Some Memories Can't Be Unglued - SoGS #5

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“This one is my favorite.” Ryleigh giggles, holding up a selfie of the two of us throwing coins into a fountain outside the Sage Grove Community Center. I’d been trying to take the picture and throw my coin at the same time, and it resulted in a forever frozen memory of my comical, grimacing-with-my-eyes-half-closed pose while Ryleigh’s in the background looking like she belongs on one of those “Come Visit Sage Grove” brochures.

I groan, covering my face, but can’t hold in my laugh. Grabbing a photo out of the pile on Ryleigh’s bed, I let out a gasp. “Look! Here’s the one from the hot dog stand.” In the photo, Ryleigh’s holding up a hot dog with a phone number written on it in mustard.

Ryleigh giggles. “That poor vendor. He was kinda cute, but too much mustard is not the way to get a girl to call you.”

I place the hot dog picture in the center of my scrapbook page. I’ve always been the more artsy of us two, but I’d thought putting together a scrapbook would be pointless. Turns out, it’s actually really fun. “Speaking of guys…” I cast a sideways glance at Ryleigh. “You’ve been really focused on me and Will lately, but are you sure you don’t have… ulterior motives?”

Ryleigh tilts her head, sipping the iced lavender latte I picked up for her on the way. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, I was just thinking. And if it were me, I’d probably use something like setting my friend up with a guy to disguise my own feelings.” I fiddle with a piece of tape, glancing at her beneath a raised eyebrow.

Ryleigh just scoffs. “You think I like Will?”

“Not him necessarily. Just… anyone?”

She rolls her eyes at this. “I can see where you’re coming from. And yes, I remember my crazy crush on that one guy from biology last year. But to me, it’s more fun to be involved in your drama than to have any drama of my own.” Her expression turns serious. “I promise, you would be the first to know if I liked anyone.”

I shrug. “Yeah, I’d probably know it whether you told me or not.” We share a laugh, and Ryleigh bats at me with the cardstock she’s holding. Instead of hitting me, her arm bumps the clock on her shelf, and I barely catch it before it falls. Setting it upright, my eyes suddenly lock on the time. 10:23 AM.

“Oh, no!” I spring up from Ryleigh’s bed, dumping the contents of my unglued scrapbook on her carpeted floor. “Oh no, oh no!”

“Ella?” Ryleigh’s eyes widen as I rush to grab my bag and shoes from the other side of the room.

“I’m late! I forgot, I have work today!” I let out a frustrated noise, tugging on my shoes. “You can have the rest of my coffee, and I’ll come clean up later, but… oh! I forgot I have work!” With one final groan, I fling open her door, sliding down the stairs and past Ryleigh’s very confused aunt, accidentally knocking over her little brother’s Lego tower with a hasty apology before zipping out the front door and skidding to a stop in front of my bike.

My bike? Why on earth couldn’t I have driven today?

Flinging my bag over the handlebar, I ride like the wind to Delamore Funerals. It’s a little farther from Ryleigh’s house than my own, so I pump my legs as hard as they can go. Sage Grove passes by in a blur – neighborhoods, businesses, a park. Who cares if glitter’s still stuck to my hands and papers are flying out of my bag? At the speed I’m riding, I could join the Olympics.

Scratch that. I could win the Olympics.

I pump my legs harder up a hill and past the police station, hoping I’m not exceeding the speed limit as I breeze down the other side at record speed.

I don’t stop when I reach the funeral home, a half hour late. I just jump off my bike, letting it crash onto the sidewalk as I fly through the double doors, brushing loose strands of hair out of my face. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Delamore!”

Susan greets me with a smile, as usual, but I keep talking.

“I completely forgot I was on the schedule for today, and it’s really my fault and I have no excuse. I’ll stay as long as you need afterwards to do anything. I am so, so, sorry. This won’t happen again –”

Susan interrupts me, her brow now furrowed. “What won’t happen again? I didn’t know you were coming in today.”

I freeze. “You – I – what?”

“You’re not supposed to come in until tomorrow morning. Tuesday, remember?”

I stare at her, dumbfounded. “Not supposed to…” my voice trails off, but she just smiles warmly.

“Well, it’s perfectly alright, and I have to say your timing is impeccable. I just ran into a predicament, and I have a feeling you’ll be able to help me. If you can stay for a while, that is.”

My surprise comes out in one dumbfounded breath. I glance back toward the door, my gaze slipping out the window to my bike. My hair is a mess. I’m out of breath. My clothes are rumpled. And that glitter will probably never come off of my hands. All that work, for nothing?

No, not for nothing. I turn back to Susan with a shrug. “I might as well, now that I’m here.”

“Wonderful. I need help arranging some flowers, and I have a feeling you’re just the girl to do it.”

I can’t help but sigh a little as she leads me to a store room at the back. If I were working at Morning’s Glory, I’d be arranging flowers every day. And they would go to happy, excited people who are planning dates or weddings or birthday parties. Not sad, depressed people who are experiencing the loss of a loved one.

Not that I don’t want to help the sad people. It’s just… this summer is not going the way I thought it would.

Tugging my still floofy hair out a ponytail to combat the freezing thermostat of Delamore Funerals, I follow Susan to a corner of the store room where fresh flower boxes are stacked on a counter. Next to it are rows of vases and spools of ribbon and flower wire.

“We have a funeral this evening but one of the newer employees didn’t order the flowers correctly. The florist sent these boxes of flowers, so now we’re responsible for making the bouquets.” She turns to me with a cheerful smile. “I know you like flowers, so I thought this might be something you’d enjoy.”

I glance from the boxes to the vases, and give Susan a small smile. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Wonderful.” She clasps her hands together. For all the times Susan seems excited about planning funerals, she really is one of the sweetest people I know. For the two funerals I’ve worked at the home for, she’s been so empathetic with the grieving families, while balancing that with the professionalism she needs to make sure everything goes smoothly. It reminds me of the time my older cousin got married and the wedding planner had to play excited friend and professional businesswoman at the same time. Only, that was a lot happier than these funerals.

Susan moves to the boxes, opening each one and placing it on the counter as she talks. I move to help her. “They want marigolds and lilies as the focal flowers, with some forget-me-nots or aster to accent. The fennel here is for greenery, and we also have some eucalyptus leaves. That’s really the only information they gave me, so just use your good eye to make the bouquets gorgeous!”

“I’ll do my best.” Marigolds, lilies, forget-me-nots, aster, and fennel. For symbolism, a lovely combination, but the colors might be hard to pull together. The common orange marigolds will complement the cream lilies, but the color might clash against the purple and blue of aster and forget-me-nots.

I reach forward, taking a sprig of fennel in one hand and an aster flower in another. Placing them next to each other, I have to smile at how well the textures of each compliment the other. But add in a lily and the proportions are all wrong. Seems like whoever ordered the flowers knew their symbolism but not what the blooms would actually look like in a bouquet.

When I glance back up, Susan’s left me to complete her other tasks. I bite my lip, counting the number of vases. I can’t do anything to change the flowers, but I can do my best to make the bouquets spectacular. Even if no one will be paying attention to them during the actual funeral.

Susan returns before I know it, just as I’m wrapping the last arrangement in flower wire. Her gaze travels over the completed bouquets before fixing on my face with awe.

“Ella, these are just beautiful.”

I smile at the compliment, placing my last bouquet in a vase and carefully fixing the flowers’ arrangement. “Thank you. I really enjoyed making them.” And I actually did enjoy it. This has been the most fun thing I’ve done since working here.

“Well, you must need a break after doing all this hard work.” She touches one aster, nestled between fennel and a marigold, as if to make sure it’s real.

I glance at my watch, realizing with a shock that it’s been over two hours since I started working on the flowers. “Actually, it didn’t feel like work. I love blending bouquets.”

“‘Blending bouquets,’” she echoes, smiling. “That’s a great way of putting it.” Brushing her hands together, she picks up one vase. “You can help me put these in the refrigerator, and then take your break. I’m so glad you’re working here, Ella. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

I can’t help but mirror her smile. After a week of handing out tissues, answering phones, and organizing files, I’m glad to finally feel like I accomplished something. Even though these won’t do much to comfort a grieving family, I still got to do something with flowers. This is about as close to a florist job as I’ll get.

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Ryleigh’s eyes light up as I hand her an aster flower at her house later that day. “Where did you get this?”

“Susan let me bring back the extras from work, and I’m giving most of them away. I got to arrange bouquets today.”

“That sounds fun!” Her bright smile is contagious, and I find myself smiling too.

“It wasn’t anything like wedding or prom flowers, but it was the most enjoyable thing I’ve done since I started work. And I’m actually headed to Karl’s Cars right now to see what they have.”

Her eyebrows jump. “Ooh, or who they have?”

I roll my eyes. “If Will happens to be there, which would be a strange coincidence, I’m telling him the truth about where I work.” I groan. “I haven’t even seen him since last Sunday. I really hope he hasn’t told anyone I work at the florist.” Ryleigh snorts, and I hurry to correct myself. “Not that he’d be talking about me.” But my face is already hot as I shuffle my feet nervously on Ryleigh’s doorstep.

“I saw him the other day but I was helping another customer, so I couldn’t say anything to him. He does come in pretty often, though. But only for coffee or sweet tea, never boba.” She seems to think this is a bad thing, but the thought of Will drinking boba is almost ridiculous enough to make me laugh.

Ryleigh wishes me luck on whatever comes next, and I make my way toward Parkington Street, where Ultimate Boba and Karl’s Cars are. I really don’t expect to see Will there, especially since it’s nearing evening and they’ll probably have less workers at this time of day.

That’s how it works, right?

Either way, I startle when I approach the dealership just as Will rounds the side of a yellow 2004 Ford Mustang.

His surprise matches my own when he sees me. “Hey, Ella. What are you doing here?”

“Looking for a car.” As soon as the words have left my mouth, I realize how lame that answer is. What else would someone be doing at a dealership? “I’m working all summer to hopefully afford one in September.”

“Oh, yeah.” Will tosses a rag onto the hood of the Mustang. “The florist.” He goes on before I can correct him. “I told my mom you work there. She always talks about how amazing it looks, but she’s never been inside. I thought maybe if she knew one of the workers she’d actually go in sometime. I think she needs some flowers or something, to… brighten everything up.”

A rush of panic courses through me, and my words come out rushed. “Well, actually, I don’t–”

“Will?” A man’s voice calls from the little building behind the rows of cars.

Will turns back to me apologetically. “Sorry, I’ll be right back. Feel free to take a look around, and I can help you find something in just a minute.”

I nod as he turns, jogging toward the building. He told his mom?! I’ve never met Mrs. Clemmons, but I know she’s a part of Tuesday Tea at the local library. If she mentions to the other ladies that I work at the florist… well, let’s just say only a few brave souls enter the library on Tuesdays between the hours of eleven and one. Most everyone knows: you go in to borrow a book, you come out with a bucketful of gossip.

But, like Susan just reminded me, it’s not Tuesday until tomorrow. Maybe I still have hope.

I glance back at the yellow Mustang. The price isn’t bad, but it’s almost the color of the mustard on Ryleigh’s hot dog. A little more orange, though. And really ugly.

Next to it is the most beautiful car I’ve ever seen – a Honda Accord, practically sparkling as the sun glints off its light blue color. There’s not a scratch on it. In fact, it looks brand-new.

And one glance at the price tells me I’ll have to wait until September ten years from now to afford it.

After twenty minutes of looking around at cars I probably can’t ever buy, I approach the little building and knock on the door before opening it. A sign reads “open” in large letters, but it just seems like the type of place where you knock first.

An older man sitting at a desk glances up as I enter. “Can I help you?”

I frown. “Well, a worker here – Will Clemmons – said he’d… well, is there someone who can help me find a good car?”

The man glances at his watch. “Will just had to leave, actually. He went out the back way, which is probably why you didn’t see him. I’d be able to help you, except we technically closed four minutes ago, so that’s against company policy. We open at ten tomorrow if you want to come by before anyone else. All these cars will still be here.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, turning to go. Unfortunately, I work tomorrow starting promptly at ten, so I’ll have to wait until later to come back. Strange that Will wouldn’t tell me he had to leave, though. And – I realize with a jolt – I never got to tell him I don’t work at the florist.

Sighing, I leave the car lot. If Mrs. Clemmons thinks I’m working at the florist, half the town will know by next week. Including the owner of Morning’s Glory. And my parents.

This could be very bad.