“I think flying in will be easier than getting them back.”
“Fair. Let’s do some research on that.” I reschedule that particular task until next week.
“Oh. Order rentals.”
“What kind of rentals?” Etna asks as we pull into the parking lot of the florist.
I shrug. “That’s all it says.”
He gives me a deadpan look. “When you schedule things, you should at least make sure we know what it means.”
Grinning, I shrug. “We’ll look later.” I glance at the flower shop. There’s a woman waiting for us at the door with a big smile. “Do we even need flowers?” I ask. “I mean, I don’t think either of us plans to have a bouquet, right?”
Etna shakes his head. “No. But we’re here and we made an appointment, so we might as well see what she has.”
Fair enough.
As soon as our doors open, the woman greets us with an enthusiastic, “Hello!” She ushers us inside before we manage to respond. “I’m so happy to meet you. Right this way; over here. You can see some examples of our flower arrangements as we walk.”
And by walk, she means run. I can keep up with people with three times her stride, but I feel like I’m running to keep up with this woman.
She leads us to a back room that’s filled with flowers—obviously—and a couple tables. There are books and a cute little coffee station. “Would you like a drink?” she offers.
Etna and I shake our heads as we obediently sit in the chairs she points at. Clearly, that’s the wrong answer. We receive a disappointed smile. She recovers quickly and joins us. “Okay, let’s talk flowers. What do you have in mind?”
“We don’t have anything in mind,” Etna admits. “We’re not entirely sure we need flowers.”
“Of course you need flowers,” she says. “Every wedding has flowers. Do you really want to be the one that doesn’t? The one people talk about because they didn’t haveflowers?”
I glance at Etna. Is he as put off by her as I am?
“Okay,” Etna says, and yeah, I think he is. That’s not a happy tone. “What doyouhave in mind?”
“What’s your budget?” she asks.
“A thousand dollars,” I say.
She shakes her head, looking absolutely appalled. “Oh no. That’s enough for a bride’s bouquet. Not for all the flowers.”
“We don’t have a bride,” Etna deadpans. “We’re two dudes getting married and we’re not wearing dresses or carrying bouquets.”
We’ve completely flabbergasted her.
“Have you ever dealt with a gay couple before?” I ask.
“Yes. Oh, yes, of course.” We don’t ask for proof, but she provides it in a garishly bright rainbow hardbound book that’s filled with only LGBTQIA+ weddings. She points out all the flowers in each photo.
“What about the other books?” Etna asks. “Any in those?”
“Nope,” she says, smiling. “Just this one.”
I can see why.
Etna pulls his phone out and makes no effort at all to pretend it’s ringing before he says he needs to take the call and excuses himself. I’d be irritated that he left me alone with this woman except he returns a minute later telling her we have an urgent matter that we need to attend to.
“Of course!” she says, jumping to her feet. “You come back after, and we’ll get everything sorted!”
“Right,” Etna says and takes my hand to lead me out. “Thanks for your time.”
