Hatred & Disdain
Sumi
“We had four girls on staff, and me, of course.
Well, that was for the design room.
And then two girls who ran the counter, but they also had a big gift shop.
If you’re not going to have that and you’re just doing flowers—“
“Just flowers,” Sumi clarified quickly, hoping the troll didn’t notice her gulp.
She hadn’t counted on needing staff.
Somehow, in her decade worth of daydreams of running her own flower shop, she was the only one present, standing in a warm ray of sunlight, surrounded by the soft pastel of her chosen interior, putting together an elegant vase arrangement with nary a single customer or other employee in sight.
She was rather sheepish to admit that her long-held daydream of running her own flower shop was more akin to Meredith’s living room bookstore than an actual frantically paced business.
At least, it seemed frantic to her.
She had been sent to a shop in Bridgeton, Urban Narcissus, to do her training.
Training hadn’t even occurred to her at all, but fortunately it was an automatic part of the Bloomerang partnership.
Unfortunately, it meant she needed to cut her teeth in record time, and considering the first and only time she had ever worked a retail job was back in high school, everything felt brand-new.
It doesn’t help that they sent you to the snootiest shop in the city.
Sumi didn’t know that for sure, but she was willing to place a bet.
She had been excited at first, learning that the shop was nymph-owned, thinking she and the dryad might have something in common, but she was quickly dissuaded of that notion.
The dryad who owned Urban Narcissus was as sleek as her shop.
Cool and sterile, black and white with minimalist, box-like displays and stark lighting coming from tiny spotlights on a track.
Even the tree exploding through the roof didn’t soften the atmosphere.
The whole thing gave Sumi the impression of a high-end shoe boutique, rather than flowers. And this is why you’re not a chain. Because every shop is different. They specialized in orchids and tropicals, expensive architectural arrangements sprouting from black cubes and opaque white vases, given height with twisting sticks. It was the complete opposite of everything she wanted her own shop to be, right down to the arrangements they made. But all of this looks expensive. Bet she makes a fuck ton of money.
The dryad gave Sumi a fast up and down the first day she’d entered, sniffing.
She had been told they had a dress code.
All black.
I get that funeral flowers are part of the job, but this is ridiculous.
What hadn’t been communicated was that the staff wore sleek black trousers and matching blazers.
She stood out in her black dress, but Sumi had decided, after the second day of feeling self-conscious, that she didn’t care.
She wasn’t going out and buying a black blazer for a two-week training.
Look at it this way, it’s not like you would ever get a job here.
She would never hire you, you’re too fat.
There were several other sylvans on staff that she had met, a few other dryads, all of them just as sleek and reed thin as their employer. She clearly has a type, and you’re not it.
She’d never had a significant amount of self-consciousness over her size.
She knew that probably seemed counterintuitive to most other women, but she had enough to be self-conscious about as it was.
She liked the way she looked, thought the face staring back at her in the mirror was pretty, and if people disliked someone of her size having self-confidence, Sumi had long ago decided that that wasn’t her problem.
This dryad wasn’t any different.
Despite their owner, she found most of the staff to be friendly, even if only superficially, but they all had one thing in common: frantic, slightly panicked anxiety.
Sumi understood, for she would be anxious everyday with an employer like this as well, but there was more to it than that.
The dryad ran a tight ship, all of her employees knowing exactly what they needed to do each day.
The most significant takeaway, she had decided by the end of it, other than the fact that she was going to need to practice making schedules and that she would probably cry the first time she had to process payroll on her own, was that the orders never stopped.
They never fucking stop.
Every time she turned around, one of the girls would be scurrying from the office with a fresh printout, gathering up sticks and stems of expensive tropical flowers and colorful moss to place at the base of the arrangement.
Maybe it’s because she’s in the city.
There’s no guarantee you’ll be this busy.
“You’ll need to accept orders hourly.
I assign someone to the task each day, but we also keep the alarm set, just in case they are otherwise engaged with a client.
We keep ours set to a specific dollar threshold so that we’re not wasting time reading through the throwaways.”
“What are throwaways?” She hated interrupting the dryad, who pursed her lips at the intrusion, but if she didn’t, Sumi knew the woman wouldn’t bother offering a more in-depth explanation.
“Orders less than one hundred dollars.
Although,” she went on in a clipped voice, giving Sumi another disapproving once over, “that might be too high for your area.
You’ll have to judge that for yourself.
But this is a high-end establishment, and we don’t need to waste time with forty-five dollar little vase arrangements.”
It was a good point.
Sumi had no idea what the average spend would be for her area.
One hundred dollars is way too high.
“And I don’t want my drivers disappearing all day for orders that will hardly cover the gas.
You have to balance what you’re willing to spend to make money, which is why we don’t take the throwaways, and I don’t leave on the automatic approval.
Some people will try to slip in an order outside the delivery zone just to save on the higher charge, and once it’s yours, you’re responsible for eating the cost.”
She had partnered with her Bloomerang area manager, once her training was finished, getting the appropriate job listings posted.
She would need to hire a full-time floral designer.
She was going to have to be someone’s boss.
Sumi couldn’t conceive of it.
Hedda was maybe ten years older than herself, had been working in the industry for more than two decades, and it was decided the troll would be the perfect hire to guide the rest of the business.
“How about this,” Sumi said after a moment of contemplation, tapping the end of her pen against her lips, “when you go through this list today, pick out the six that you think are most promising.
Then we’ll interview them in batches.
I’ll talk to one, while you have the other two back here.
We’ll give them something simple, just a basket arrangement, but I want to make sure that you like them and that you’re happy with their work.”
Hedda smiled, nodding her agreement to the plan.
Sumi liked the troll enormously, was thrilled for her experience and grateful that she was willing to take on the responsibility of head designer.
“Offer her ten dollars more an hour than she was making at her last shop,” the Bloomerang manager had advised.
“She’ll be willing to take on more responsibility and she’ll be less likely to quit.”
She’d thought that last bit of advice seemed ominous, but Hedda was thrilled for the raise and ecstatic that she got to be in charge of the design room.
“That’s perfect.
And two together is smart, that way we can get them talking.
It only takes one drama queen back here to ruin everyone’s week.”
Sumi laughed weakly, not wanting to even contemplate the possibility of a drama queen to manage.
“We’ll hire two of them right off the bat, and keep the other names for backup.”
It was as good a plan as they could come up with.
It was nearly impossible for her to believe that they would be opening in just a few weeks time.
Bloomerang had said the process would be fast, but she couldn’t have conceived the construction moving as quickly as it did.
We don’t want to waste any time in having you operational.
Hedda exited out the back door, and once she did, Sumi tiptoed to the front.
It was almost done.
The walls were a dreamy wash of mauve and dusty pink, with slate gray fixturing and shelves, pink marble flooring, and bright track lights.
There was lighting around the base of her tree as well, and its soft silver leaves lended their own impression to the color scheme she had tried to create.
It was almost done, and it was going to be hers.
She had never in her life felt as on top of the world as she had in the past month.
Everything was coming together: the house, the shop, the club, and she woke each day feeling energized and excited, in a way she never had at the school.
In a way she hadn’t ever.
She didn’t feel as though she was ever going to be fully unpacked, particularly when she sat in endless gridlock getting out of the city for those two weeks she trained at Urban Stems, but now that was done with, she promised herself that she would empty one box a night.
She had already made a friend, Yuriko, who insisted that Sumi had dinner with her family, just a few days after they met that afternoon at the community center.
She’d met Yuriko’s husband and her adorable daughter, Mai.
Her serious-faced brother, Kenta, had also come to dinner that night, and Sumi had collapsed from relief when Kenta’s girlfriend Ava turned out to be human-passing.
“Just human-adjacent,” Ava had joked cheerfully.
“My father was a faun, but he skipped town right after I was born, so I grew up in human neighborhoods.”
She had never had more in common with a group of people, and had needed to remind herself at several points throughout the night that if she broke down crying, they would likely not invite her back.
Her shop was going to open soon.
Yuriko was fierce and funny and vulgar and would be a very good friend, Sumi was certain.
She had joined the Japanese club, had met another half-human like her .
.
. There’s only one thing missing from the recipe of her perfect life reset.
Sumi had taken care in dressing that day, pulling out her favorite dress, the dusty lilac making her skin glow like a fresh peach, especially once she applied a careful stroke of raspberry blush, high on her cheekbones.
A soft, pearly pink for her lips, a touch of shimmer down her nose.
She brushed her dark hair until it shone, clipping it out of her eyes and leaving it loose down her back.
She wanted to glow for him.
She couldn’t deny that she had spent a significant amount of time thinking about the handsome naga, slightly annoyed that all of her time was being eaten up driving back and forth to Bridgeton when she should have been having coffee with him, meeting him for dinner, letting him show her all around town, and then learn what kind of noise he would make when she licked the seam in his scales.
There was a sex toy shop in town, because of course there was.
Sumi already knew that the toy market could cater to any appetite, that porn existed of every species on the side of the veil, and although she was dying of curiosity, she had refrained from looking at any of it.
She wanted to be surprised and delighted by him the way she had been delighted by the rainbow play of his vivid scales, his friendliness, and the delicious sparkle of his eyes.
Although, she would have been lying to herself to pretend that she didn’t wish she had maybe been brave enough to stop into that toy store, particularly late at night, when she was in bed.
Her vibrator got her there reliably, but it wasn’t as exciting as wondering what his cock would be like.
The only thing she knew about snake and lizard folk was that there was an enormous variety, there was no telling what his might be like.
Fringed, frilled, covered in spikes? She had no idea, and with each day that passed without them having made good on their promise to get together, she lost a little bit more sleep and her vibrator got an even harder workout.
It didn’t help that she didn’t have any distractions.
Sumi didn’t want to pry, but ChaoticConcertina had barely been online in the past two weeks, and she hoped that everything in his world was well.
I hope he’s having a good visit with his daughter.
I hope his dad is okay, she thought to herself, turning away from the sight of her beautiful flower shop to carefully pick her way out the back entrance, following the same path Hedda had taken.
The front of the building was wrapped in construction plywood.
There was a door, but she didn’t like using it, not yet.
She didn’t have anything left to do that afternoon, not until Hedda provided her with the names of applicants to call, and she knew just how she would fill the time.
Glancing in her rearview mirror once she had arrived, she examined her teeth, ensuring they were clean and not spotted in pink lipstick.
The Perfect Petal loomed before her, and there was no time like the present to put her love life on the same fast track as everything else.
There was a little girl standing in front of the register, filling in a box of envelopes, when Sumi came through the door, a clanging little bell announcing her entrance.
Her dark hair was twisted up and clasped with a pink bow claw clip, one that matched the pattern on her oversized open cardigan, pink bows on white, over a simple T-shirt.
There were more than a dozen beaded friendship-style bracelets interspersed with jelly bands on her slender, nut brown wrist, and on the countertop, her cell phone rested on a metallic stand, encased in a MochiBunny cover.
Sumi grinned.
The girl was a few years younger than her former students, but clearly a budding fashionista with a clear understanding of the current trends.
The hem of her pink and white cardigan was where her outfit ended, her violet scales taking over.
She undulated as she filled the box, a soft sway, turning when she heard the bell.
His niece? His daughter? OMG, you are going to be the best stepmom in the world.
After all, she had an excellent model, for her own stepmother had been wonderful.
You can go shopping together and go to the movies and have dance parties to the Epoch movie.
“Hi,” the little girl called out, grinning broadly.
“Welcome to The Perfect Petal.
Is there anything I can help you find today?”
At that, she couldn’t hold back an appreciative laugh.
“I don’t think I need any help, but I have to tell you,” Sumi motioned to the girl’s outfit, “your drip is impeccable.
Super coquette.“ She would never let anyone claim fluency in slaying was an unworthy skill, for the girl beamed, her smile stretching from ear to ear, revealing miniature fangs.
“Thank you! I love coquette so much, that and berrygirl, but I don’t see people here wearing it as much.”
Sumi laughed again.
It astounded her how fast this particular generation changed and adapted.
Preppie now referred to expensive athleisure wear in bright, punchy colors and clear tote bags with varsity-style lettering.
Then there was the wild of branching off of what she considered girly — ballet core, coquette, strawberry girls.
If Gen Alpha did one thing well, it was apply labels to every little deviation. And this is why representation matters. This is why human schools hurt more than just the non-human kids.
“Did you get the bow tumbler?” She might not have been the most passionate teacher in her former building, and never referred to herself as an educator, but the one thing she had always done well was paying attention — who was friends with who, what girl grouped with bullies, noting it was frequently an overlap with the same group of girls who were another classroom’s teachers pet — to what they were all frothing for.
Evidently, she had guessed correctly, for the naga girl threw up her hands, moaning as if she had just been stabbed.
“Nooooooo! It’s sold out everywhere.
I thought I would be able to find one here, but they don’t even have the stores that carry them.”
At that, Sumi huffed.
Yeah, because they’re all terrified of chain stores for some reason.
“I have my strawberry Simon cup, but it’s not the same.”
At the sound of the girl’s dramatic cry, a man came lurching around the corner, the precise naga she had come to see.
“Are you okay?” Ranar demanded, his tail moving him so much faster than she thought it should have been able to.
“Is something wrong?”
She had only a moment to admire the two of them together.
Sumi could see that this girl was obviously his relation.
She shared his thick fringe of jet black lashes and had the same angular face, although the scales on her tail were lighter, brighter, absent of the splotches of inky blue.
He wouldn’t have asked you out if her mother was still in the picture.
He turned a second later, his eyes landing on her immediately.
Sumi held her breath, her face aching from the force of her smile.
He was just as gorgeous as he’d been that first day.
At least, he was until his eyes narrowed, his entire face transforming into a look of abject hostility.
“Ruma, go in the back.”
“But I’m—“
Sumi didn’t understand the language he spoke, a quick susurration over his shoulder, little girl stiffening, doing as she was told a moment later.
He kept his head turned, watching the girl slither away, waiting until the door had swung shut behind her.
The little girl threw one last look back at Sumi, her eyes raised, before vanishing completely.
“You have a lot of nerve coming in here.
What are you here to do, steal my car? You gonna ask me if I have tips on how you can drive it first?”
His words hit her like a fist, his displeasure to see her there dripping from every syllable, emphasized by his snarl.
Sumi took a step back, feeling as though the bottom of her happiness had just fallen out.
“What-what do you mean—“
“What do I mean?“ Ranar looked at her incredulously.
“Is this a joke? Is that what this is to you? A sick joke? You come in here and play coy and ask if I have tips about running a flower shop and you didn’t bother mentioning that you were already under construction four blocks away? You know, you may have fooled the planning commission with your little claim that you’re an independent store, but you don’t fool me.
Call yourself anything you want, but we both know the truth — you’re running a bouquet sweatshop.
It doesn’t make a difference how many layers of pink paint you want to slap on it.”
A lance beneath her breast, caught right in the ribs, making her suck in a breath, wobbling on her heel.
Sumi suddenly remembered that despite her daydreams, she didn’t even know this stupid snake, and she didn’t owe him anything.
She certainly didn’t need to stand here and be insulted by him.
“Aren’t you the one that said this is a terrible industry to be in? It seems like you should take your own advice if you can’t hack it.
You’re a real asshole, you know that? No wonder this place is empty.
Your attitude is scaring away all your customers.”
Once again she was taken aback by how fast he was able to move, the push and pull of his muscles propelling him forward in the blink of an eye, his long tail seeming to fill the space, obliging her to take another step back.
She watched as Ranar whipped open the cooler door, yanking out stem after stem, turning back to the counter nearly as fast as he had left it.
She winced when he slapped the flowers down on the counter, pulling out a length of paper so roughly that the roll vibrated against its spindle.
“Here you go, Ms.
Pink Blossom.
My regards on your new store.
I don’t ever want to see you in here again.”
Sumi wasn’t sure why she hadn’t already left, but she wasn’t going to go quietly now.
She grinned as widely as she could, showing as much tooth as she was able, accepting the bouquet.
“I’m keeping this, you know.
I’m going to press them so that I never forget.
Just in case I get it into my head that we can be friends a few months down the road, I’ll look at this and remember — no, that guy is a prick. Good luck, now that you’re actually going to have some competition. You’re going to need it.”
She didn’t look back.
You’re going to put him out of your mind.
This isn’t that small of a town, you probably never even need to run into him again.
You left all of the other worthless shit in your life behind, and you need to put him in that same box.
She nodded to herself in the rearview mirror, pulling out of The Perfect Petal’s driveway for the last time. She wasn’t going to let herself cry. He was an asshole and she could forget about him.
Looking down at the wrap of flowers, her lip curled back.
Orange lilies and yellow carnations.
Hatred and disdain. Charming.
She made it halfway home before her eyes began to burn.
It wasn’t even about him, not really.
All she could think of as she pulled into the driveway of the house she had been left was the conversation she had shared with ChaoticConcertina.
What if you’re the reason things are like this in the first place?
What if it’s you?