“But I—”
“Mae, listen to your mother, help your aunt, and try to enjoy yourself. We’ll keep you updated, and if something goes wrong, we’ll call you. How about that?” Dad says.
I nibble my lip, not sure I like that, but also somewhat liking the idea of doing something new, yet feeling totally guilty because I shouldn’t feel that way about not having to take care of my mom for a bit.
The planner, the organizer, the analytical side of me says this is a terrible idea. But that part of me I don’t use because I never find a place for it. That part of me that wants to let herself go, be free of all therulesof life. That part of me says to let go and dive in headfirst.
I can figure this out. I know how a business is run from a numbers perspective, and I love flowers, always have. Auntie can teach me a few things, and I can go from there.
This is possible, and it will make my family happy. Which is worth it. Always will be.
“You have to promise me that ifanything,and I mean anything, changes or you need help, you’ll call me, and I’ll come home.”
“We promise,” they say at the same time.
“Okay,” I rasp. “Okay.”
The doorbell dings. “Oh, thank God you’re open. I wasn’t sure when I came by earlier this morning,” a woman says.
“I’ll talk to you later, someone just walked in,” I mumble.
“We love you!” Mom yells before Dad hangs up.
The woman who walked in has pretty, long, dark brown hair, with a black cowboy hat sitting on top of her head. She’s toned, with a few scars up and down her sleeveless arms, and taller than me. I glance at the black snip-toe cowboy boots she’s wearing with black jeans slighting bunched around her ankles and a red tank top that says "Cowboy Pillows" across the front in white.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
I shake myself out of staring and nod.Wow, Mae, please be more rude.
“Um okay. I was hoping to buy a couple of bouquets, but if, uh…” she trails off and looks in the coolers. There’s not much there.
“Yeah, uh, we’re waiting for a shipment so we don’t have much,” I tell her.
The door dings again.
“Did you find any?” Another beautiful woman says walking into the store. She looks fairly familiar, wearing jeans with a shiny belt buckle and a t-shirt tucked in the front.
“Hey,” she says.
I wave, not entirely sure what to do.
“No, I didn’t. There are a few things in here. Maybe we can make our own,” she says and glances at me.
“I think we can do—”
“Is that June Hayes I hear?” Aunt Francesca says, coming to the front door.
June smiles. “Auntie Francesca, I was wondering where you were,” she says.
My aunt hugs each of the girls and spins around. “Were you helping them?”
“Trying. We don’t have much, so they were going to build their own.”
“Ooo that sounds fun! What’s the occasion, girls?” she asks.
“Wait … Auntie F, is this your niece?” June asks my aunt.
Aunt Francesca’s smile widens, and she grabs my arm, pulling me from behind the protective counter. These girls have a wild energy about them. I was not prepared to face today.
