“Yes, sorry. I mean a constructive conversation during which I’ll own my responsibility for our distance, and then leave room for him to react however he needs to.”
Olivia tapped her pen against her lips. “I told you twice a week wasn’t too much. Look at you.”
Hanna thought her bank account might have a dissenting opinion about her habit, but her emotions couldn’t deny the impact.
“Yeah, yeah.”
Hanna picked up her bag, but Olivia stopped her before she left.
“I think your mom would be really proud of you, Hanna,” she said.
Six months earlier, the comment would have sent Hanna spiraling. How could someone who’d never known that her mother’s hair smelled like paperwork and Dior J’adore, or that her right shoe always wore down faster than her left, know how she’d feel about anything?
Hanna smiled, not even attempting to hide the tears as they flowed.
“Thank you.”
“You’ve returned!”
The floral shop glowed in shades of amber in the early autumn sun. Hanna propped her suitcase against the desk.
“I’ve returned,” she said. “And I’ve come to cancel my deliveries.”
“Aw, that’s too bad,” the owner murmured, flipping through her ledger. “My delivery boy thinks your friend is cute.”
“She is unfortunately taken,” Hanna laughed. “But I’m only canceling the delivery portion. I’ll be around to pick them up in person for the time being,” she chirped.
She hadn’t told Sara that bit yet, but she figured it would be best saved for a wedding gift. She’d just gotten off the phone with her realtor before walking in—all that eat-pray-love shit had earned her a more than decent offer on the house.
“Oh!” She beamed at Hanna, her green eyes sparking behind her purple glasses. “That’s great news, right?”
“Hopefully,” Hanna mumbled, glancing at the top of the desk, its wood stained with years of watermarks from spilled vases.
“He get his act together, then?”
Hanna choked on a laugh, her eyes grazing the florist’s.
“It was me, actually.”
“Ahhh,” she hummed. “You know, my husband used to tell me he was never wrong, I was just always right.”
Hanna shook her head. “The one who thinks diamonds are boring, right?”
“Yes,” she laughed. “Well, thought.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Hanna said. “Actually, no, I hate that I just said that.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed, her mouth parting in confusion.
Hanna corrected herself. "I don't hate the sentiment, I just... I hate how hollow it sounds, you know? I lost my mom not too long ago and I hate when strangers apologize as though they had something to do with it.”
Hanna knew she was rambling, but she still took a moment to pat herself on the back for being able to confess that out loud without breaking down.
“I knew I liked you,” the florist said, a soft smile pulling at her lips. “Grief is a real bitch, huh?”
Hanna’s nose scrunched as she laughed, taken aback by the shift in tone.
Mom would have really liked this woman.
