Chapter 7
Mae
“Howmanymorequestionsdo you have on that list of yours?” Aunt Francesca asks me.
I examine my list and shrug. I know I can call her if I need her, but lists and organization make me feel like I have some level of control over what’s happening.
Did I say yes to this?
Yes.
Should I have?
I don’t know.
But I’m in it now. Dad assured me they would be okay, and I’m a woman of my word. When I say I’m going to do something. I'll do it, but I might ask a ton of questions before I do.
Auntie has gone through the process of how to order flowers. She explained the process of taking customer orders and delivering them. I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to keep up with it all on my own.
“I noticed you don’t do a lot of weddings.”
Aunt Francesca sighs and pulls her salt and pepper hair out of her face. “I tried to get into that, but there’s another flower shop about two hours from here that grabbed that part of the market. So I let it go. We’ve been known to do more funerals,” she says.
It’s an upside being the single flower supplier in this town. But the fact that someone two hours away was able to take weddings irritates me. I’m not a saleswoman, but to make this place truly successful, I need the wedding market here.I write a couple of things down in my notebook, trying to think of anythingelse I might need to know before they leave, but my brain is a whirlpool of information and I’m struggling to sort it.
Aunt Francesca grabs my hand, pulling my attention to her. “Look at me, darling.”
I meet her eyes, and she smiles at me. Her eyes are full of hope, and I’m sure mine are full of fear.What am I doing?
“I know you’re nervous. But I want to make something very clear. You won’t disappoint me. It doesn’t matter if you succeed or fail.”
“That’s … encouraging,” I sigh.
She huffs. “I wanted you to have this place so you have something that’s yours. It doesn’t matter if it’s a gift or not. You get out what you put into life, and I know you have worked so hard to put everything you can into life, and I know that you don’t have the things you so desperately want. So I’m hoping this place can maybe open a new door for you. I don’t know what that door could be, but I knew the Spirit was telling me to hand it to you. Something is meant for you here in Paxton, Mae. I don’t know what, but I can’t wait to find out.”
I force a smile as my stomach knots and my heart spins. What I’ve been doing isn’t working. I don’t regret staying at home and helping my parents. It needed to be done, and they needed help. But she’s right about one thing. I need change. Even if that change is not what I ultimately thought I would have in life. But I can’t ignore that tiny little spark of hope that, maybe, my aunt could be right.
“I guess we will, won’t we?” I ask her.
She stands from her seat in the office and kisses my cheek. “Yes, we will. Are you okay by yourself for a bit? I’m going to go home and keep packing, then I’ll come back and pick you up.”
“That’s fine,” I mumble following her out of the back office. We got a delivery this morning, so the coolers are full, and there are flowers to sell.
“See you in a bit!” Aunt Francesca waves and floats out the door.
The door swings shut, and I can’t decide if it feels like a sledgehammer or a turn of the page.
***
An hour goes by, and a few people walk past, but no one comes in. I wonder if it’s like this every day? Paxton is a quiet, small town, but I would think I’d at least get one customer. The phone hasn’t rung and I’m forcing myself not to panic.
Instead of spiraling, I decide to make a couple of bouquets and listen to music. I keep the first two simple and sweet. We have mason jars that double as vases. White daisies, some greenery, with bright pink dahlias, lavender snapdragons, and a little sprinkle of yellow throughout.
Everybody Wants To Rule the Worldby Hall and Oates plays in the background as I move on to a few bigger ones in our more fancy vases maybe for an anniversary, or congratulations, with classic roses, baby’s breath, eucalyptus, and small pink lilies. I don’t know if they’ll sell, but I think they look pretty.
But this is a business. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. This isn’t accounting; flowers are a subjective industry.
Will I be the one to put this place under?All the blood, sweat, and tears my aunt and uncle have put into this place will come to an end and —
