Movie Night Under the Stars (Mosquitos Invited) - SoGS #6

Like any sensible teenage girl, I naturally don’t go home after leaving Karl’s Cars.

I go to Will’s house.

I can’t think about anything except how bad it would be if he tells anyone else – or if his mom tells anyone else – that I work at Morning’s Glory. It doesn’t matter what it takes, I have to tell him the truth. Now. Because being humiliated by fessing up to one person is a thousand times better than having to talk to a hundred people.

I’ve never actually been to Will’s house before, but I know where it is because a certain stalker friend keeps tabs on him. It’s only after I ring the doorbell that I realize how creepy this looks. What am I supposed to tell Will? “Oh, yeah, my friend told me where you live and I just thought I’d follow you home after you left the dealership. Just to, you know, talk.”

I turn to run back to my car and book it out of here as fast as legally possible when the door swings open. I recognize Will’s older sister, Amanda.

“Hi,” she smiles. “Ella, right?”

“Yeah. I, uh –” This had better be worth it. “Is Will home?”

Her smile deepens, like she knows something I don’t. Or, at least, she thinks she does. “Yeah, he just got back from work. Come in.”

“No, that’s okay. I just need to tell him something.”

She nods with another cryptic smile. “I’ll be right back.”

I wait outside their house until Will shows up in the doorway. Immediately, his eyes widen and he smacks his forehead. “Ella, I’m so sorry. I meant to go out and tell you, but I had to come home right away. We had an emergency and my mom needed the car.”

My eyes widen. “Oh, no! Is everyone okay?”

“She’s visiting my great-aunt in the hospital, to say goodbye before my great-aunt is transferred to a hospital closer to her siblings. We might not see her again, so, you know.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

He shrugs. “I never really knew her, so my mom’s visit is more of a formality.” An awkward silence passes in which I murmur “that’s so sad” or something, before Will raises his eyebrows. “What did you need to talk to me about?”

I gasp. “Oh! I’m sorry, I completely forgot. So, you know how I work at Morning’s Glory?”

“Yeah…”

“Well…” I bite my lip. “I hope your mom didn’t tell anyone about it.”

“I mean, my mom just left and Amanda wouldn’t be interested, so I don’t think so.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Good.”

He raises his eyebrows, still not understanding. Not that I’ve given him much to understand. “And that’s good because…?”

I shift my position, suddenly nervous. “Well… I-kind-of-don’t-really-work-there-exactly.”

A silence passes that feels like years before he speaks. “Kind of?”

I shrug. “Well, I actually don’t work there.”

“So why did Ryleigh tell me you did?”

“Because…” Oh, why did he have to ask me that? Suddenly, the concrete of his front porch looks very interesting, and I can’t help studying the little dips and ridges. “You know about the whole setup thing. She thought she could impress you by making you think I had this amazing job.”

Um, AWKWARD anyone? I am so ready to have this over with, end everything with Will (not that there was ever anything), and get on with my summer.

So I keep talking, the words rushing out faster and faster as I determine to get this done with. “I actually work at a funeral home, which wasn’t my first choice but I had to work somewhere because I really need money for a car. And I guess Ryleigh thought it was a lame job or something – it is kind of depressing – and nothing against Ryleigh, because she just had my best interests at heart. She just wants to force us to like each other or something, and I’ve been wanting to work at the florist, so that’s why she told you I work there.”

I heave a sigh of relief, not bothering to meet his eyes. “So, there you go. Sorry about all that.”

I turn to leave when I hear a soft chuckle. Turning back to Will, my heart practically stops when I see his face.

He’s smiling. Almost laughing. Just like at Ultimate Boba.

I stare at him like he just handed me a bouquet of dying hemlock flowers. “Are you okay?”

He blinks, his laughs dying away. “What?”

“You… you didn’t get mad at me.”

“Why would I? You didn’t lie. Actually, you followed me here to tell me the truth.”

Now it’s my turn to pause. “Yeah, I guess so. But please don’t be mad at Ryleigh.”

“I’m not. I know she means well. I mostly feel bad for you.”

“Oh.” What am I, the queen of lame comments? “I – I really am sorry, though. I talked to Ryleigh and she feels bad. I think she’s going to stop interfering from now on. At least, as much as she can help it.”

He laughs again, and this time I join in with relief. He didn’t yell at me! He didn’t get mad, or slam the door. He didn’t even let me sprint to my mom’s car and drive away in tears.

“Okay. So… friends?” He quirks an eyebrow, and I finally smile.

“Yes. Friends.” No matter what Ryleigh does, there’s no way I could ever date Will at this point. Now that I’ve actually met him, my fantasizing about how perfect he is has faded (at least partly, since I still can’t get over that smile), and being enemies would just crush Ryleigh’s heart. Plus, it would make things even more awkward – if that’s even possible. So being friends is really the only option left. And I think Will understands that.

--

After much debating, Ryleigh and I choose Stage Door, a Katharine Hepburn and Ginger Rogers classic, for our outdoor movie night – the fifth thing on the bucket list. We were going to do a movie night a few years ago, but it rained so we had to do it inside. Which wasn’t quite the same, especially when Ryleigh’s little brother James decided to join us. The Princess Diaries is not nearly as enjoyable when you have a ten-year-old boy criticizing every little thing about it.

Ryleigh is the undisputed queen of old movies, but I’ve always found them on the boring side, so we picked Stage Door because she likes the oldness, and I like the drama. Plus, those vintage styles are to die for.

As soon as I arrive at her house and James is out of earshot, I tell her what happened with Will. Her face turns red and she apologizes again for lying to him, but I assure her it’s okay. And it really is. I can’t change anything about what happened, so I have to use it for the best.

“He never did help me find a car, though,” I remark, settling down on a blanket with my bowl of popcorn.

Ryleigh fiddles with the projector until the movie appears on the huge sheet on the side of her house. “I guess you’ll just have to go back to Karl’s sometime.” Even though I can’t see her face, I can hear the smile in her voice.

And she can probably hear the eye roll in mine. “My dad said he’ll take me there next week so I can get his opinion. He really wants to be the one to find me a great car.”

Ryleigh sits next to me, talking around a mouthful of popcorn. The opening credits transition to show a chaotic New York boarding house where the movie takes place. “So, has it been worth it to work at Delamore Funerals?”

I shrug as Ginger Rogers delivers her first line. “I really hope so.”

--

When I wake up the next morning, the first thing I notice is how itchy I am. Swinging my legs over the side of my bed, my eyes widen at the red welts scattered across my arms and legs. I got so into the movie last night, I didn’t even realize the mosquitoes came out.

With a groan, I force myself up, trying – and failing – to keep from scratching at the bug bites. Why didn’t we think to put bug spray on for our outdoor movie night?

Why does every single thing on the bucket list have to end badly?

Probably half the people in the small town know my history of fashion and have seen my haircut (which has recently been getting less poofy thanks to some hair product my mom recommended), so they aren’t too surprised to see me dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt in the ninety-degree weather. At least, no one audibly questions it. But I do get curious looks from almost everyone at work.

I’m on the phone with a caterer to schedule an appointment for an upcoming memorial service when Susan comes in from the back, pausing at my desk. The call only takes a few minutes, and when I hang up she clasps her hands together.

“Ella, do you remember the Remington family? Ed Remington’s funeral is the one you made bouquets for.”

“Oh, yes.” Since then, Susan’s asked me multiple times to fix a bouquet that didn’t look quite right, or help arrange the placement of flowers in the chapel.

“They knew what happened with the flowers, and just sent me an email thanking Delamore Funerals for fixing the problem. Mrs. Remington was a florist in the seventies, and recognized the value of a well-made bouquet.”

I smile softly, remembering the sweet elderly woman who had lost her husband.

Susan goes on. “After they took the flowers home, someone in the family mentioned that Delamore Funerals personally arranged them. A family just made an appointment for a funeral, and wanted their bouquets made here, not the florist.”

I swallow, scrambling to grasp what she’s saying.

“I haven’t answered them yet, but would you be willing to make bouquets for another funeral? I know it took you a long time, so I’ll pay you extra.”

“Oh!” I breathe the word, lighting up. “I’d love to. Thank you so much.”

There’s something that felt so fulfilling when I was arranging flowers for the Remingtons, and knowing that they would do more than just accent the happiness of a wedding or prom. They aided in the healing of a grieving family. It’s always sad to grieve with people, but a thoughtful bouquet means so much more when it’s given to brighten a sad time.

Susan enthusiastically gives me the details of what the family wants, and I glance back at the schedule of appointments I’d just finished organizing. So maybe some things here are mundane and depressing, but at least now I have one thing to look forward to. One way I can really feel like I’m helping people.

I call Ryleigh as soon as I get my lunch break, and share with her everything that happened with Mrs. Remington.

“I’m so happy you found something you like!” Ryleigh’s excitement has me beaming as she keeps talking. “Are you working this Saturday?”

“I’m on the schedule, but I can see if Susan will let me switch. Why?”

“Well…” we’re not video calling, but I can imagine the sparkle in Ryleigh’s eye. The kind that means she’s been scheming. “Just see if you can get off on Saturday, and let me know.”

“Wait!” I say before she can hang up dramatically (she likes to do that). “Can you just give me a hint?”

“It’s the perfect thing for a heatwave in the height of summer. No more hints. Buh-bye!”

“Rylei –” My phone beeps the signal that she’s hung up, and I slump against my chair. A heatwave? The height of summer?

Oh, she has definitely been scheming.