Tahira in Bloom

by Heron, Farah

  “Gia told me the guy’s good looking,” Matteo said.

  I cringed. “Seriously, Matteo? Don’t do the jealousy thing—it’s not cool. I don’t even like the guy. We’re just working together.”

  “I’m not jealous of a gardener. I’m just . . .” He sighed. “I’m working a shitty job where they keep me in the stockroom half the day, and my girlfriend and favorite cousin are gone all summer doing fun things and winning a trip to New York without me.”

  He was right. I had to remember that I wasn’t the only one whose summer plans had gone out the window thanks to that parakeet in Paris.

  “I’d rather be in the city with you. And it’s not all bad—those pics you posted at the Humber Bridge got a lot of likes.” Matteo spent a lot of time getting pictures in different Toronto spots for his Instagram page.

  That perked him up. “Yeah, and you’ll never guess who liked that post—Dasha Payne!”

  “OMG, really? From DashStyle?” Dasha was a style influencer from LA. It was her blog that ran the #IndieFashionWeekly account.

  “Yup. Alyssa tagged me on one of her Instagram posts, and Dasha found it! Dasha also liked one of the shots I posted of you and I from Graffiti Alley.”

  “That’s amazing! Who’s Alyssa?”

  “I told you about her. She helped me get the job at H&M. Andrew’s friend. Anyway, this could be big for you and me. Alyssa said her engagement has tripled since getting on Dasha’s radar.”

  “Good for her,” I said. I meant it. Getting attention from the right people meant everything in the style industry. But I felt a wave of bitterness rise up—Matteo was getting all this attention, when I’d been effectively ignored by DashStyle for months. I quickly pushed it down. It was fine. So much of this was luck—being in the right place at the right time. And I was honestly really happy for him. He worked so hard to increase his visibility; it was great that it was paying off for him.

  We talked strategy for his page for a while, and he promised to tag me on posts so some of that LA attention could come my way, too.

  “It’s too bad we don’t have any new content together,” I said. “I’ve been so busy I haven’t figured out how to get home for a visit.”

  “I can ask my brother to borrow his car and come see you? We can go for a drive, get some pictures.”

  “What? Can you? That would be awesome!”

  “How about on the weekend? When you working?”

  I pulled up my schedule on my phone. “Gia and I are both off on Sunday.”

  “Perfect. I’ll get Alyssa to take my shift. I had this awesome idea for a shoot . . . all we need is one of those empty country roads . . .”

  We talked for a while longer about his visit. I knew that part, or maybe most, of the reason he was coming was because he was jealous of all the summer plans Gia and I were making without him, but I didn’t care. I wanted to see him. I wanted things to be like they used to be, even for a day.

  “Hey, Matteo?” I asked, pulling my covers tighter around me. Gia was in her bed, watching YouTube, but she had her earbuds in.

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you think I’m shallow?”

  He chuckled. “Tahira, you’re not letting those hicks call you names, are you?”

  “No, I just . . .” Juniper clearly didn’t think I was too vapid to be her friend, and what did it matter if Rowan did? But I couldn’t forget the look on his face when I told them I wanted to go to New York to meet a fashion designer. He was, like, disappointed that anyone cared so much about fashion. Plus all those cracks he made about influencers.

  “Those people can’t possibly understand you like I do,” Matteo said. “You know what you want, and you go after it. It’s my favorite thing about you.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “That and your hair.”

  I laughed, a warm comfort enveloping me. “My favorite thing about you is your arms. I wish they were around me right now.”

  No one got me like Matteo did. He supported me, he believed in me, and he always made me feel like there was nothing I couldn’t do. Who cared what Rowan Johnston thought about me, anyway? All he had to do was teach me floral design. Before long, I’d be back in the city, where I could leave all these doubts and these Bakewell-ites behind me. Bakewell-onians. Whatever.

  I did as much online research as I could between shifts for the next few days to prepare for our first lesson on Friday—which meant I watched YouTube videos and read the blog of every floral design guru out there. So far, I was sort of seeing Nilusha’s point—floral design reminded me so much of fashion design. Watching floral designers create arrangements without preplanning, letting the shapes and colors of the flowers guide them to the finished arrangement, reminded me of draping, a technique where people designed garments by laying fabric over a dress form instead of planning them using pencil and paper. Of course, sometimes floral designs were preplanned, too. This one designer I watched on YouTube drew all his designs before making them, and I was amazed at how well he was able to imagine complicated 3D arrangements in 2D first. Honestly, I was kind of getting into floral design.

  On Friday, after leaving the store at six, I found myself with Juniper at the workbench near the Johnstons’ greenhouse with a big pile of . . . actually, I didn’t know what that was.

  “What is this stuff?” I pointed to the furry green pile.

  “Sphagnum moss,” Juniper said. “We’re going to fill the chicken wire frame with it. Row will be here in a sec with the flowers.” Juniper looked adorable in loose printed pants from Lilybuds and a white cropped T-shirt. Her hair was pulled off her face with a multicolored scarf. “Where’s Gia? I figured she’d be here already since she didn’t work today.”

  I pointed to my phone. “She just texted me—she’s on her way from Hyacinth’s.”

  My phone vibrated. A text from Mom.

  Mom: Did you get the scholarship package I mailed? I checked. The scholarship can be used for a school in the US.

  Tahira: Thx but haven’t looked at it yet. I’m about to have my first floral design lesson.

  Mom: Okay. Focus on that. Take pictures for your portfolio! And have fun!

  I slipped my phone into my pocket.

  Juniper was cutting off a piece of chicken wire from a big roll with some wire cutters. “Oh, I forgot,” she said suddenly. She dropped the cutters, hopped over to the door to the Johnstons’ house, and grabbed a mason jar from the step. “I picked some lupin from the front yard for this lesson.” The jar was filled with long, slim flowers in a deep shade of purple.

  “What do these symbolize?” I asked.

  Clearly, I was watching too many floral design videos, because I was appreciating Juniper’s flowers-for-meaning habit. I really liked the single gladiolus stem she gave me for support when I finally told her about Shar rejecting my Lilybuds plan. I was actually sorry I couldn’t bring it in the tiny house.

  “Lupin are for creativity and imagination.” She placed the jar on the edge of the bench and picked up the wire cutters. “Did you know ‘lupin’ means ‘wolfish’? There is a character in the Silverborn series whose first name is Lupin—which makes sense because he’s a werewolf. I’m totally shipping him and the main character, even though she’s supposed to be with the vampire-hunter guy. Oh my God, I just heard Lexi Greer, the author of it, is doing a North American book tour when the next book comes out! I really hope there’s a Toronto stop. Mom would totally take me to the city for that. She loves that I’m obsessed with a Black fantasy writer. I would die for a signed copy.”

  “Isn’t that the book Leanne was reading?” I asked.

  The sliding door from Shar’s house opened then, and Gia floated out, a massive smile on her face and an iced coffee in her hand. “Sorry I’m late! I have news. I met my future husband at Hyacinth’s! Like, seriously. I don’t normally believe in insta-love or anything, but this guy . . .” She fanned herself with her hand. “Tahira, you’re making my wedding dress; Juniper, you’re on flowers.”

>   I laughed. “Gia, you’re seventeen. You’re not getting married.”

  She nodded, blue eyes dancing with joy. “Don’t worry, we’ll have a long engagement. Juniper, will your brother give us a deal on one of those adorable weddings you told me about that they do at the nursery? I saw some pictures in Martha Stewart Weddings magazine of a ceremony in a lavender field . . . but oh my God. The bride was literally wearing a toga. Tahira, you would have died.”

  Juniper looked confused. “To be honest, Gia, I’m surprised you found someone worth swooning over in Bakewell.”

  Good point. “So am I,” I said. “I haven’t seen evidence of a remotely dateable guy in our age group in this town. Leanne seemed to think there were, but the guys I’ve met are all . . .” I stopped talking. I really needed to stop insulting Juniper’s brother in front of her. Especially since he kept sneaking up on me.

  “We’re all what?” Rowan asked, appearing with a huge bucket of flowers obscuring the design on his pale-green T-shirt.

  I shook my head. “Remind me to get you a bell to wear so I can hear you coming.”

  He snorted as he put the flowers near the bench. “You show them how to make a chicken wire frame yet, June?”

  “Nah,” Juniper said. “I was waiting for you.” She turned to Gia and me. “Rowan trained Addie and Cameron last year.”

  Gia suddenly squealed and clasped her hands together. “Cameron! My future betrothed!”

  “Cameron?” Juniper asked incredulously. “Cameron Simons? That’s your future husband?”

  Rowan frowned. “Why do you think you’re marrying Cameron Simons?”

  I shook my head. “She’s not. Gia’s . . .” Gia was just being Gia. Which, granted, if you didn’t know her that well, could be a lot. “She just met the guy, right, Gia?”

  I gave her a look that I hoped she understood as Can we just not with the drama right now so the hot guy wearing a Little Shop of Horrors T-shirt can teach us flower arranging?

  Gia nodded, but very enthusiastically, and she went on, “He’s, like, the sweetest guy I’ve ever met. He bought me this coffee, and he had this adorable puppy named Ginger with him, and you know what he called me? Gigi! Like totally unprompted! I love it when guys call me Gigi. He’s going to call me tonight.”

  “Ginger isn’t a puppy,” Rowan said. “She’s nine. Also, Cameron? Really?”

  “What’s wrong with him?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I mean, technically, nothing. He works at the nursery. He’s not the brightest crayon in the box, and he’s not really a commitment kind of guy, but he’s—”

  Gia’s phone chimed loudly. “Ooh,” she squealed, looking at it. “That’s him. I’m going to . . . I’ll be back.” Head in her phone, she went into the tiny house.

  Juniper started cutting chicken wire again at the workbench. “Cameron and Leanne were dating last year during the Bloom. He’s on Addison’s team this year.”

  I shook my head, amazed. “Is everyone connected to everyone around here?”

  “Yup,” Rowan said. “Small town.”

  “Well, if he’s such a dim bulb, why did Leanne date him?” I asked. “The two of you have interesting taste.”

  Rowan chuckled. “Leanne’s not really the commitment type, either. She’s not great at turning down dates. Pretty much everyone’s her ex. Cameron—”

  “Ouch!” Juniper squealed.

  “What happened?” I asked. “Are you okay?”

  “It’s fine, it’s fine,” June said, cradling her one hand in the other. “The wire snips got away from me.” She held up her fingers for us to see. There was a small cut on one.

  Rowan shook his head. “Why aren’t you wearing gloves? I’ll get a Band-Aid.” He went into the greenhouse, returning a few seconds later with a first aid kit.

  Gia came back then, arms swinging and eyes dancing. “Let’s get to this, because I have a date later.”

  “Not sure you should be dating the competition, Gia. Cameron’s on Addison’s Bloom team,” I said.

  She waved her hand. “I can be sportswomanlike. C’mon—flower arranging now, talking about my boo later.”

  Rolling his eyes, Rowan lifted two urn-looking pots onto the table. “Okay. We’re going to start with cut-flower arranging. The Bloom is, of course, for live flower sculptures, but you need to learn the basics first. We’ll make chicken wire frames like we will for the competition.”

  He instructed us to shape the chicken wire into balls. Gia made a face as she struggled with hers. “Ugh.” She dropped it on the bench. “It’s sharp. Look, I’m bleeding. Oh God, do I need a tetanus shot? That’s what you’re supposed to do, right?”

  I didn’t see any evidence of broken skin on Gia’s hands. “Gia, don’t be dramatic.” I tossed her a pair of garden gloves. I wasn’t wearing any because I assumed working with fiddly chicken wire would be tricky wearing heavy leather gloves.

  It was so typical Gia to feign a minor injury to get out of doing something she didn’t want to do. Like a “twisted ankle” before we started basketball in gym class, or “sore eyes” before our grade-ten math exam. But this wasn’t supposed to be something she didn’t want to do. I was irked—she was my best friend, and this competition was extremely important to me.

  “You’re not going to get lockjaw from brand-new chicken wire, anyway,” Rowan said.

  “Lockjaw?” Gia looked horrified. “What the heck? That sounds like some sort of medieval torture disease. Who said anything about getting lockjaw?”

  Juniper raised a brow. “You did? You said you’d need a tetanus shot. A tetanus shot is to prevent lockjaw.”

  Gia seemed so disturbed I decided to deflect. “Are those the flowers we’ll be working with?” I asked, pointing to the bucket.

  “No. It’s a litter of kittens,” Rowan said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “Wow. I see you brought your manners again,” I said. Then I sneezed. Several times.

  “Row,” Juniper said. “Don’t be mean. We need to work together all summer. You okay, Tahira?”

  I waved my hand. “I’m fine, I’m fine. I can handle it. Glad it’s not kittens—I’m even more allergic to cats.” I sneezed again. Of course.

  Somehow, without anyone else insulting anyone, or cutting themselves with chicken wire or wire cutters, we continued with the lesson. Gia and I each put our chicken wire balls in the pots, then arranged the flowers into the wire, in what was supposed to be a pleasing design. While we worked, Rowan explained the elements of floral design: line, color, form, space, and texture. I’d of course studied that on my own the past three nights—I’d gone even further and studied eight principles of floral arranging, too. But watching someone design in a video and actually doing it myself were completely different.

  It was harder than I expected. My fingers were scratched up and itchy, the stems didn’t sit the way I wanted them to, or they were too weak and snapped when I wanted them to behave. Flowers lost their petals, or had too many leaves, or they didn’t fill the chicken wire. Despite mainlining florists on YouTube, I felt like I had no idea what I was doing. I couldn’t stop sneezing, and my eyes were so watery I could barely see. I’d taken an antihistamine, but I guess what was strong enough for walking the garden wasn’t quite enough for actually handling flowers.

  When I was done, I took a long look at my first-ever flower arrangement. It was unbalanced, wonky, and looked nothing like the image in my head. It was in no way good enough to get anywhere near New York City. My hands were sore, and I had a huge headache. And I couldn’t stop sneezing.

  It was going to be a long, painful, sniffly summer.

  11

  MATTEO AND THE FALLS

  Our disastrous first lesson ended with Rowan handing me a roll of chicken wire to practice sculpting on my own and the phone number for his mother’s medical clinic, suggesting it might be wise to find out if there were any stronger antihistamines available. I was grateful—I needed all the help I could get.

&nb
sp; Saturday, June, Gia, and I worked, and Shar had a much-needed day off. But whenever I wasn’t helping customers or arranging stock, I had my face in my phone, reading and watching instructional videos on floral arranging. Friday’s lesson had taught me one thing—I had a long way to go if I wanted to be anywhere near good enough to make a splash at the Bloom.

  But Sunday . . . Sunday was mine. Matteo’s brother had agreed to lend him his car, and we had a full day planned at Niagara Falls with Gia. We planned a shoot at the falls themselves and one at the cheesy tourist trap Clifton Hill district. These photos would be the only #powercouple content for a while, so they needed to be amazing.

  I was on Shar’s front porch at ten when the blue Mustang GT drove up. My skin erupted in goose bumps even before Matteo turned onto the driveway. I was so happy to see him. He parked and got out of the car with a grin.

  He wore oversize tan pants and a green and gray sweater vest over a white T-shirt, along with his usual silver chain around his neck—and he was gorgeous. Every time I saw him in person, I had the same thought—I was so lucky he was mine.

  “Oh man, it’s good to see you, Tahira,” he said when he reached me. I was enveloped in his arms. His mouth was on mine seconds later.

  Mmm . . . this. This was exactly what I needed to take my mind off the store, my FIT application, and figuring out how to be a champion floral artist in six weeks. Just Matteo’s candy-flavored mouth on mine. I closed my eyes and sank into the kiss.

  “You two are face-sucking already?” Gia clomped loudly up the porch stairs. “Man, I forgot how much I never see your lips unstuck together.”

  I pulled away from Matteo. Gia was wearing her cowboy boots again, pairing them with cutoff light-blue jean shorts and a pale-pink frilly blouse.

  “Hey, cuz, what’s with the boots?” Matteo asked, eyeing Gia’s outfit.

  I laughed, fixing my arms tight around Matteo’s waist. “It’s only been a week, but your cousin has already gone full-on pastoral-chic.”

  He smirked, then tightened his arms around me. “Glad you’re still you.”