1
Darby
I can’t believe Kari and Lola talked me into this.
We arrive at Green with Envy in a convoy of soccer mom vans and SUVs. Okay, only three vehicles, but each could house a minor league baseball team.We need room for all our plants, Maggie insisted.
“I’m pretty sure the only people who plan potting parties in the middle of winter are looney tunes.” My breath hangs in the air as I step into the cold.
“Hey,” Kari says, looping her arm around mine. “This was my idea.”
“I rest my case,” I say.
Kari scrunches her nose. “Be nice.”
“I’ll try,” I say, scrunching my nose right back at her.
“It’ll be fun.” Lola flanks me on the other side. “You promised you’d be on your best behavior.”
“I promised under duress,” I tell her. “Also, it’s freezing. We could
have gone somewhere normal. Somewhere with tacos and mounds of chips and queso. But never that tea and cucumber sandwich place again.”
“Hey. That was fun,” Lola insists. “With those little petit four things. So, yum.”
“Mama needs a margarita.” Maggie smirks, obviously happy to be out of the house without children in tow.
“After we’ve played in the dirt,” Gabby says.
We step inside the building, and the scent of damp earth and florals reminds me of mud facial masks and over-spritzed perfume. I scan the displays. Roses…everywhere. Buckets of them. Arrangements stacked on display tables, in refrigerated cases, and in pots lining the floor. Pale pinks, deep reds, creamy whites.
It’s enough to make me gag.
“Don’t make that face,” Kari says.
“This place is adorable.” Lola releases my arm and drifts toward a display of small potted plants with tiny heart-shaped tags. “It’s cute. It’s fun. It’s?—”
“Roses. In February. How original,” I mutter. My lip curls as I pass an arrangement so big it’s obscene. I’m sure the price tag is equally so.
Valentine’s day and roses out the wazoo make me want to toss my cookies. My friends meant well planning today, but V-day isn’t my thing. I don’t mean to be a pain in the butt, but I’m just not in the mood.
“Aww…come on Darbs. This class is all they had at the last minute,” Kari says. “Be a sport.”
“I’ll be a sport for St. Patrick’s Day. Green beer, Irish whiskey, and pinching hot tushies.” I finger a leaf as I pass an arrangement of flowers.
It isn’t that I dislike flowers. It’s V-day and roses that muck up everything. And… I’m a little jealous. I can admit that… tomyself. I’m the last woman in our group without a partner. Everyone has a husband or boyfriend. While they’re deeply, madly, over the moon in love, I have no one. I stare after Maggie, Gabby and Rumer as they wander toward the back of the shop.
“You used to love Valentine’s when we were kids,” Kari says.
“It wasn’t so transactional then.” I lower my voice as an older couple passes. The woman cradles a bouquet like it’s a newborn. “Roses are boring, cliché and plain old predictable. Just like heart-shaped boxes of creme-filled chocolates that nobody likes and those bubble bath gift baskets. The only reason men buy the damn things are to get laid.”
“Darby.” Kari’s eyes dart back and forth, checking to see who’s in earshot.
“What? You want me to pretend I don’t know how the world works?”
Lola laughs under her breath and steers me toward a wide aisle lined with ceramic pots and tiny decorative watering cans. “Try not to get us kicked out before we make it to class.”
I scan the shop as we walk. The space is nicely curated with hand-painted pots, ceramic gnomes, and wooden garden stakes. The ceiling stretches high with exposed metal beams wrapped in string lights. A freaking fairy garden.
