16. Jillian
SIXTEEN
Jillian
I’m glad for our casual first date alone. As far as first dates go, it’s been relaxing. More like old friends having lunch together than a date. El Habanero is small. We sit at one of the booths along the wall. The tables in the middle are mostly full. The colorful walls and decorations don’t detract from the feel of coziness. There are paintings by local artists hanging on the walls with discreet price tags attached. I sip at my virgin pina colada and Elliott drinks some kind of Mexican orange soda from a glass bottle. He nudges the chips and guacamole my way.
I take a chip, still warm from the frier. I could never say no to guacamole. “This is really good. I’ve never been to this restaurant before.” He was welcomed by name when we walked in. But they were surprised to see me with him. You brought a senorita, Mr. Elliott? “You come here often?”
“I do and also get a lot of takeout since it’s close to my apartment. The food is amazing.”
I cover my mouth after taking a bite of my quesadilla, chew, swallow. “It really is. I’ll have to come back.”
“I’ll come with you.” Elliott sits back. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the food. It’s nice having someone to talk to during lunch. I usually come here alone.”
“How come?”
He tugs at his tie and loosens it. “The people I work with are into fancy restaurants.”
I tilt my head. “And you’re not?”
“I’ve had enough fancy restaurants to last me a lifetime. I prefer more authentic flavors.” His smile is mischievous even though his words and tone are innocent.
My imagination runs away from me with all kinds of wicked ideas I thought long gone. Not gone. Dormant. I clear my throat. “What kind of kid were you?”
He scratches the back of his head. “I was a brat growing up. Always getting into trouble. I was invincible. A superhero. Broke both my arms at eight jumping off a swing. I thought I could flip in the air, roll, and land on my feet.”
This makes me smile. “Oh, gosh. Don’t let Jamie hear you say that. He might think he can top you.”
“What kind of little girl were you? Into Barbies or a tomboy?”
“Neither. I liked books and gardening. I found escape and refuge in books and plants.”
He grabs a chip. “I guess that explains the flower shop. What else?”
“I was a shy kid, definitely didn’t feel invincible. I was afraid of everything.”
“Really? I don’t see that in you.”
My shoulders slouch, weighted by thousands of memories competing for space in my mind. “My parents—well, my mom. Dad went along with whatever she decided. I know they love me, but there were so many rules. I was the kid whose eyes were always downcast and who never spoke up or disobeyed.” They didn’t raise a child. They raised a good little soldier who followed the rules and was never allowed to question anything. “My mother didn’t like to get her hands dirty or bugs. The garden was the one place she didn’t follow me. Much to her consternation, I was not interested in the things she was. But as the garden grew beautiful and neighbors commented on it, she stopped complaining about how much time I spent with my hands in dirt. I was free to be myself when I stepped outside. Of course once the dirt was washed off my hands, I reverted to being her good little girl.”
“You seem to be managing pretty well with clean hands now.” He leans in, gaze intense. “How did you break free?” The question feels loaded with intent, more than simple curiosity.
I drag in a breath, memories flooding back into me. “CJ.”
I check to see how saying my husband’s name affects him. When I find nothing but interest in his eyes, I keep going. “CJ changed me. He was the opposite of me. Looked everyone in the eye, held himself high, facing the world like he owned it. Every day was an adventure for him. He lived in the moment.”
Elliott watches me with a tender expression on his face.
I gaze out into the distance. “We met in first grade. I don’t remember exactly when, but it had to be within the first few days of classes starting—before it got cold because I remember what I was wearing. A purple dress with butterflies all over. It was my favorite.”
He smiles. “Wish I could have seen that.”
“My parents might still have some pictures.” I go silent again, and he taps my hand.
“It was during recess, and all the kids were in the school playground. I was about to go up a ladder for the slide when someone pulled my ponytail and shoved me to the side. I fell and scraped my knee. Next thing I know, CJ is there, helping me get up. And then he goes around the slide to wait for the third grader who pushed me. CJ stood right at the edge of the slide and as soon as that kid’s feet touched the ground, he slammed his face right into CJ’s elbow. The kid fell back into the slide crying. And as far as the teachers knew, it was an accident. But I know it wasn’t. He stood up for me, even though that kid was much bigger than him.”
Elliott’s eyebrows shoot up. “In first grade? How old was he? Five? Six?”
“Six. CJ was always tall for his age. Skinny but scrappy. What I didn’t know at the time was that his father was a violent drunk. And even then, CJ was putting himself between his father and his mother.”
“At that young age?”
“Many years later, I learned that CJ told his father that if he ever touched his mother again, he’d kill him. It would be easy, too. He’d either do it when his father was drunk or sleeping. And make it look like an accident. Apparently, the whole neighborhood knew his father was violent and there were at least a couple of domestic dispute arrests, but CJ never let it show, and I guess the adults kept quiet about it, too. ”
Elliott presses his lips together. “That’s terrible. No child should have to live through that.”
“Sadly, many do. We became inseparable after that first day. He was the most kind, filled with joy person I’ve ever known. He was my best friend and protector. And everything was fine until high school.”
“What happened then?”
“That’s when, thanks to some neighbor’s gossip, my parents decided that having a boy as a friend was not a good thing. And worse, a boy from the wrong side of town. His father was still an alcoholic, but he no longer hit his mother. He was afraid of CJ now. My mother was always very religious, and she became obsessed with protecting my virtue from the evils of men and keeping me away from any boys. Up to that point, the few times she saw me playing with CJ at school, she didn’t think anything of it. There was always a group of boys and girls playing together. But then time went by and when I turned fifteen and got more developed and looking less and less like a kid, my mother’s need to control me resurged with a vengeance.”
“They tried to separate you?”
I snort. “They tried. And that’s when I grew a backbone. I said no. I told my parents that I’d never turn my back on my best friend, and I didn’t care if they liked it or not. My dad always followed Mom’s lead. She was running the show at home. I called them out on the hypocrisy of judging people and not loving thy neighbor and how un-Christian that was.” I can still see her cheeks turn red with fury and shame as she sputtered, trying to justify her actions. I threw back in her face her favorite gossip judgment. She was always talking about how this or that person was un-Christian. A deeply buried petty part of me still rejoices in her reaction.
“Did you get into trouble?”
“They tried to ground me, but it would be impossible to keep CJ and me from seeing each other. We lived in a small town. It had one high school and two classes per grade. CJ and I shared most of our classes since middle school. High school wasn’t any different.”
“Is that when you two started dating? In high school?”
“Not at first, not until junior year. We kept it quiet and discreet. No one really thought anything of it since we were always together, anyway.”
“Your parents didn’t suspect?”
“If they did, they never said a word. I think my mother was afraid of saying anything else and making me rebel by doing exactly what she feared most. But it was all so very innocent, a few stolen kisses here and there. We weren’t able to actually be together until college. There wasn’t a lot of opportunity, and we couldn’t exactly go to the drugstore and buy protection.”
“You went to the same university?”
“No. CJ got a partial scholarship to the School of Arts at Columbia University. He was an amazing artist.” My gaze goes unfocused. I’m lost in memories of our early days and picnics on the living room floor surrounded by canvases and paint. I blink and Elliott watches me with a wistful look about him. “The paintings in my apartment, the mural in Jamie’s room, he did them.”
“Those are incredible. And you? Which school did you go to?”
“I went to NYU. For accounting. I know, boring.” I shrug. “But math came easily to me, and it sounded like a solid career. Something I could do anywhere in the country. I had every intention of not returning home after graduation. I was still trying to escape. Never expected it would be to a flower shop, but it makes sense. I’ve always loved flowers and plants.”
“How did you end up with a flower shop?”
“I got a job at the flower shop in freshman year, about a couple of months after moving to New York. Leonora, the owner, took me under her wing. A month or so after that, she gave a job to CJ as well. I worked in the shop, making arrangements, and CJ ran deliveries, cleanup, whatever was needed.”
He tilts his head slightly. “Was it difficult to work around your classes?”
“Not really. We worked a few evenings and Saturdays. And Leonora was okay with us working fewer hours during mid-terms and finals. The store always closed on Sundays—it was her family day. So we had a break, too.”
“But how did you go from accounting to owning a flower shop? And living there?”
I stir my drink with the straw. “Living there came first. CJ and I were talking about renting a place together before we started our second year. My boss overheard us and offered the apartment above the store, rent-free in exchange for us fixing it up. She said she’d pay for the materials if we did the work and we’d be responsible for the apartment utilities. The space had not been used for many years and was basically storage.”
“That was incredibly generous.”
“She is like that. It was a lot of work, but we cleaned the place up, got rid of all the junk, and then started the repairs. We learned a lot, like how to re-tile the bathroom, paint, build shelves. It took a few months, but we got it done. Then we needed to furnish it, but my boss came through again. She said she was getting rid of a lot of things in her house and gave us the bedroom and living room furniture.” I stop talking, lost in memories.
Elliott taps my hand. “Go on.”
“A few months go by and she was not very happy with the person she hired to do her books, and I started helping with a few things here and there, set her up with accounting software that would make it easier to keep track of everything.”
Elliott pushes his plate to the side. “It worked for both of you.”
“It did, but there were other problems.”
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
I run a hand through my hair. “On our second year, my mother figured out CJ was also in New York and we were living together. She didn’t like me being so far away from home, but she thought at least I would not be with CJ anymore.”
“I can’t imagine that she took it well.”
“She was furious when she found out. She wanted me to go back home and to a local college. Threatened to stop paying for my tuition. But my grandparents set up a 529 plan in my name and I took over it when I turned eighteen. My mother had no access to it—those were empty threats, and she knew it. I told her as much. And told her she had two choices: accept that CJ was and would always be a part of my life or lose me. ”
His eyes widen. “How did she react?”
“Crying, sputtering, begging. I told her I’d hang up and she could call me back when she had time to calm down and make a decision. Dad called me the next morning. My mother had apparently taken ill and was in bed. Which was my father’s way of saying she was trying to guilt me into caving to her will. He said he loved me and he was proud of me. My mother didn’t call me for months. She waited for me to be the first to give in. I was relieved for the respite. I talked to my father behind her back. I knew she was fine. Eventually, she gave in and called to ask if I was coming home for Christmas break, acting like nothing happened.”
He laughs. “Like that?”
“Yes, that’s her MO.”
“But how did you end up as the store owner?”
“During my senior year in college, my boss lost her husband. She was a mess. They were married for over fifty years. So I took over the store for her. Managed the employees, hired someone to help. CJ stepped up and between the two of us and the employees, we kept the store open.”
“That must have been incredibly hard. Balancing a full load of credits in your senior year and running a business.”
“It was. And after three months of being absent, she came back, and she had a proposition for me.”
“A proposition?”
“She offered me a partnership at the store. Fifty-fifty ownership.”
His eyes widen. “Wow.”
“She surprised me. Said she was too old and wanted to retire, but she wasn’t ready to let go of the place she shared so many memories with her husband.”
“What did you say?”
“I told her that while I appreciated the offer and would love to be her partner, and she paid me more than most similar jobs did, I could not afford to buy half of the store. She put a hand up to stop me. I remember thinking how thin and frail her hand looked, with a map of blue-tinted veins crossing its back.”
Elliott leans in closer. “Go on.”
“She said that her heart was no longer in it. And she wanted me to take over. Make it my flower shop with her as a silent partner. And we’d split net profits. That since I’d own half of the store, I no longer needed to pay the utilities for my apartment. It would be included in the shop’s expenses. And that since the building was still fully hers, she’d be responsible for property taxes.”
“That’s one hell of a deal.”
“It was. Still is. At first, I refused. I thought she was not in the right mind and it felt like I was taking advantage of her grief. She would not accept my refusal. Showed up a few days later with her lawyer in tow and a bunch of papers for me to sign. And I’ve been her partner since. But enough about me. Tell me about you. I don’t even know what you do for a living.”