“Who says I like you?” His lip turned up enough to know it was a joke. “Pops wouldn’t like to see you wallowing.”
Great. Not only did he hit me below the belt, but he also followed the blow with guilt. After flipping through the scrapbook, I felt I owed Pop. It wasn’t a burden I carried, more like an ethos. He had gone above and beyond to remain connected even while he gave me space. I didn’t want to regret missing opportunities. Mum wouldn’t need a scrapbook of distant observations. We had time to make our own. Same for Nick. For Seamus. For Firefly.
“You’re right.”
“Text Patrick and say that.”
I couldn’t remain lost, drifting in space. The armor I had put in place had left me isolated, and it was time to make some changes. I kept thinking that Firefly hadn’t changed. But a drag queen, tattooed hipster, and recluse daddy bear said otherwise. Maybe the townhadgrown up, and I refused to see it. It didn’t change everything, but perhaps places changed as much as the people who lived there.
I’d need to mull it over.
“I’ll tell him when I come over.”
He nodded. “Now get out of here. You’re making the customers nervous.”
I turned around, looking at an empty store. I shot him a dirty look.
“Subtle.” It dripped with sarcasm.
“Not subtle involves a rifle.”
I didn’t doubt him. With a chin nod, I headed out of the store. With the epiphanies and goodwill mounting, I decided to test my limits and slide into one more store. Flowers were the least I could do after the torment I put my mother through. As soon as I slipped inside, the scent of flowers invaded my senses. They reminded me of the forest, but sweeter.
“Charles?”
The woman behind the counter wore a long sundress covered in sunflowers. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she were a nymph hiding amongst the colorful flowers. I tried to de-age her, but I couldn’t place the face. Of course, she recognized me, and I’m sure that came with all the knowledge of my family since they first moved here. I couldn’t change their curiosity, but I could change how I responded. For now, I waited to see how it’d turn out.
“Marigold,” she held out her hand. As I shook, I felt like a troll or ogre by comparison. Her hand lingered as her eyes scanned me up and down. When she let go, her face almost soured, as if I had upset her. “You don’t like flowers.”
I hadn’t really thought about it before. “More of a tree guy.”
She leaned back, not convinced by my answer. “So, you’re here for somebody else.”
I had walked blindly into the trap. My high from earlier had left me disoriented. If I said no, I’d come off defensive. If I said yes, it’d be fodder for the gossipers. I threw caution to the wind; at least she hadn’t flinched and commented on my roughing up somebody in town.
“It’s for Mum.”
“Carnations.” Did she know the favorite flower of every person in town? “She loves multi-colored carnations. Heavy on the blue.” Of course, Marigold knew. Her thin lips turned up in a smile, but her eyes continued reading me. “And?”
“And?”
“For anybody else?”
“Just tell her.” I jolted upright at the mysterious voice. I turned to see a man in a rocking chair hiding among the potted plants. He had a book open, moving back and forth as he turned the page. “She’ll guess eventually.”
“It’s a boy, Peter,” she said. Leaning in, she whispered, “Am I right?”
I couldn’t tell if she guessed because she had a sixth sense, or if it had been an article in the town gazette. I held hands with Nick in public, so there was no way our flirtation had gone unnoticed. Lacie had probably told the story like an urban legend.
“It’s a boy,” I mumbled.
“It’s a boy!”
“Told you, son.” He didn’t look up from his book. “In Firefly, it’s always a boy.”
Marigold clapped her hands as if she had won a prize. As much as I wanted to be on the defense and hide with cryptic statements, the joy on her face made it worth sharing alittlesecret. That’s how it started. The false sense of security led to sharing, and before I knew it, the entire town knew my business. Would it be so bad if they knew I chased a cute guy?
“What about a bouquet of blue carnations?” Her eyebrows wiggled up and down. “With a single rose in the middle? Then you can whip it out—the rose, I mean—and say something romantic?”
