by Kasie West
“What happened?” I asked, already dreading the answer.
“Some guys started shooting their guns into the sky and my window got broke and a piece of glass hit my arm and I thought I was shot. And nobody came to help me. And now loud noises just make me remember that.” I could tell he was trying not to cry. He had his brave face on, the one that consisted of a quivering chin.
“What?” I said. “That’s how your window was broken?” Anger coursed through my veins.
He nodded.
“Gunnar, I had no idea. I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I knew you’d get mad at Momma. You always get mad at her.”
I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. You can tell me things. Anything you need to. I’ll try harder not to get mad.”
Gunnar sat up and leaned against me instead of Andrew. I put my arm around him, and we all watched the fireworks together in silence for a while. We were quiet for so long that Gunnar’s head drooped onto my shoulder and got heavier and heavier. His nerves had obviously made him exhausted.
“You know,” Andrew said, “your Southern accent gets thicker when you tell stories.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Probably because I was talking about my mom. She’s Southern through and through.”
“Speaking of. What’s too big for your britches mean?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I know, someone at the party said it.”
“Let’s see, how can I explain it? I guess it means you take yourself too seriously or think you’re more important than you are.”
“Oh,” he said, sounding disappointed.
I smiled to myself. “Don’t worry about it. People are a little prejudiced against city folk around here.”
“They weren’t talking about me,” he said.
“Oh.” Then it occurred to me. “Wait, were they talking about me?”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Thanks,” I said, feeling a bit defeated.
“I thought it was a good thing.”
“Who said it?”
“Your mom.”
I probably should’ve been more offended about that, but I actually felt the opposite. Maybe because I already knew my mom felt that way about me.
“If she doesn’t like your plans for your future,” Andrew asked after a minute, “what does she want you to do instead?”
“She wants me to be something more practical. Like a schoolteacher. Or a dentist.”
“Your mom wants you to be a dentist?”
“They have job security. People will always have teeth.”
Andrew laughed. “True. But you want to move to New York and be a designer?”
“I mean, first I want to go to design school there, but yes, eventually I want to be a designer.” I heard my voice as I said it, and it didn’t sound as convincing as it normally did.
“A fashion designer?”
“Yes.”
“Says the girl who couldn’t stand my designer suit.”
“Says the girl who knows when designer suits are appropriate.”
A smile touched his lips. He looked down at his phone and pushed a button on the screen. His flashlight went off. Now we could see the fireworks even clearer.
“What about you?” I asked. “What do you want to do?”
“I honestly have no idea. My dad wants me to be a web designer. I guess I already know how to do that and it feels like people will always need that kind of service.”
“But you don’t want to do that?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “It works for now.”
“What about pictures?”
“What about them?”
“You seem to enjoy that aspect. Maybe you could do photography.”
Andrew shrugged again. “My dad is like your mom in that way. He’s told me all the reasons that photography is not a very stable career choice.”
“Your dad is a chef! That is a dream-fulfillment career if I’ve ever heard of one.”
“I think that’s part of the problem.” Andrew fiddled with his phone. “He knows how hard it was to break in, to stay in. He doesn’t think it was worth the stress.”
The firework finale began, one explosion on top of another, and we fell silent to watch what we could through the opening. Then everything was still, and I swore I felt the fireworks still rumbling in my chest.
“Do you have an actual camera or just your phone?” I asked.
“My phone is an actual camera,” he said.
“I know but …”
“No, I don’t have a fancy camera. Website pictures don’t need to be blown up or anything, so a really nice phone camera works perfectly well.” He leaned his head back on the wall. “One time I saw this camera. It was one of those older ones where you had to hand wind the film. I wanted it so bad, but my dad pretty much controls my bank account.”
“So you didn’t get it.”
“No.”
I wasn’t sure what to say in response to that. I’d already said many times what I thought about his dad. I didn’t think that would help right now.
Andrew nodded toward the hole in the ceiling. “That’s kind of like a picture. We only get to see a part of the whole.”
“Except in this case the part is picked for us.” I tilted my head to try to see more of the sky. “How do you ever decide which part of the whole you’re going to include in an actual picture?”
He turned his phone light back on and held up his hands, creating a square with his fingers. He gestured for me to do the same. I did, then he moved my arms until my hands were pointing at a section of the paddle boat. “You just find the part that stands out the most or makes the most interesting shapes or tells the best story.”
Through the square made by my fingers, I could see the pedals of the boat. One was barely attached, dangling as if about to fall, the other in perfect working order.
“And if you don’t find it with your first shot, you have all the chances you want.” Andrew moved the frame of my hands to the corner where an intricate spider web spanned the space between two walls. I stared at it, a wisp of inspiration winding its way through my mind. The skirt, I could make it different. Unique. Webbing. I could add a lining and trim the bottom with my own design of lace. It could work.
I dropped my hands back into my lap, realizing I’d been quiet for too long.
“You’re good at that,” I told Andrew at last. “You should get a camera and make art.”
He laughed a little, as if to say it wasn’t that easy.
“Well, my mom doesn’t get to dictate my future,” I said. “I’m going to New York.” There, that sounded more convincing.
“New York is …”
“Amazing?” I asked.
“It’s pretty great. It’s a hard place to make it. It can eat you alive.”
My lips tightened. Great. The only person I’d ever talked to who had actually been to New York agreed with my mom. He didn’t think I’d survive there either.
“I better get back outside,” I said. “Those flowers aren’t going to clean themselves up.” I shook Gunnar’s shoulder until he opened his eyes and then I helped him to his feet.
Gunnar, Andrew, and I headed back toward the picnic area. The park lights were on and I watched people packing up and clearing out.
“Where’ve y’all been?” Micah asked as we approached.
“Hide-and-seek,” Andrew said, which obviously only confused Micah even more.
Gunnar thought it was funny, though. “I think I won.”
“I don’t know,” Andrew said. “Sophie found us, so I think she won.”
Micah’s gaze shifted between Andrew and me and she gave me questioning eyes. I mouthed, “I’ll tell you later.”
She nodded. “Caroline already left. She said she had a pounding migraine and that you’d have to clean up without her.”
I laughed. “I always clean up without her.�
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“I know. I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying that very thing.”
Andrew nodded toward his dad, who was packing away dishes. “Speaking of cleaning up, I better go help.”
“See you later,” Micah said.
“Is the next big event really not until October?” Andrew asked.
“Are you going to miss us?” I asked.
“Not you, Evans, but Micah for sure.”
I smiled, but the jab didn’t bother me as much as it normally would have.
“You don’t have to miss me,” Micah said. “I’ll text you. Let’s do something.”
Andrew’s eyes flitted to me, like he thought I suddenly wanted to hang out with him outside of work. I just held up my hands. “Have fun, you two.”
He joined up with his dad, and Micah said, “What was that about? You two looked as thick as thieves walking out of the dark night together.”
“With my little brother,” I reminded her.
“Little brother or not, I know a happy glow when I see one.”
I made a face. “Give me a break. More like an angry glow. Andrew had just gotten through telling me that he didn’t think I’d make it in New York.”
“He said that?”
“Yes.”
Micah pursed her lips. “That was not very nice.”
“It doesn’t matter what he thinks. It doesn’t matter what anybody thinks.” At least that’s what I told myself.
“Atta girl.”
I picked up half a grape off the table and held it up. “Who puts grapes in potato salad?”
“Apparently Jett Hart,” Micah said.
“And now your dad. Is he happy that he’s doing this yet? Is it going to work?”
“He’s decided to see it through. He got a call to cater a fancy benefit dinner in Birmingham in August.”
“Birmingham? That’s almost two hours away!”
“I know.”
“I thought you guys were going to try to expand to closer areas.”
“We are. But two hours isn’t bad and people in the city are willing to pay more money.”
“Really? That’s good news.”
Micah nodded. “My parents were having a heated debate last night about whether or not Jett himself had convinced the party host to hire my dad. But either way, it’s a job, right?”
“Which side of the debate were you on?” I asked.
“I was Switzerland.” She gathered some used plastic forks off the table and put them in the trash. “Which side would you have been on?”
“Do you want me to be honest or encouraging?”
“Honest.”
“I think Jett had some pull. This town has been averse to the changes Jett’s made. So I can’t imagine that word of mouth has caused some fancy benefit host to call in.”
“You would’ve been on my dad’s side.” Micah held up a finger. “But we’ve gotten some good reviews online, like my mom pointed out. Mostly from her friends, but out-of-towners don’t know that. And my dad is hoping that because the people won’t have any preconceived notions of what the food normally is, that they won’t have already formed an opinion about it.”
“He makes a good point. The food is pretty amazing.” I flicked another grape off the table. “That said, I don’t know if our town is ready for this change. Jett might be a little out of touch with his client base.”
“I’ve heard my dad say that to Jett so often that I’m surprised Jett hasn’t commanded it never to be said in his kitchen again.” Micah was quiet for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry Jett didn’t turn out to be an in for you.”
I poured the water from a vase onto the grass and tucked the empty vase away in a box. I shrugged. “I don’t need an in. I’ll get there. I’m just glad he seems to be working out for you guys. Maybe the Birmingham event will lead to more referrals.”
“That’s what my dad hopes.”
“Well, I’m sure Andrew will feel much closer to home in Birmingham.”
A shadowy figure walked up behind Micah and into the ring of light from the overhead park lamp. It was Kyle.
“Hey, Soph, you want to go grab dessert?” he asked.
My stomach jumped in surprise. “Right now?” I looked at my phone. It was after ten o’clock.
“Yes, you should go,” Micah said too quickly. “I’ll take Gunnar home in the flower van for you.” She had arranged this, I was sure of it. She widened her eyes at me.
If I hadn’t wanted to go out with Kyle, I wouldn’t have gotten so upset about his rejection earlier. This was what I wanted, right? “Right. I mean, sure, okay, sounds good.”
“Cool.” Kyle walked toward his Mustang. Apparently I was supposed to follow.
“Cool,” Micah echoed.
“Can’t decide if I’m mad at you,” I said.
“Have fun,” she said with an innocent smile.
I caught up to Kyle just as we passed Andrew and his dad loading the last of their things into their car. Andrew lifted his hand in a wave and I moved to do the same when Kyle reached back and slid his fingers between mine. By the time I got over the shock of Kyle holding my hand, Andrew and his dad had climbed into their car and driven away.
LILY
With a large, trumpetlike shape, the lily seems to want to announce its presence from rooftops. And yet it is said that a lily symbolizes the soul departing from life and being restored to innocence. Not really sure who sat around once upon a time deciding which flower symbolized what, but the lily drew the short end of the stick on that one. Instead of trumpeting away at parties, it has to attend a lot of funerals.
I brought in the last arrangement and set it on a side table in the chapel, beside the three other flower arrangements. Lilies. They reminded me of the town gas station, which seemed random, but the owner there kept a jar full of pens at the register. And on the ends of those pens were colorful fake lilies, their stems attached with green floral tape.
For the last two weeks, though, that gas station had reminded me of Kyle. When he and I had left the park to get dessert on the Fourth of July, nothing in town was open. So Kyle drove us to the gas station, and we sat in his Mustang with the top down, eating Hostess cupcakes and watching bottle rockets light the sky. It should’ve been romantic, but then Kyle said, “I could spend every Fourth of July for the rest of my life right here,” and I knew. I knew that the quiz I had taken with Micah was wrong. Kyle and I weren’t compatible. At least that’s what I’d thought that night. Then I’d spent the next two weeks wondering if I was just sabotaging myself. If I was trying too hard or not trying hard enough. If I was reading into things or not reading into things enough. After all, if I’d been thinking about this, about Kyle, for the last two weeks, didn’t that say something?
“That’s it?” Caroline asked, bringing me out of my memory. I looked up to see my boss pointing to the lily arrangement I’d just set down. I had already brought in the large standing spray that Caroline had spent the entire morning on. The family had ordered it and it would stand by the casket at the front of the church. “Four arrangements?” Caroline added, frowning. “Nobody else ordered one?”
Funerals were different from most events we did. The flowers for funerals depended solely on attendees’ orders. And John was … well, John. Not exactly the winner of any popularity contests. “Yep, just four.” I wasn’t about to tell her that I had bought one myself when I saw how few orders we had. I liked John. I liked him even more after our interaction at the Valentine’s Day Dinner. It was the best fake money I’d ever spent. Remembering that brought a lump to my throat.
Caroline looked at her watch. “We have time. Will you run back to the shop and grab two or three more arrangements from our half-off fridge?” The half-off fridge was full of flowers that hadn’t sold in their prime. Caroline shook her head. “Poor old bugger. He was grouchy in life so people are trying to prove a point with his death.”
“I think he was misunderstood,” I said.
S
he waved her hand at the flowers. “There’s no misunderstanding here.”
“I’ll run to the store.” I walked down the aisle between the pews and to the outer foyer. A side room was open and the Farnsworth family was gathered there for the viewing. It was very quiet. The open casket sat on one end of the room and John’s family sat in chairs lined up on the other. I was sure they’d already said their goodbyes and now had no idea what to do with the lifeless form in the room.
When I got the first call at the shop three days ago, from one of John’s sons, he had said it was a heart attack. That it happened in the night and he passed on peacefully. I swallowed the lump in my throat.
I kept walking and stepped outside. “Sorry about the lack of flowers, John,” I said to the sky.
“Are you talking to dead people?” Micah was leaning against the flower van.
“Yes, actually,” I said. “Nobody but family, well, and me, bought him flowers.” It wasn’t until the words were out of my mouth that I noticed Andrew coming over to join Micah. “What are you two doing here?” I added. “This event isn’t catered.” Much like the flowers, in this town the food was brought to an open house, potluck-style, after the graveside service.
Andrew cleared his throat. “My dad made a dish to bring to the family later, but Micah said it would be strange to show up at the house without having attended the funeral. So here I am. And this feels stranger to me—going to the funeral of a man I’ve never met.”
“You met him.” I walked around to the driver’s side and climbed into the flower van.
“Are you going somewhere?” Micah asked.
“Yes, I have to run back to the shop.”
Micah slid open a side door and gestured for Andrew to get in. He did, and Micah climbed in after him and shut the door.
“I’ve met him?” Andrew asked as I started the van.
“At the Valentine’s Dinner. He was my dessert date.”
“The guy who gave me a hard time when you were the one abusing me?”
I looked both ways and pulled out onto the street. “I disagree with your memory but yes, that guy.”
“See,” Micah said, “you have met him. Now you can stop whining about having to come to this. Besides, weren’t you just saying at the Fourth of July thing that you were bummed there wasn’t another event until October? Your wish has been granted.”