Where We Left Off

Leaving Corbin this morning was harder than I expected. Sure, Tori had watched him many times when I’d had a meeting about Tommy’s paintings or when I’d had to run a handful of errands that would be more easily executed without an eight-month-old in tow.

A flower shop was no place for a baby, anyway. That was how I justified it. That and the fact that it was typically frowned upon to bring your infant child to work, especially on the first day and especially without permission. There really were no scenarios where Corbin would be able to be with me right now, and that was what I hated the most. That I couldn’t just take him with me everywhere I went, like he was an extension of me.

Of us.

When Corbin was with me, I felt like Dylan was with me. Maybe that was unfair to my son, to saddle him with that, but I couldn’t help it. He was my living, breathing reminder of Dylan.

Dylan’s shirts had lost his smell. Three months. That was the amount of time it took for him to dissipate from the fibers. I’d stand in our walk-in closet and breathe him in. I’d slip on his sweatshirt from the academy and could feel his arms wrapped around me. I could inhale him, until one day I couldn’t. Until one day his shirts just smelled like detergent and no longer like him. It felt like a piece of Dylan died all over again.

The things I thought I’d always have to remind me of my husband slowly began to fade. The phone calls from his fellow officers gradually stopped coming in. The pieces of mail addressed specifically to him were no longer left in the mailbox. His favorite television series would continue on with a new season, a surprising plot twist that everyone would be posting on social media, but he’d never know it.

They might’ve been small and silly things to others, but they were huge to me.

Dylan slipped out of this world, but Corbin kept him here, so very alive within it. Within my corner of the world, at least.

Which was why it made it that much more difficult to leave my sweet baby this morning. I was leaving much more than just my son.

I tried not to let that thought rattle me as I drove to the shop. It had been a long time since I’d had a first day on a job. I knew I was a fast learner and that my tendency toward the obsessive and compulsive side of things could only help me in this line of work. I’d spent the good majority of last night watching YouTube videos on the art of floral arrangement and thought that in a pinch I could create something pretty impressive, even on day one. With training and a little guidance, I was certain I had the potential to become a valuable member of their team. It was a goal I planned to work toward, and having goals felt incredibly good.

The drive went more quickly than I expected for this time of day, and as I pulled my sedan into the parking spot just behind the brick building, my nerves finally caught up with me.

“Breathe, Mallory Quinn.” In through my nose, out through my mouth. “Breathe.”

My eyes closed as I drew in air deeply and rolled the tension from my shoulders.

I could feel myself relax, that was until the tap, tap, tap, on my window shot me through the roof.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, ma’am.”

His voice was muffled through the glass and since I’d already shut the car off, I popped open the door in order to communicate with him. “I didn’t even see you there!” I stepped onto the concrete and the boy who startled me backed up in a rush. He stumbled against the silver Jeep parked in the space adjacent mine.

“I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. Just wanted to greet you before heading into the store.” He looked to be young, in his late teens, I would guess. There was an endearing air to his reddened cheeks and faint pockmarks that wouldn’t be all that noticeable, except for the fact that he stood just a foot from me. His hair was neatly cropped high above his brow and he wore a collared green shirt with Grow embroidered on the chest pocket. “There’s a security code for the back door to get in—7986—and I wanted to let you know before you tried the front. We don’t unlock that for another hour.”

He jutted a hand into the space between us and impressed me with the firm shake he gave. It wasn’t what I expected from our flustered original dialogue. “Nice to meet you …” I started, as though requesting his name.

“Lucas.” He bore his teeth with a wide grin. “And nice to meet you, Miss Quinn. My mom told me you’d be starting today.”

“You can call me Mallory—”

“No.” He stopped me suddenly with a palm thrust into the air. “Miss Quinn will be fine. As long as that’s all right with you.”

I cocked my head. The morning sun beat down on us in the parking lot, the glare like a starburst of light. I squinted into Lucas’s eyes and tried to decipher why he insisted on being so formal. I did have to admit, it was a nice change. So many kids didn’t know how to show respect for anyone, and it was apparent that someone had taught Lucas well. That was an admirable trait.

“Of course it’s fine with me,” I said. “But I have no problem with you calling me by my first name, either.”

“I have a problem with it. Doesn’t feel right to me, to address an elder so informally.”

“Well, Lucas, that just makes me feel really, really old.” I smiled and followed him toward the rusted metal door on the backside of the building. I watched as he punched the four-digit code into the pad and heard the click of the lock turning over. Lucas yanked on the handle and tugged the door open, holding it for me to pass through first.

“Shouldn’t make you feel old. Should make you feel respected. That’s my only intention.”

I liked this kid. He had a decent head on his shoulders and manners to boot.

“Thank you, then. I appreciate the gesture. It’s incredibly refreshing.”

And so was the floral shop. All at once I was met with the scent of hundreds of species of flowers, each giving off their own unique aroma. The room was decorated in a beautiful chic style, not the sort that involved large amounts of distressed woods and chalk-painted furniture, but there was a tone that felt feminine and fresh here. The walls were a pristine white with gold shimmering vinyl lettering adhered to them. I didn’t read all the quotes in their entirety at first glance, but caught words like “adoration” and “serendipity” and knew I was in exactly the right place. There was a bit of magic here and I was grateful to be part of the spell. It was charming.

“Mom will be in at nine forty-five, which is when I leave to head to school. She told me to have you start with the notes first. Most customers order online and we have to write their messages onto notecards which we’ll stick in the arrangements. You have good handwriting?”

“Decent enough.”

“Good to hear. Mine is atrocious. Almost feel bad for the recipients of the flowers when they get a card written by me. Pure chicken scratch.”

I laughed at that, but wouldn’t doubt it. I’d yet to meet a guy that had nice penmanship.

“I’ll show you how to log in and which cards to use, but it’s all pretty self-explanatory. Should only take an hour or so and once Mom has the arrangements done, Trevor will come in to take everything out for delivery.”

It sounded simple enough, which I was thankful for.

Lucas flipped on a computer that sat on top of a zinc table with chunky wooden legs. He pulled out one galvanized stool from under the table and slid another out for me. Everything in this place was so my style from the Mason jar pencil holder to the barnwood picture frame showcasing the stores hours on the front glass window.

As Lucas opened up a program on the screen, I decided on a little small talk. Always a good idea to get to know your coworkers, I figured. “How come you go to school so late?”

“I have ROP for first period, so I get school credit to help out.” Lucas stared at the screen as he spoke. There was a hesitation before he added, “Plus, after my dad left, my mom needed more hands here at the shop.”

“She’s lucky to have you here.”

My stomach knotted and suddenly I missed Corbin even more than before. In a way, this boy before me embodied the fast-forwarded version of my son. Fatherless and feeling indebted to his mother. There was relief in the fact that Lucas didn’t appear to hold resentment for his mom, at least not any that was outwardly visible. I hoped Corbin and I would grow into that same sort of relationship as the years continued on.

“Here we have it,” he said as he maximized the window to pull up the notes section. “Looks like eight orders since yesterday. All of the memos are in this column.” His fingernail grazed the staticky screen. “Just go through them one by one, print out their order form, and paperclip the message to the top of each. Make sense?”

“Makes sense, and if I happen to have any questions, I’ll be sure to ask.”

“Please do, Miss Quinn.” Lucas grinned as he stood. “I’m more than happy to help.”

People sent flowers for bizarre reasons.

One was in sympathy for a friend whose ferret had died. Another to a teacher as an apology for a child who puked in class. And another written to someone who the sender, H, affectionately referred to only as Not Ana.

There were the traditional congratulatory well wishes for newborn babies and new employees, but it was these odd ones that stuck out to me. They also made me realize that maybe working wasn’t going to be as daunting as I’d originally thought. This could be my most entertaining occupation yet.

Lucas headed to school just as I finished up with the cards and his mother, Vickie, was eager to train me in the art of arranging. Over the course of our morning together, I’d discovered she was the sort of woman who enjoyed sharing her talents with others—a true teacher. She was encouraging and engaging, a person you felt instantly comfortable with. In a way, she fit right into the shop so seamlessly, so refreshingly. The fact that she looked like she could grace the pages of an Anthropologie catalog was just the icing on the cake. She was so well put together, with even her outfit arranged like one of her stunning bouquets.

I knew it would be a while before anything I created would make it into the hands of a customer, but Vickie let me choose flowers for several the pieces and showed me how to she would arrange them. It was a beautiful talent and I was so thankful for the mentorship.

As we worked on the bouquet for Not Ana, I couldn’t keep quiet my laughter. I wondered if this woman would take offense that the sender hadn’t addressed her by name, just by a name that happened to be someone else’s. It wasn’t as impersonal as a To Whom it May Concern, but right up there.

“So strange.”

“Oh, Mallory.” Vickie wiped her palms on her green apron and blew her dark bangs from her eyes with a light huff. “I’ve seen it all. Sometimes I even like to make up stories based on the limited information I have from these often cryptic messages.”

“That’s a fantastic idea!” I handed her a sprig of baby’s breath and she slipped it into the vase. “How fun is that?”

“Incredibly.” She winked at me. “But not as fun as H’s night last night, I’m guessing.”

“Or maybe his night was just the opposite, hence the reason for the flowers.”

Vickie shrugged her shoulders. “I like to think people send flowers more often out of love than from regret. It might be a naïve wish of mine, but I’m old-fashioned that way.”

“I really like the way you think.”

“You’ll find that working here changes your outlook on things. Sure, there’s sadness, but I find the main intent in sending flowers is to brighten someone’s day. It’s become impossible for my days not to become just a little brighter as a result. It’s like magic.”

For the first time in a long, long while, I noticed that glimmer of hope bloom in my chest, and I almost laughed out loud at the thought that a literal flower shop made it so.

It had been more years than I could count since I’d been able to witness magic created on a daily basis. I thought I’d have to move back to Kentucky for that, but maybe there was a bit of magic everywhere.