the art of loving ; lord tewksbury

twenty-five

"The world is brutal, people are brutal."

Chapter Twenty-Five

  If there was one thing Daisy Winters could pride herself on, it would be her ability to keep a place as neat as a pin. You could always count on her to ensure that things were in order. If you pulled genres of novels from different aisles in a library, she could tell you, without a doubt, the original position of each and every one of them, even offering to put it back for you. When you are a hundred percent sure you've dusted every speck of dust off a vase, Daisy could take one look at it and immediately point out a spot you missed, no matter how minute.

  It was habitual, almost an instinct, for her to be neat. A practice taught by her mother while she was still live and well, one which trailed by her side as she journeyed from early childhood to youth.

  "To find solace in a home is simple. A comfortable home is one that is always neat, welcoming, and filled with unconditional love," is what Genevieve Winers would tell her children.

  Even after her passing, Daisy believed in her mother's words. She believed in everything her mother said, never once questioning the credibility of the sentences which left her mouth. For a long time, Daisy believed as long as she kept things neat, welcoming, and showered her remaining family with as much love as she could, things would be okay. Her father, her brother, herself even. They could—and would—survive without the one person who tied the family together and kept them whole.

  Oh, how so very wrong she was.

  The current state of her bedroom would undoubtedly disappoint her mother, but Daisy couldn't be bothered — she was too distracted by the mental to-do list she had created in her head, too busy trying not to trip over clothes strewn across the floor as she scrambled from one end of the room to the other. At one point, she almost landed flat on her face when she stumbled over a stray shoe discarded at the foot of her bed. Fortunately, her quick reflexes kicked in and she grabbed onto the bedpost to stop herself from falling. She couldn't afford another bruised cheek, not at a time like this.

  "Did a storm blow through here last night?" her brother appeared at her doorway, leaning against the frame and folding his arms in front of him. Unlike her, Grant was already dressed and ready for the luncheon at Basilwether Hall which was happening in no less than an hour. He nodded towards her. "What, it got to your hair too? Or are you prepping to nest eggs in that?

  Daisy stomped over to him, a hairbrush clutched firmly in one hand, and thwacked her brother's shoulder with it. Grant yelped in response. He backed away from his irritated sister, massaging the slightly painful spot. "Was that really necessary?"

  "This isn't the time for jokes," she scolded. "I have no idea what to do about this!" She gestured to her tangled hair, waving her hands around her head to emphasize how messy it was. She tugged the brush through her hair again, yanking it harder than she had wanted to. Her eyes widened, watching in horror as a few strands of knotted hair stuck to the bristles of the brush when she pulled her arm back.

  "Keep doing that and you won't have to worry about unkempt hair any longer," Grant quipped. He strode over to the frustrated girl and pried the brush from her iron grip. "What is wrong with you?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Daisy pointed at herself. "I'm a mess! My room is a mess, my mind is a mess, this whole morning is a mess." She scooped up a pile of wrinkled blouses and dumped them on her bed. "I can't attend a formal luncheon looking like this."