was going to say, that Daisy could trade stocks and be so freaking rich. That’s all.”
Or I could run a café on Main Street.
Her mother hit the back of her cousin’s head. “And why would she learn about business from some professors and not her aunties or her dad? You think those professors have ever done payroll or negotiated a contract? No, Daisy is going to study something important.” Her mom motioned to Roni. “And you’re next, so you better not be late with your Spanish homework again. Your mom told me you’ve been slacking off.”