Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
30
On our way to Olive’s Flower Shop, I text a locksmith to change the locks while I’m out. Heston is not coming back into my house. He and I burned from both ends of a candle stick, fast and hot, until our wick went cold. Jesus, he’s starting to sound like a rebound but from who? Cam? My mother’s death?
I pull onto the small gravel driveway in front of the shop. It looks the same as last time. A cute little brick shop with flowers of every kind.
“This is where you got the flowers?” Paige asks, skeptically. She’s used to shopping in the city.
“Yeah. It’s cute, isn’t it?”
She gives me a forlorn look before opening her door and getting out. Meeting her around the side, we walk down a narrow path, rows of pots held up by railroad ties and cylinder bricks greeting us.
“Hey, you’re back!” Olive says with a smile, a bottle of pink solution in her hand. Her hair is wispy and sweaty from working outside and she’s wearing a garden apron with dirt rubbed all over the front, but what really stands out are those damn yellow boots.
“How are the Bougainvilleas doing?”
“Um,” I hesitate, not wanting to tell her I ripped them out of the ground.
“She tore them up,” Paige tattles. My head snaps in her direction, my eyes glaring at her. Her lips roll onto one another, as if she didn’t mean to say what she did, but it’s too late to take it back.
“Yeah, I can’t say I’m surprised, dear.”
My brows furrow, uncertain what she means.
“You don’t seem like a pink flowers’ kind of girl. I saw you eyeing the Queen of the Night tulip last time you were here. That’s your flower.” She points then walks past us. Paige and I give each other a look and follow her.
She stops in front of the deep purple flowers and leans in, inhaling their smell, a smile on her face.
“A flower can only bloom as much as its owner. You gave me the impression you’re more complicated than a pink shrub. She glances at me from the corner of her eye, and I swallow, not sure what to say.
“Wow, those are really pretty. I want these. Can we get these?” Paige pushes past me and cups the blossom in her hand, staring at it longingly.
Olive steps back and looks at me.
“Um…yes. Let’s get several.”
Paige grabs a few pots, and I help her by grabbing two of them. Checking out, I set my hand on the counter and ask, “Is it a bad thing to be complicated? To not be a pink flower kind of girl?” I feel like most women want to be the bright, feminine color, capturing everyone’s eye.
She looks closely at the tags as she jabs the register, putting in the price.
“Well, you aren’t easy, but I don’t think it’s a bad thing. You’re strong. It takes more to get your attention and thrive is all.”
I think about what she says and look at the building behind her, wondering if she does psychic readings or something in there.
“I’m just an old lady who has seen many people come and go. What I say doesn’t mean much, honey. It was just an observation,” she says, handing me my receipt. I want to agree with her, tell her she has no idea what she’s talking about, but…it does sound like me.
Back home, I follow the directions through a series of text messages the locksmith gave me to get inside the house, then Paige and I work on planting our new flowers. Without a shovel, I watch her scratch and dig at the rich soil. This feels right, but I can’t help but think back to the day Heston and me planted our flowers. It was sexy, getting caught in the downpour, the sex on the stairs, but looking back, I felt more like a teenager climbing into someone’s back seat, trying not to get caught, than finding the one to settle down with.
I clean my hands in the kitchen sink, dry them off, and open my phone to check notifications. Nothing. Sighing, I place it on the counter.
“Still nothing?” Paige asks, sitting at the kitchen table.
“No,” I mutter, worry starting to turn into nausea. “Let’s order pizza and watch trash TV, babe.” Paige doesn’t say anything, looking at her phone with a blank stare. I’m starting to feel defeated. I’ve done everything I can as a parent to lessen Paige’s worry, but every hour that passes and nobody has called about her dad, I feel like we’re going to have to accept something bad did happen.
My phone dings, and I snatch it up.
Tenly: Don’t forget the Block party is this weekend!
I cuss under my breath, rubbing my forehead. I need to make a damn pie. Should we even attend with everything going on? My eyes sweep to Paige. She looks so lost…I wonder if going would help her get her mind off things. We can’t just wait around. We have to keep living.