Chapter 3
Bloomed to Be Messy: Chapter Three
AMANDA
For the last two weeks, my days have been filled with cleaning the shop, painting cabinets and walls that haven’t seen a new layer of paint in at least ten years (the initials of my first crush plus mine are still on the bathroom wall), and scrubbing a squeaky floor that I discovered used to be white when I moved a small display cabinet that I remember from when I was a kid.
And my nights? Well, party girl that I am—snort—those I spend binge-watching YouTube videos showcasing the latest trends in floral arrangements and researching the best marketing strategies for small business owners.
The sooner I can open for business, the better because the meager reserves my aunt left to me for running the place are dwindling fast and my paltry savings have gone toward food and the utilities for my new condo.
Yes, I’m now a condo owner—free and clear. My one relief in this crazy scenario. And one of the keys on that ring turned out to be for a storage area in the building’s basement. I found a few pieces of small furniture and about a dozen boxes I’ve yet to explore. Add that to my unending to-do list.
But today’s challenge is—
DUN, DUN, DUUUUUUN…
The cash register.
I’m impressed that Aunt Paula upgraded her system to something this sophisticated sometime during the last year, in which I didn’t make it back for a visit.
When I tried to figure out this thing yesterday, the machine locked me out.
Today I found the owner’s manual online and am reading the small print on my phone as I push buttons.
So far, the only success I’ve had is unlocking the cash drawer only because I tried one of the other keys on that mysterious key ring.
That leaves one key to figure out.
As I study the cash register manual, I hear a tapping on the glass, which brings my attention to the front door. Sally is standing there, holding a drink tray with two cups and a small sack bearing The Last Bean logo. I’ve made that place my daily reward for cleaning up this one.
The grumbling in my stomach launches me forward. As I unlock the door, the distinct aroma of banana bread—my favorite—fills my nose. Which means she had it warmed up. Saliva has now filled my mouth so full, I’m afraid to say anything lest I drool all over my aunt’s best friend in the world.
Aunt Paula may have raised me like a mother, but Sally was like the favorite aunt that played backup. Oh, the irony…
“Anything I can do to help? I brought supplies.” Sally holds up the drink tray.
I push the door open wider and wave her in. “Any idea how to operate that thing?” I point to the sleek black beast sitting on the counter as I grab the sack holding my banana bread.
“As a matter of fact, I do. I have the exact same one.”
“Seriously?” Banana bread crumbs spray out of my mouth as I say this.
She wags her finger. “Say don’t spray, please.”
“Sorry.” I cover my mouth as I mumble my apology and nab one of the coffees. Once I know my mouth is clear, I dare to speak again. “How did you wind up with the same cash register?”
“Both of us needed new ones, so your aunt negotiated a deal with the vendor.”
Of course she did. Aunt Paula knew how to wield her southern charm better than anyone I knew.
I once watched her not only charm her way out of a speeding ticket, but then convince the police officer that we needed an escort to the hospital in order to deliver a bouquet to a patient in critical condition.
I have more stories like that one, too. Maybe I should write a memoir about her. I think I’ll add that idea to my bucket list.
Sally stands in front of the cash register, her fingers tapping the screen that’s illuminating her face with a soft glow. A little tune rings out and she smiles. “There. I entered you into the system with the password, born to be wild with an ‘e’ and no spaces.”
Of course she did. That makes total sense, too.
I crumple the empty sack and mourn the end of my baked goods fix for the day. “Thank you for the banana bread. That’s my favorite.”
Sally glances at me as she picks up her coffee. “I know. I remember.”
A sudden rush of emotion pushes tears into the corners of my eyes. The banana bread threatens to make a reappearance as well.
It’s been years since I saw my mother. She didn’t show up when I graduated from high school or college, so it didn’t surprise me when she didn’t show up for her sister’s funeral.
Her occasional notes or Christmas cards always mention her busy schedule.
When they arrive, that is. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve seen one of those in a couple of years either.
I don’t know where my mother is these days, only that she lives somewhere in Hollywood and is living her dream of being an actress. Like me, when she turned eighteen, she left Sarabella in pursuit of her dream to be a movie star.
Three years later, she came back broke and pregnant.
Being the good sister that she was, Aunt Paula took her in and tried to help her figure out life as a single mother. That lasted all of three years. After which my mother fled back to Hollywood with the promise to come back for me once she hit her fame and glory.
Which she finally did around the time I entered my teenage years.
By then, it just made no sense to uproot a teenager and take her to LA.
That’s what she told Aunt Paula on one of her sporadic visits.
Plus, her life of ‘glamour’ didn’t allow her much time to keep up with a teenager in her formative years.
Fine. She could have her life of fame. By then I had a good idea of what I wanted to do with my life and that didn’t include her either.
So what did I do as soon as I graduated from high school? Left Sarabella as fast as I could to go after a dream that now seems hazy at best. Funny how many times I’ve wondered if this was what my mother went through in those early years of pursuing her dream.
Sally’s expression turns somber as she looks at me, then over my shoulder at the sparse shop. “Paula planned to do a total makeover on the shop next year.”
I hear the sadness in Sally’s voice and realize I’m not the only one who lost someone close. Sally was more like a sister to Aunt Paula than my mother was. And Sally’s husband, Jacob, owns the local nursery and was Aunt Paula’s main supplier since she opened the flower shop.
Sally, Jacob, and Zane are the closest thing I have to a family now. They’re all I have in the world. Except for my roommate and best friend, Sasha, but she’s more like a porcupine when it comes to relationships. She’ll tell you she loves you, but it might prick a little.
I swipe away the thought with a rogue tear. Jacob is supposed to deliver my first order today. Once I get a feel for all of that, I can figure out what else the place needs to step business up a notch.
Or two.
Because a lot has to happen in a year…
Sally gives me a sympathetic smile. “This will get easier. I promise.”
I nod and take a deep, shuddering breath. “I know. Just didn’t expect to see the shop in this condition.”
She blinks away the moisture that’s trying to collect in her eyes, too. “I know. Paula didn’t expect things to go the way they did either. None of us did.”
I actually laugh, because I can imagine my aunt arguing with death that she had too much to do and needed to get back to her shop. “I can only imagine.”
As I sip my mocha, Sally walks me through the system like a pro. And at each step, she backtracks and has me repeat what she showed me so that I can remember the order of functions.
Just as she finishes the last run-through about entering inventory, she scans the rest of the store and frowns. “You have so much open space. Have you thought about expanding the business to more than just plants and flowers?”
I’ve done little more than eat and sleep the last two weeks, but her suggestion sparks something to life in me. Could this place be more than floral arrangements, flowers, and plants?
“No, actually. I’ve been on overload, trying to figure out what to order and what to do with it.” I finish with a pathetic laugh that borders on sounding like a sob.
Sally leans her hip against the counter. “And I can tell you are oh-so-thrilled by it, too.”
“Am I that obvious?” I huddle tighter behind my coffee cup to no avail. Nothing can hide the discouragement that’s lodged in my throat right now.
If the store fails, I walk away with nothing. Except for the condo. But at this rate, I may have to take a loan just to make it through the year. I’d rather not wind up in debt.
“You’re an artist. You’ll figure something out.”
“More of a communications and product designer really.”
Sally holds me by the forearms. “Then figure out how to communicate with your customers in unique ways. Use that talent of yours to expand this business into something you love. Put your skills to work and create new revenue streams with things you design. You won’t succeed if you’re not doing something you love. Not really.”
She’s right. More right than I thought possible. My vision blurs as tears build in my eyes again and drop down my cheeks as she pulls me into a hug. And it feels so good. I can’t remember the last time someone hugged me.
Like I said, Sasha isn’t the affectionate type.
But Aunt Paula always was, and she knew how to make me feel loved better than anyone I know. I regret not coming back for Christmas last year. Or for Easter or the Fourth of July. Then she got sick and things went sideways fast before I could even get back in time to say goodbye…
I’d give anything for one of her hugs right now.
Sally leans back. “Grab some paper and a pen and let’s brainstorm some ideas. We’re going to figure out how to make this business a huge success.”
Grab your copy…
loomedmessy