I sigh, because this is the part where we sound unhinged. “We were kids. We found a pot of snapdragons on the porch one summer, and we realized their flowers look like little mouths, see?”
“So,” Selene continues for me, “we started putting them in his room at night. And then, we hid a walkie-talkie near the flowers and made them whisper to him.”
Theo is wheezing. “Why would you do that? I bet you made your brother think he was losing his mind.”
“Oh, he absolutely thought he was,” I say. “He cried. Twice.”
“In our defense,” Selene says, holding up a finger, “he stole my diary that week.”
“And he told our mom I stole her favorite lipstick,” I add.
Lucian, who has been listening with that quiet, unreadable expression he gets when he’s trying not to smile, finally speaks. “So you traumatized him with… snapdragons.”
“Correct,” Selene says. “And now he hates them.”
I pick up one of the blooms. Its little mouth opens when I squeeze it, like it’s about to deliver a monologue. “Didn’t you say he’s arriving tomorrow? We should absolutely get some. Maybe go find walkie-talkies too.”
“I am fully in support of this type of chaos,” Theo adds, wiping at his eyes. “I’m paying.”
Ms. Josie, who has been following the entire conversation with the patience of someone who has raised multiple children, nods approvingly. “Snapdragons are excellent for stirring the pot. I’ll wrap them special for you.”
We gather our bouquets—Selene’s bright and chaotic, mine softer but still alive with color, the snapdragons tucked in like a secret joke waiting to detonate. Theo pays before anyone canargue. Lucian watches the exchange with a small, reluctant smile he tries to hide.
We step back out onto Main Street with our bouquets. Selene is practically vibrating with anticipation at the thought of Orion walking into the house tonight and immediately spiraling.
Theo’s still laughing about it as we walk. “I cannot believe you two gaslit your brother with flowers.”
Lucian shakes his head, but he’s smiling in a soft way like he’s trying not to encourage us.
We’re halfway down the block when Selene stops short in front of a narrow little corner shop wedged between the hardware store and a place that sells homemade fudge. The sign above the door reads Miller’s General & Novelty, which is Main Street code forwe sell everything and none of it belongs together.
“Yes! Here we are, let’s go in,” she says, already pushing the door open.
Inside, the place smells like dust, bubblegum, and old cardboard—the holy trinity of childhood chaos. Shelves are stacked with everything from coloring books to fishing lures to off-brand cereal that looks like it’s been here since the Reagan administration. It’s the kind of store that shouldn’t exist anymore, but refuses to die out of sheer spite.
Theo wanders toward a rack of novelty socks. Lucian drifts to the back, scanning shelves like he’s assessing structural integrity. Selene and I move down an aisle lined with toys—plastic dinosaurs, slinkies, rubber balls that promise to bounce “up to 30 feet,” which feels like a threat to public safety.
Then Selene freezes.
“Oh,” she whispers. “Celeste. Lookie what I found.”
I follow her gaze.
There, hanging on a pegboard like fate itself arranged the display, is a two-pack of walkie-talkies. Bright blue and madeof cheap plastic, just like the ones we used as kids to carry our whispered snapdragon monologues straight into Orion’s nightmares.
I laugh out loud. “Are we really going to do this?”
Selene picks up the pack, eyes sparkling with the kind of mischief that should come with a warning label. “We absolutely are.”
We bring the walkie-talkies to the counter. The cashier looks like he’s been running this place since the dawn of time, rings up our loot without blinking, like four adults buying children’s spy gear is the most normal thing he’s seen today.
Maybe it is.
When we step back onto Main Street, the sun is brighter, the air warmer, and the snapdragons rustle in the breeze like they’re already plotting.
Tonight is going to be chaos.
And honestly?
