hated Mother's Day.

Father's Day was up there too, and as a result, Daisy sort of dreaded May and June.

It just wasn't a fair concept. What were people without parents supposed to do? Sulk all day and hang their heads?

Daisy hated that she didn't have the opportunity to celebrate Mother's Day because her mother was gone. The day felt heavy, the world seeming to taunt Daisy as everyone else was able to hug their moms and send their moms flowers and tell their moms they loved them.

The girl's head was hung all day, bad thoughts brewing in her mind. Daisy stared blankly at the white sheet of paper in front of her, the rest of her English class obediently scribbling away with mechanical pencils.

The black ink of the dry erase marker gleamed off the white board at the front of the classroom, each letter haunting Daisy.

1) What words come to mind when you think of your mom?

2) Write a letter to your mom entailing all the reasons you're thankful for her.

Two embarrassingly simple prompts, and yet Daisy couldn't think of anything.

Mom had been kind, and warm—like sitting outside on the sunniest day of the year. Mom had been gentle and tender and a billion other positive adjectives that Daisy couldn't possibly list.

But the matter, of course, was that Mom had become past tense. It wasn't Mom is kind or Mom is warm.

The wording consisted of past tenses. Mom was warm. Mom had been warm. Mom was the warmest, and then death had taken her warmth and replaced it with a bone-chilling coldness, pushing the woman into a wooden death trap six feet below the surface of the Earth.

And a letter? How was Daisy possibly supposed to write a letter to a dead woman?

Hi. How are you! Are you okay? I miss you. When are you coming back? I miss you.

It felt wrong, the most twisted reality that Daisy was living each day.

Daisy glanced over to her other peers dutifully writing sentences as they filled their paper with pencil marks, forming the most sickeningly- sweet words to smother their moms with via letter.

Daisy didn't have half her paper filled like everybody else did. Her sheet of notebook paper remained desolate and blank, and Daisy figured she wouldn't be able to write anything of use. Lest she did, the quality of her work would be incredibly unauthentic and gloomy.

The girl stood from her chair, making her way to the large desk at the front of the classroom. Daisy's English teacher was sat grading papers in the midst of the silence, and she looked thoroughly surprised to see Daisy stood in front of her.

"You're finished already?"

Daisy didn't respond to the woman's questioning, handing her the blank sheet of paper.

The girl watched her English teacher's expression flip, her features contorting to showcase more annoyance than Daisy had ever before seen.

"You didn't write anything."

"Your assignments aren't very accommodating to people that don't have parents." Daisy spoke firmly, the woman in front of her frowning.

"You don't have any sort of mother figures that you could write about?"

Daisy supposed she did have mother figures. She had an Aunt Callie, and an Aunt Arizona, and both women acted like makeshift moms when Daisy needed it. She had Octavia, the familiar woman who had always taken the time with Daisy when nobody else would.

But it was Mother's Day. None of those women were mothers to Daisy. It felt wrong to write about lesbian aunts and sporadic social workers when Daisy's legitimate mother wasn't around to vouch for herself.

"Can I go to the bathroom?" Daisy ignored the woman, warranting a sigh from the teacher.

"You need to write something. I can't accept this."

Daisy frowned, looking down at the blank sheet of paper that her teacher had placed right back in her hands.

The girl trudged back to her seat, grasping her pencil in her right hand and glancing again at the prompt on the board.

1) What words come to mind when you think of your mom?

Warmth. Kindness. Compassion. Love. Patience.

The list could've continued forever if Daisy really wanted to write out a hundred plus words describing her perfectly angelic mother.

But Daisy was so tired of her English teacher and her stupid writing assignments. The prompts were all so happy and ignorant and it frustrated Daisy far more than she could ever express.

Rather than writing that her mother was warm or kind, Daisy picked a more uncomfortable adjective to describe the state of her mom that she hoped would shut up the English teacher.

Daisy scrawled the word dead on her paper, again standing up from her seat to approach the middle-aged woman sat behind the desk.

The woman looked annoyed as Daisy approached, shooting her an unimpressed glance as her eyes fell on the single word that Daisy had written out.

"Can I go to the bathroom?"

Daisy's English teacher stared at Daisy's paper for an extended moment in time, letting out a drawled sigh and metaphorically waving her white flag, seeming to know she wouldn't be able to get much else out of Daisy. The girl used to be a top student, but her work ethic had plummeted in recent weeks, and the woman was seriously unimpressed.

"Be quick, please." The woman requested as she finished filling out a hall pass, handing the small note to Daisy.

Daisy had positively zero intentions of being quick as she grasped the small slip of paper, exiting the classroom and letting her feet move at a dragging pace down the hall.

She wanted to take her time. Everything was moving far too quickly for the girl's liking.

August's cancer was progressing at a rate Daisy couldn't possibly comprehend. It had already been three agonizing weeks without Calypso.

And it was May. May was sort of a middle ground month, Daisy thought. She preferred the colder months, and May was far from cold. May was warm, and Daisy didn't like warmth.

How was it already May? Daisy remembered when it was August, and Calypso had taken it upon herself to remove a tulip from a random apartment complex's garden. The girl had accidentally crushed the green stem of the flower in her tiny palm—the gesture meant to be a peace offering for a stranger named Mark.

Daisy remembered when it was October, and the wind had begun to pick up. The summer air was gone, replaced with a chill that bit hard every time Daisy took a step outside. Daisy remembered her birthday, and the way that Calypso had turned the kitchen upside down in an attempt to make her a birthday cake. Daisy remembered the way Calypso had radiated the color pink on Halloween, the tiny girl dressed as a princess with a bulky black arm sling hung around her shoulders.

"Stop." Daisy spoke out loud in the empty hallway, truly hating her brain. Remembering Caly felt bittersweet, and Daisy would rather just forget any memories of the girl altogether.

The issue was that Calypso had become past tense just like Mom. Daisy felt isolated on her own tiny island, alone from the rest of the world.

The girl felt a pressure on her chest as she entered the restroom. Daisy glanced over at the stall doors, glad to see they were all open and unoccupied. She wanted a few moments to herself, and she would've felt positively suffocated if somebody were in the room.

Daisy let out a sigh of relief—a desperate exhale of sorts as the air in her lungs begged to be let out.

Things were hard, and Daisy didn't know what to do with her life. It felt like her only purpose was to stand around while everybody surrounding her died, she was getting so sick of death.

Daisy felt her tapping kick in against the pearl white sink, her middle and index finger tapping back and forth in a constant motion.

She wanted to go home, though she knew realistically she couldn't. Mark had already made it clear she couldn't keep leaving school early just because of her nervous spells.

Though perhaps that was for the best on account of the fact that Daisy seriously felt like yelling at Mark, and she wasn't sure why.

Maybe it was due to her increased hostility as a result of an absent mother on an intimate holiday.

Yet it didn't even feel like it was entirely Mother's Day that was making her moody. Daisy just felt mean all the time, and she wasn't sure why. She knew that Mark tried his best and wanted to be there for her, so she wasn't sure why she felt like screaming at him every chance she got. He did put in effort, and Daisy was resenting him so much for reasons she was unaware of.

"Stop it." Daisy spoke out loud again. "You're doing it all over again."

Doing what?

"Stop it." Daisy mumbled out. Her brain knew what she was referring to—the undeniable truth that Daisy tended to push all the good people out of her life.

You're ruining all the good relationships you've built.

"I know, I can't help it."

Yes you can. Stop being bitchy to people that are trying to help you.

"I'm not."

Yes you are.

"Shut up." Daisy snapped. "Shut up, shut up, shut up."

For once, Daisy felt in control of her mind as her thoughts went silent, no demanding remarks echoing back to her.

Daisy let out a longer exhale, taking in the sight of the empty restroom that she had just had an argument in with herself.

This is why people think you're crazy. You talk to yourself in bathrooms.

Daisy's tapping continued in a constant pattern, a maddening back and forth and back and forth as her fingerpads made audible contact with the ceramic.

I want to go home.

We should go home.

Mark won't let us go home.

Who cares?

I have to listen to Mark.

You didn't listen to him when he told you to stay away from August.

That's different, August is dying.

August is probably dying right now.

Cancer is bad.

August is probably dying right now.

Cancer is so bad.

You're missing moments with him. He's dying right now.

Daisy had an internal battle with herself, fear winning the fight as per usual and pinning her arms behind her head. Daisy was terrified that August would be dead before she would get to say goodbye, and the girl decided she needed to see him immediately.

What would Daisy do if she didn't get to say goodbye to August? She hadn't gotten the chance to say goodbye to Calypso, and it haunted her every waking second. How would Daisy live with herself if she never got to properly thank her friend for everything?

The girl turned from the abandoned bathroom, opening the heavy door and walking out. The hallways were desolate on account of the fact that it was the middle of third period, and the bell was far from ringing.

Daisy made a beeline for her locker, the metal door creaking loudly in the eerie silence.

I'm a good student.

Daisy grasped her bookbag, slinging a strap of the blue bag over her shoulder.

I'm a good student leaving school early without permission. I'm not supposed to be doing that, it doesn't make any sense.

One hand Daisy used to shut the locker door, clicking the lock back into place as she let one foot travel in front of the other down the hall.

None of it really makes sense anyways. It's not your fault.

It all feels like my fault.

It's not, Daisy.

Daisy wasn't nervous about the security cameras or getting caught by a moody administrator. The school's entire staff was lousy, and Daisy knew as long as she went out a side entrance, nobody would see her nor care enough to stop her.

Daisy had far more important things to do than sit around in an old school building. Daisy knew that August likely felt the same way she did about having an absent mother, and Daisy didn't want the boy sitting alone in his sadness on the holiday.

The girl pushed open the back metal door behind the band room, letting the fresh Seattle air hit her in the face.

Daisy continued walking, reviewing the directions to the hospital a few blocks down the road.

Turn right, then two lefts. A right, and then two lefts.

Daisy was terrified that August wasn't okay. Her nerves kicked in as her tapping started up in intense rhythms.

Daisy pictured a scene in which she arrived at the hospital only to find August's body draped in a white sheet, the coroner ready to take him down to the morgue. Daisy pictured walking in to monitors beeping out of control, doctors crowding around the teenage boy and yelling a slew of nonsense about trying to stabilize August's crashing vitals.

The scene Daisy actually walked into was far more tame, yet still equally as eerie and soul- crushing.

August was sleeping—in the manner he usually was when Daisy visited—and Daisy wondered if he would ever wake up. He was always in the longest, strangest dazes. Daisy wanted him to wake up and talk to her.

He looked dead already, his face drained of color and his eyes glued shut. He looked weak, like he was one crack away from completely shattering. The girl would've thought August were already dead if she weren't able to see the way his chest slightly rose and sunk with each minuscule inhale and exhale he took.

Daisy took a seat in the uncomfortable chair beside the boy's bed, mumbling quiet words. "Hi, Auggie."

August didn't answer, of course, he never did. It was sort of tragic in that way—the fact that August was always asleep, and when he was awake, he was far too weak to talk or play chess. Daisy's visits consisted of sitting in silence with a dying August to keep him company.

It was dark and lonely in the quiet room. Daisy sat fiddling with the hairtie on her wrist, wringing it around and around as the silence became maddening to her ears.

A faint shuffle of footsteps broke through the silence, Arizona passing through the threshold of the doorway.

The doctor hesitated for a moment, looking confused as her eyes fell on Daisy. "You're not supposed to be in here."

Arizona had seen Daisy in August's room hundreds of times and looked the other way, so Daisy wasn't sure why the woman cared all of a sudden.

"Yeah, I...I know Mark doesn't want me here, but I think an exception should be made because-"

"Not that. I mean..." Arizona frowned, glancing down at the wristwatch sat snugly against her skin. "It's not even noon yet. Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

Daisy merely shrugged. "I left."

Arizona cocked an eyebrow at that, opening up the dull gray binder in her hand as she scanned over August's monitor. "You left?"

"I wanted to see August."

"And you cleared this with Mark?"

"I don't think he'll care."

"I strongly disagree."

Daisy disagreed with her own statement as well, knowing Mark would not be happy. Daisy was the one that truthfully didn't care. She didn't care how angry Mark got or how annoyed he was. Daisy knew what was best for herself, and she didn't think it was fair that Mark thought he was entitled to make all decisions for the girl just because he was an adult.

"Are you gonna tell on me?" Daisy mumbled, Arizona not so much as batting an eye as she flipped through August's chart.

"No. He'll find out eventually."

Daisy frowned at that. "Or maybe not. I'm very good at keeping secrets."

Arizona glanced up at Daisy for a moment, a very doubtful look glimmering off of her eyes before she looked back down at the sea of white pages before her.

Daisy wasn't wrong, though. The girl did happen to be very good at keeping secrets. She had also mastered the skill of making herself relatively unnoticeable. Daisy thought maybe her school wouldn't even notice that she had left, and Mark wouldn't ever draw a conclusion that would spark anger. Maybe nobody would notice Daisy, it happened quite often.

Daisy cleared her throat to break through the silence, her eyes falling on the gifted pediatric surgeon who was merely holding an ink pen rather than a scalpel. "I thought interns were supposed to do all the busywork."

Arizona let her pen still briefly, her hand ceasing to record August's vitals before Arizona picked back up again. "August is important. I want to see him through."

To the end, Daisy mentally finished Arizona's thought for her. Arizona had watched August endure treatment for two years, and she wanted to see her patient through to the end, the boy's life likely withering up completely within the week.

"Right."

The hairtie on Daisy's wrist remained a buoyance for anxiety as her nerves picked up. The harsh reality of dead moms on Mother's Day and dying friends crippling away sat heavily on Daisy's chest as the girl tried to breathe.

The girl's thoughts hopped all around as she sat and tried to take normal breaths in and out, her fingers wringing her hairtie around and around and around.

Is August relieved to finally be dying after suffering for months on end?

Does Arizona ever cry when a patient dies?

Does August realize that it's Mother's Day? Is he sad? Is he even lucid enough to feel any emotion of sorts?

"Did you wish your mom a happy Mother's Day?" Daisy questioned the woman in front of her, noting the way Arizona looked slightly surprised, as if she hadn't expected the topic to switch from a dying August to a mother.

"I did."

"Good." Daisy nodded, speaking in a firm tone. "Good, that's good. It's good to let people know you appreciate them while you still have them."

Arizona noted the way Daisy kept her eyes on the floor, the constant wringing of the hairtie the only motion indicating that the girl was mentally present. The slight waver in Daisy's tone indicated that the girl was fighting off a deep-rooted sadness, and Arizona remembered why perhaps Daisy was so upset and making out of character decisions like skipping school on Mother's Day.

"I'm sorry, Daisy."

"Sorry." Daisy stilled her hand, ceasing the motion of wringing her hairtie about her wrist. The girl closed her eyes, bringing her hand up to her temple like she had a headache. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make it all sad. I made it about me and it's clearly not about me right now, and I should've just..."

Daisy was at a loss for words, not quite sure what else to say. There were billions of thoughts circulating about her head, and none of them felt appropriate to express. Daisy felt upset in a way that stretched beyond anything she could put into words.

"It was a bad day?"

"I guess." Daisy mumbled out, not expressing what she really wanted to say, which was a long and never-ending spiel about the grief she was carrying with her.

"I can bring ice cream later." Arizona offered, Daisy not quite expecting that. "I have to stop by to move more boxes out anyway, and last week I bought a carton of ice cream for every divorce paper I have to sign, so, uh...I sort of have an overabundance of the stuff."

Daisy supposed it would be nice to not have to wallow in sadness by herself for once, and the girl slowly nodded as a light smile came on her lips.

"Okay."

The room returned to its eerily peaceful state of silence, Daisy feeling relatively calmed down for the moment being.