by Kasie West
“I couldn’t help myself.”
“You never can.” I plucked the paper from his hand. “I think we’re done. We can’t win anyway, since I helped make this game.” I hadn’t at all, but I was so over this.
“That’s too bad,” Mom said. “We totally would’ve won.” She picked up the paper I’d been writing on and looked over my answers. “Yes, we would’ve won. My daughter knows me well.” She handed the paper to Andrew as if he was interested in the minutiae of her life. “You didn’t fill out my most embarrassing moment, Soph.”
“I didn’t know that one.” I often wondered if my mom ever got embarrassed. I knew she was humiliated when my dad left her to open a surf shop in Southern California, his lifelong dream that apparently didn’t include her (or his kids). They’d gotten married too young, both of them said often. They had barely known who they were. But humiliation wasn’t the same as embarrassment. Either way, I didn’t think that needed to be written on a bright yellow paper for a chance to win barbecue.
Sophie!” a cheerful voice called out.
I turned in my seat to see Janet Eller approaching our table. She had a petite frame and big messy curls. She’d lived down the street from us since forever.
“Janet!” I said, cheering up. “Hi. How are you? Getting ready for the big day next month?”
“Janet’s getting married next month,” Mom said to Andrew.
“Congratulations,” Andrew said.
“Thank you,” Janet said, running a hand through her curls. “And no, I’m not ready. I feel like a chicken with her head cut off. I’m running around with no direction.”
“It will all come together,” I said.
“I was hoping you would do my bouquet.”
“Isn’t Caroline doing the flowers?”
“Yes, but I want you specifically for my bouquet.”
“Me? Why would you want me?” I didn’t design flowers. Well, I did in the shop, but only because I had to.
“I’ve seen some of the arrangements you’ve done for the store,” Janet explained, her eyes wide. “They’re so good. You think you could draw up some samples for me to pick from?”
I shifted in my chair. “Oh. I really think you should stick with an experienced florist for an event as big as your wedding.”
“Sophie,” Mom said. “The girl is asking for you. Have some confidence, child.”
Janet put her hand on my arm. “Listen to your mother.”
My mother had just proven in writing that she knew nothing about me. I wasn’t sure she was the right person to listen to. Plus, I didn’t have a lot of extra time; I had my own designs to work on, and putting energy into designing a bouquet could zap my creativity. But Janet’s face looked so hopeful that I found myself saying, “Do you have any idea what you’d like?”
“No. That’s why I’m asking you. I want you to design it the way you think would look best.”
“What does your dress look like?”
“It’s traditional. Fitted bodice and full skirt.”
“White?”
“Of course. Do you want my mother to murder me before I can even walk down the aisle?”
I smiled. “Okay, I’ll draw you some samples.”
She pulled out the chair next to me and sat down.
“I meant … later,” I clarified.
“Can you just quickly do some rough sketches now?” She opened her purse and produced a notebook and a pencil for me.
“Now?”
“Please. I feel this heavy weight hanging over me, and I just want this off my plate.”
“Okay, I guess I can try …” I took the notebook and flipped through page after page of wedding notes until I found a blank one. I stared at the white paper. This wasn’t how inspiration worked for me, with three people staring at me expectantly. “You said it was a traditional dress?” I asked.
She nodded.
I sketched an outline of a dress. “Kind of like this?”
“Yes,” Janet said. “That’s the right shape.”
What flower shape would look good with this dress shape? My eyes took in the lines, and I thought about the symmetry. “I think you should go with a globe-style bouquet. I would do blush roses, tightly placed. Then maybe some ribbon wrapped around the holder and some pearl accents tucked into the flowers.” I drew as I talked, then stopped to look at the design. I flipped the page as another shape came to me. “Or you could have a more elongated shape by leaving on the stems and gathering the roses into a bunch. The stems could be wrapped with a string of pearls or a sheer ribbon.” When I was done, I showed her the sketches. “I need a little more time to fully develop the ideas but it’s a start.”
Janet’s face was all aglow. “How did you do that?” she asked. “Those are great.”
“Yeah?” I felt a warm glow myself. “I can think of another design.”
“No, really. These are beautiful. I love them.”
“Which one are you leaning toward?”
“The ball one.”
“Okay. I’ll work on it.”
“You will?”
“Um … yes.”
Janet gave me a hug and then headed straight for Caroline, as if she was going to inform her that moment of these plans.
“Look at you,” Mom said, standing. “Drawing and everything.”
If my mom was at all observant, she would’ve seen the design journal I toted around everywhere. How had she not seen it? I tried not to be hurt over this fact, but I felt the unwanted emotions bubbling just beneath the surface.
She threw her napkin onto her plate, then wiped her hands on the back of her jeans.
“Where are you going?” I didn’t mean for that to sound so desperate, but it did, I realized.
She showed me the time on her phone. “I told Taryn I’d be back for Gunnar at noon.”
Her phone said eleven thirty. Now she was worried about punctuality?
She squeezed my shoulder. “I’ll see you at home. And Andrew, it was great meeting you.”
“You too, Ms. Evans.”
“It’s Larissa.” She took the long route to her car, talking to a few people but really meandering her way toward Jett Hart.
Andrew sighed. “Your mom is nice.”
I studied his expression. Was he ever sincere? I just nodded.
He jerked his head toward Janet. “That was impressive, Soph.”
“Don’t call me Soph. And don’t mock me.”
He shook his head a little like he was confused. “Who says I was mocking you?”
“Your face says it.”
“Those bouquets you drew? That’s what you want at your wedding?”
“See, I knew you were mocking me.”
“Just a question.”
“Of course it’s not what I want at my wedding.”
“Isn’t that what she asked you for, though? What you thought would look best?”
“That is what I thought would look best at her event with her dress. My tastes don’t matter.”
“Kind of like these arrangements?” He plucked a petal off one of the sunflowers and let it drop onto the white tablecloth. “I’m sure you gave zero opinions about them as well.”
“What’s your point?”
“You want to be a designer, right?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.” Micah must’ve told him. I was going to kill her later. “A clothing designer, not a florist.”
“A real designer puts a piece of him- or herself in everything,” Andrew said thoughtfully. “So that when people see it, they say, that is a Sophie Evans design. You’re going to have to stop holding on so tightly to all those pieces.”
I couldn’t believe it. “You think because you throw a few pictures up on your computer that you are the expert on design and style?” I asked. “Right now, I don’t have a name for myself. People want something that fits who they are. That’s what they’re asking me for. And I’m really good at figuring out who people are and what
they want. Really good.” I stood up and walked away.
I marched straight up to Micah, who was chatting with Lance by the food table. When she saw me, she stepped closer to me, a look of concern on her face.
I shook out my hands and then my whole body. “Ugh.”
“Is someone bothering you again?” She peered over at Andrew with a small smirk. “It’s like he knows exactly how to get under your skin. I need to ask him for pointers.”
“Funny.” My eyes locked onto my mom, who was still talking to Jett. She had one hand on his arm and was leaning toward him, saying something. “Seriously?”
“What?” Micah asked.
“My mother. I’m going to die of embarrassment. Jett’s now met most of my family and he’ll never take me seriously.”
“Your mom is not you,” Micah said.
“She may not be me but we are a reflection of each other, right? Good or bad, Micah, our family defines us.”
The text came in from my dad as I was walking toward the tree where Micah sat, waiting for the last of the guests to leave.
Hello daughter of mine. Haven’t heard from you in a couple of weeks. How is everything?
I shared a weird relationship with my dad. Was I angry that he could up and leave his family just like that? Yes. Did I understand his desire to escape such a small town and pursue his dream? Also, yes. So I went back and forth between being bitter and empathetic.
I texted back: Earned another fifty bucks for college.
Nice. I’ll match that by adding fifty to the savings I have for you here.
Thanks, Dad. I’m at work. I’ll chat with you later.
OK, honey. XO.
I gently tossed my phone onto the grass and sat down next to Micah. “Do you think Mrs. Perkins could walk any slower?” I asked. “One day we might get to leave this park.”
Micah giggled. “Yes, just in time for next year’s Mother’s Day event.”
I began picking dandelions and stringing them together into a chain.
“What did you think of the food today?” Micah asked. I could hear the worry in her voice, the hesitation. It was the first sign in months that she still hadn’t completely incorporated this new Jett Hart development into her well-organized life.
“It was great,” I said, meaning it. Good thing Jett’s personality didn’t get in the way of his ability to cook. “Jett’s pretty talented.”
She smiled a relieved smile. “I thought it was good too.”
“And your dad? Is he still resisting this?”
“He seems to be coming around. He’s been learning some new things, so no matter what I think this has been good.”
“What do you mean, ‘no matter what’? It’s still the first half of the year. There’s lots of time left for lots of good things to happen.”
“You’re right.” She nodded resolutely. “You’re right.”
I bumped her shoulder with mine. “Of course I’m right.”
Lance turned on some music, like we always did for cleanup. The guests had all cleared out and Micah’s parents swayed between tables, sharing a dance. I averted my gaze. I held up the string of dandelions, circled it into a crown, and handed it to Micah.
She smiled and placed it on her head. “Remember when we used to make these as kids?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I heard Jett saying something about putting them in a soup or salad or something.”
I crinkled my nose. “Dandelions? Really? That might be a little out there for these parts.”
“Yeah, one recipe past normal.” Micah squinted her eyes. “Is that … ?”
I followed her gaze. Kyle in his convertible Mustang rolled into the parking lot. Last month, Kyle and I had gone on exactly one more date that was slightly less awkward than the first one, but not awkward enough for me to write him off completely. There was something there; I just couldn’t figure out what.
Kyle’s bandmates, Bryce, Jodi, and Lincoln, were in the car with him. Jodi sat in the passenger seat, and Bryce and Lincoln were in the back. But there was someone else too. A leg stood straight up from the back seat, in between Bryce and Lincoln. Bizarre.
Kyle slowed down and lifted a hand in a wave. “Sophie! Micah!” he called out.
Micah and I stood and started walking to the parking lot. Lance beat us there, and he was taking a lap around the Mustang when we arrived. I was sure Kyle appreciated it. Lance and Kyle weren’t in the same group at school. Lance was into sports, while Kyle was more artsy.
“Hey, y’all,” Micah said.
“Hi,” Jodi said.
“Who is …” That’s when I realized the leg sticking up from the back seat wasn’t a person at all. It was a mannequin. “What are you doing?”
“Veronica here has been stuck in the window of Everything for at least seventeen years. We thought it was time she saw the town,” Kyle said.
Micah laughed.
“She’s not seeing much of anything with her head on the floorboard,” I said.
“What?” Kyle turned around. “Bryce! Veronica fell, help her.”
Bryce sat Veronica up. I noticed she could use a new wardrobe. I wondered if Mr. O’Neal, the shop owner, would let me dress her.
Lincoln put his arm around Veronica and pointed to the park behind us. “This is the city park,” he told the mannequin. “One day you can come to the annual Mother’s Day Brunch here.”
“Did you even ask her if she wants to be a mother?” Kyle said. I smiled. He was different when we were alone. Was it nerves?
“She may not want to be a mother, but everyone has a mother, Kyle, so she’s welcome,” I said.
Lance laughed. “You’re all a bunch of weirdos.”
Micah patted the door of Kyle’s car. “We have to clean up. Have fun with whatever this is.” She circled her hand at the car and then left with Lance.
I lingered. “Where are you taking her next?” I asked.
“The Stanton Estate … or the Barn,” Jodi said.
“Have fun.” I backed up a few steps.
Kyle gave me his lazy smile. “We will.” He drove away.
The first thing I noticed when I joined the cleanup crew was that all the centerpieces had been claimed and carried away by guests. (Caroline really did know what she was doing.) So I gathered tablecloths and carried them to the van. I opened up the back doors and a short scream of surprise escaped my lips when I saw someone sitting on the floor.
It took my brain two seconds to process that it was Andrew. His computer was open on his lap, but my design journal was in his hands.
My stomach dropped to my feet. “What are you doing?” I asked, throwing the tablecloths on the floor inside and yanking my book away from him. “Did you go through my backpack?”
“What? No, it was just sitting there.”
He hadn’t even untied the cording, but still. “And so you thought that meant you had free access to it?”
“No,” he said, defensive. “I didn’t even open it. What is it?”
“Not yours,” I barked.
But he seemed to know what it was without me having to tell him because he said, “You know, they have these really cool electronic notepads now that you can draw on and take pictures with. They help keep things better contained.”
Did he have to practice to sound so condescending, or did it just come naturally to him? I looked at my book nearly bursting out of its seams and once again felt like a backwoods country girl. Heat crept up my neck. I slid the book into my backpack and zipped it shut. “Technology can’t replace everything. Some things have to be felt—” I stopped myself. Why was I explaining this to him? “What are you even doing in here?” I asked again.
“I needed to get some work done. I have a review packet due at midnight. Finals are coming up.”
“And the back of the flower van was the only choice?”
“The dark floor of a windowless van was the best I had to work with.”
“Couldn’t you just go hom
e? Do you have to be here for some reason?”
Andrew sighed. “Yes, actually. I didn’t bring my own car. Plus, my father requires me at all events.”
“It’s like you’re trying to annoy me.”
“I really am just trying to get this done. The annoying you part is an added bonus.” He gave a small smile and pointed at his computer. “Give me five more minutes.”
I opened my mouth, not sure why I was ever surprised at his nerve.
“Please,” he added.
“You have until I’m done loading this van.”
He held out his arm and pulled up the sleeve of his shirt to his shoulder, revealing his toned bicep. “How well do you know the male body?”
“Excuse me?”
“For my anatomy review,” he said. “What did you think I meant?”
I shook my head. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”
He laughed. “Five minutes.”
I picked up the stem of a sunflower I’d left on the floor of the van earlier and flung it at him. “Hurry.” Then I went to finish cleaning up.
Caroline approached me. “Thanks for another great event, Sophie.”
“I’m glad you think it went well,” I said.
“So Janet asked you to do her bouquet,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
Like a wake-up call, I realized I shouldn’t have committed to Janet without talking to Caroline first. It was her flower shop, after all, and she was offended. I could tell. “Only if you want me to,” I said, trying to salvage this. “You have much more experience than I do. I could really use some training on this, if you want me to do it at all.”
That was the right thing to say. She nodded slowly. “She probably thought someone younger might have more modern ideas. But I’m current.”
“You are.”
“I’ll walk you through a few sample bouquets in the next couple of weeks.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Caroline headed to her car and I stacked a few chairs. The rental company was there loading them into a trailer.
I picked up the three remaining tablecloths from the grass next to the food tables and turned around, nearly face planting into Jett Hart’s chest. I stopped just in time.
I opened my mouth to greet him when he said, “Did I see you hanging out with my son earlier?”