Glitter, Guts, Glory

I volunteered to close on Christmas eve because at least I'd have an excuse not to see my family. I love them and all, but they're so overbearing. Especially my mom. If her whackiness was contagious, the whole world would die from it. Neal, the guy who was supposed to close, was thanking me every ten seconds before he left. I'd never met the other person I was going to be with because she was pretty new and worked in the mornings and on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, while I was there Tuesdays, Fridays, Saturdays, and sometimes on Sunday. I only knew that her name was Daisy Tyson and thought to myself that she would fit in perfectly with my sisters, Poppy, Ivy, Violet, and Rose. Mom was a florist, but at least my dad went to hell and back to prevent her from naming me after some flower too.

"So, how'd you get stuck working on Christmas eve?" she asked me, once there was hardly anyone in the store. Books aren't exactly the hot thing to give for presents, but those damn ebooks are. We must have sold about fifty of them the entire day. I don't know why I hate them so much. I think it might be because almost everyone I've met who has one walks around with liquid diabetes coffee and downloads guides on Eastern religion and wears glasses with plastic for the lenses. I mean, I wear glasses but it's because I actually need them, not to look smart or cool.

"Oh, I don't mind," I told her, sitting on a stool behind the counter. I yawned. "It beats seeing the family, you know?"

"I know what you mean," she murmured under her breath. I wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but decided not to. It didn't seem right to pry considering I hardly knew her.

The first thing I noticed about Daisy was her eyes. They were enormous and blue and looked like they were going to pop out of her head. She had black hair that fell in waves almost to the small of her back and had a hint of an accent that I couldn't place. And man, was she shiny. She had bling on her necklace and on her stack of bracelets that clinged together whenever she moved. Even her belt buckle was studded with glittery diamonds. I then realized how easy it was to talk to her. She could just talk and talk about anything.

"I guess I'm one of those starving artists types," she told me when I asked what she studied at university. It turned into a little game, where she'd ask a question then I'd ask one. "I'm serious, though. I love to eat, but I have no money to buy anything except ramen and stuff from the dollar menu because I blow my paycheck on paint."

"It's a cross, for my best friend's mom," I told her when she asked about the beginning of a tattoo poking out of my shirt. It surprised me that she even noticed it. I like to think it's pretty well concealed. "She was one of those Sunday school teachers, you know? She practically raised me." As I was locking the door later that night to go home, I decided to ask her one last question.

"Hey, would you want to get coffee sometime?" I asked because even if I got rejected by this gorgeous chick who's really cool, at least I could say I tried. She had this plaid scarf around her neck and I really wanted to touch it because it looked so soft.

"Oh, I hate coffee. That shit's nasty," was all she said. I hated coffee, too, but was under the assumption that everyone liked it. And then I realized, this chick is my soul mate. And if that isn't coming on too strong, I don't know what is.

I told her that and she laughed, but agreed to get some actual food with me. I was hers that very night, whether she knew it or not.