“Are you done talking about Max?” she asks.
Rolling my eyes, I walk away from her, my bare feet smacking the smooth hardwood floor of her pristine shop, heading into the back to grab a water bottle. My mom’s store is design perfection. It’s not like most floral shops where they’re covered in flowers and cheap looking. Hers is refined. She has a large, etched glass flower fridge that people can come in and purchase premade arrangements out of. Then in the back, she has another fridge where she stores all of her flowers. The walls inside her shop are a deep indigo color and in the front, she has an entire iron bench and two chairs seating area for guests and her clients. To me it screams impeccable sophistication.
Returning to the font with two water bottles, I open hers and set it on the workbench.
“No, Mom, Maxwell is not a man I can see myself dating. I’m sorry, but thanks for trying.” I sweetly state and kiss her cheek. Then I get to work standing next to her. Stealing flowers from the black round container, trimming stems and leaves in the sink with an extra pair of pink handled floral shears, and tucking the flowers into the foam. I’ve done this hundreds of thousands of times, and I might not be as good of a floral artist as my mother might, but I’m no novice.
I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my Sunday than working alongside my workaholic mother in a shop that feels like home.
Gage
“Emma, do we really have to go see Mrs. Faith today?” I ask my five year old who is bouncing excited in her car seat, riding in the back of my fully loaded black Yukon Denali.
I pray she says no. I don’t have to grocery shop today. I bought groceries yesterday and the only time we drop by Faith’s is so Emma can help make a small arrangement while I shop. It’s easier that way and Faith loves Emma. I wish Emma’s mother loved her that much. This was Emma’s mother’s weekend. She gets her twice a month for a total of four days. I can’t stand the bitch. She’s a terrible mom and my daughter doesn’t even like her. Which is saying something because Emma is the friendliest and sweetest five year old I’ve ever met. Well that’s not saying much, I’ve not spent a lot of time around other five year olds. Just mine.
I’m a full time dad, who works long hours as a lawyer, running my own firm. Unfortunately, that means my poor baby girl is stuck at the babysitters after school until six, most nights, and even later on Monday’s and Wednesday’s when we have interoffice meetings.
“Pllleeasssee, daddy, I really, really want to make pretty flowers.” Her sweet voice tugs at my heart and I give in. Good thing we’re almost to Faith’s anyhow.
Lex
“You’ve been a great help today.” My mom thanks me with a giant smile. I’ve been here at her store since this morning and it’s closing in on six already. We’ve finished ten arrangements and did some much needed cleaning. It’s been a rather productive day.
“No problem, Mom. Makes me feel like a kid again.” I reply, throwing the cut stems from the draining sink into the trash.
The front door chimes and I glance up.
Gage! What is he doing here? And that must be his daughter.
“Mrs. Faith!” The little girl screeches, letting go of her father’s hand and dashing toward my mother, who has knelt down, arms wide, with a huge ear-to-ear smile plastered on her face.
I had no idea my mom even knew Gage, let alone his daughter.
“Hi, Emma.” My mother singsongs and hugs her, smoothing the little girls long, almost black hair, down her back and kissing her cheek.
“I missed you. I haven’t seen you in weeks.” Emma sadly whines.
A chuckle bursts through the air and I turn to see Gage smiling just as much as my mom. I completely forgot he was here, and looking very handsome today in jeans and a hoodie, his brown hair gelled to perfection, like always.
“Emma, we were here last week.” He reminds her still chuckling.
“I know, but I want to come all the time.” The little girl adorably says, releasing my mother from a big hug.
Folding the little girls hand into hers, my mom guides her toward me. “Emma, I want you to meet my daughter, Lex.” She says, gesturing her free hand at me.
Emma looks me up and down a few times, a smile still playing on her face. She’s a very pretty little girl with green blue eyes like her father, her hair slightly darker than his, her skin pale white, almost like mine, and she has the most adorable button nose splattered with freckles and long dark eyelashes.
Kneeling, to get to her eyelevel, I offer my hand to her and she accepts it. “How do you do, princess?” I sweetly greet, smiling back at her.