A Hopeful Weekend

My friend, let’s call her Hope, told me this story. 

Hope lives in an apartment in a Connecticut city, let’s call it New Haven. For most of my life, Hope has lived in this apartment. (But when I was really little, she lived in another apartment in this town we’re calling New Haven.) She knows everyone in the complex, obviously, both the ones who come and go with the academic calendar, and the ones who stay. Two decades ago, a woman moved downstairs with an infant daughter. As the baby grew, Hope was enlisted to watch her from time to time. As this baby became a girl, Hope became her friend. 

When Hope would talk about her friend (let’s call the girl Daisy), I’d picture a fellow retiree, maybe an old teaching colleague, maybe a coffee shop buddy, maybe a funky bookstore or gallery owner, but no, she was talking about a child. Just, “my friend Daisy,” without irony or condescension. I’ve never met this Daisy, have no mental picture of her, but she’s been a fixture in Hope’s stories for years. Today she’s nineteen, at college somewhere, and she and Hope are still close.

I called Hope to wish her a happy Saint Patrick’s Day since she used to throw these iconic St. Patty’s Day parties when I was little. My family and the other guests would meet up at the parade and go back to Hope’s apartment for music and balloons and split pea soup. Hope and the holiday are intertwined in my imagination.

So we’re talking, catching each other up, bitching about Trump, covering the usual ground, when Hope comes out with this story about last weekend with her friend Daisy. It’s encouraging, which is why I asked her if I could write it down.

Hope took Daisy to New York City for the weekend. They stayed at a midtown hotel, scored cheapseat tickets to Moulin Rouge, had mocktails and cocktails at Sardi’s, and watched the Midnight Moment art show in Times Square. On Sunday, Hope wanted Daisy to see her favorite streets in the world in Soho (even though everything has changed). Daisy was game, so Hope paid an arm and a leg to go downtown in an Uber.

On Greene Street they passed a fancy-looking clothing shop and decided to take a peek. It was one of these boutiques where each item is a work of art, costs a small fortune. Twelve hundred dollar jeans, eighteen hundred dollar pocketbooks. And the shop itself is a gem, from the light fixtures to the floor tiles. So Daisy and Hope gawk over the merchandise and Daisy pulls out this pair of swish cargo pants and Hope says you should try them on and Daisy says they cost eight hundred bucks and Hope, noticing no other customers and the clerk behind the desk looking nice enough, says it’s okay, just try them on. So Daisy does and they fit her exquisitely and Hope says wow and the shopkeeper person says wow and they get talking and the shopkeeper recommends a top to go with the pants and asks Hope what she’ll drink and Hope accepts a bottle of sparkling water as she settles herself on the no-nonsense Danish couch. The shopkeeper assumes that Hope is Daisy’s grandmother and Hope doesn’t correct her. Why go through the whole story when it takes a while and people are funny about other people’s friendships?

Well, Daisy emerges from the dressing room wearing the top and that’s perfect too. By now a few more customers have waltzed in and Hope befriends each, yucking it up, spilling water, doing Hope-type stuff. Daisy sticks to the racks, marveling over each thing, delicately pulling hanger after hanger. Hope’s new best friend shows Hope a dress she’s just purchased for a fancy Greek wedding and Hope requests a viewing and even though the new best friend already tried it on, liked it, bought it, and it’s now folded up in a bag, she heads to the changing rooms just to wear it – not just to appease Hope, but to honestly get her opinion. Is it too see-through? Before you know it, everyone is gushing about how beautiful everyone is and that’s when Daisy appears wearing this charcoal-colored cocktail dress that’s just knock-out lovely and perfect on her but it costs just under two grand, so.

While Hope exchanges phone numbers with the Greek wedding lady, insisting on photos from the big day, she notices Daisy exiting the dressing room in her street clothes and approaching the shopkeeper at the counter. The two talk quietly for a minute and Hope sees the shopkeeper hand Daisy one of the fancy store bags and thinks that Daisy must have asked for it as a memento of this beautiful afternoon in this special place. But then Daisy leaps behind the counter and embraces the shopkeeper like the way you do with someone you love deeply at the airport, this long and soulful feast, and that’s when Hope sees that the shopping bag has tissue paper sticking out the top. When they get out on the sidewalk Hope sees that the charcoal cocktail dress is in the bag, all swaddled in tissue paper like a precious newborn. 

They make their way to one of the cafes with tables out in the street that sprung up during Covid and Hope asks what the heck just happened and Daisy explains that she’d asked the storekeeper if the woman worked on commission and the woman answered that yes, she did, so Daisy pulled out her ten dollar bill, her only money, and offered it, telling the woman that she wasn’t able to buy anything but wanted to thank her for her time and for letting Daisy try on those gorgeous clothes. The woman was apparently so touched by this gesture of thoughtfulness, this simple kindness from an earnest, broke teenager, that she wrapped the dress Daisy had just returned and said take it, it’s yours.

So take it, it’s yours!

The real Daisy in the real dress at the real store. Guess I got a few details wrong... but not the main one!