Chapter 23
“Mrs. Thomas, you have a delivery in the office,” comes the voice of the school secretary over my classroom PA.
“Thank you, Mrs. Archer. I’ll be there soon,” I reply, uncertain if she hears me.
My class is already packing up for next period, so I allow my mind to wander.
I stayed up entirely too late last night finishing my final Etsy order of the season—packaged, labeled, and ready for postal pickup.
Feeling exhausted, the only thing making lucidity possible today is the fourth cup of lukewarm coffee I grabbed from the teacher’s lounge between classes.
It’s possible I misheard Mrs. Archer, or maybe she’s mistaken?
Whatever waits in the office probably isn’t even for me.
Mrs. Archer’s vision might be going right along with her hearing.
A package for me is odd. I haven’t ordered anything and I never receive packages unexpectedly.
Unless it’s a letter from one of the grants I applied for informing me how un-grant worthy I am.
Depressed and confused about the whole Tyler situation, I’ve debated sending him a text saying something along the lines of Just kidding. Ignore everything I said the other night. I can’t promise I won’t do this again, but I want you.
Then the first rejection letter came through. Well, rejection is pretty harsh. It more or less informed me that while my program sounds impactful, all funding has been granted until next school year. And whatever. That’s fair. Art funding is scarce as it is, and mid-year is even worse.
The bell rings and once my students file out, I make my way to the front office.
A beautiful bouquet sits on the counter and I stop to admire each delicate petal.
Dusty blue, trimmed in lavender. Forget-me-nots—very similar to the bouquet Tyler gave to Abby.
Leaning in, I inhale their light fragrance, my eyes fluttering shut.
Not too much. Just sweet enough. Lucky Mrs. Archer to have someone who still sends her flowers after so many years of marriage.
“Josie, I am dying to know who sent these to you. You got an admirer?” Mrs. Archer says with a conspiratorial grin.
My eyes pop back open, wide with shock. “These aren’t yours?”
It seems Mrs. Archer is wearing her hearing aids today, because she chuckles softly at my question. “No, dear. They’re yours.”
Immediately, I know who sent them. With hesitant fingers, I pluck the tiny white envelope nestled amongst the blooms and slide out the card.
Thought these were pretty close to your favorite color. - Tyler
My face breaks into a wide smile before I even realize it.
“Whoever those are from must be mighty special,” Mrs. Archer observes.
A male throat clears, and both Mrs. Archer and I look toward the sound. Principal Stanback hovers in his office door, eyes moving from the bouquet to me. But not even he, with his threats and slimy innuendo, can squash the butterflies in my belly or diminish the smile blooming in my heart.
Instead, like the mature adult I am, I raise my middle finger and pretend to scratch my face. Then, without a second glance, I spin and exit the office, vase of flowers in hand.
Back in my classroom, I get my students settled in and seated.
This class is in the middle of a project, which is a perfect time for me to let them work at their own pace today.
I’ve always tried to set a good example and not have my phone out unless it’s my planning period, but today it seems I’m short on self-control where Tyler is concerned.
Placing the vase front and center, I give in to temptation and slide my phone from my purse, scrolling to Tyler’s contact.
Thank you for the flowers. I love them.
A few minutes pass before finally a text pops up.
Tyler
You’re welcome, Jo. Hope I got the color right.
A wistful smile plops onto my face at his words.
They’re perfect. Truly. I love them.
I’m sliding my phone back into my purse when it lights up with another text.
Tyler
You told me they’re forget-me-nots. I don’t want to be just a memory, Jo.
As if he didn’t obliterate a chunk of armor around my heart by picking my favorite color, he had to go and add that in.
A flutter, as tiny as hummingbird wings, blooms in my chest as I read his text again.
I don’t want to be just a memory. Those words wrap around me like honey and I want to siphon all the sweetness from this moment and hold it in my grasp.
Despite my certainty the other night that keeping him at arm’s length would be best, I don’t want to.
And as sad as this is, no man has ever bought me flowers.
Early on in my relationship with Chad we didn’t have much money to spare, so he never bought them, saying they were a waste of money.
And when he began making more money he never bought them because apparently I was a waste of money.
Tyler’s first night here, when I talked to Penny about him, she described Tyler as a man of few words.
While I’ve certainly seen that side of him, when he does speak, even right now by text, his words never miss their mark.
It’s more like he doesn’t waste words. And right now those words have landed straight in the center of my heart.
Because I’m clueless how to respond to his text, I flip my phone over and stand to walk around the room, inspecting each kid’s art piece. But every few minutes, my eyes wander back to that bouquet on my desk and the words in that text.
I don’t want to be just a memory.
Still staring dreamily at my bouquet, I jump when a soft knock sounds at my classroom door. It opens before I can answer and two sweet faces peek in.
“Hey, Mom,” Abby says, stepping inside, her backpack slung over one shoulder. Amelia trails in behind her, clutching a piece of paper in one hand, brimming over with excitement.
“Hey there, girls!” I respond brightly. “What are you two up to?”
Abby walks to my desk and holds a piece of paper right in my line of sight, face alight with pride. “I made an A on my math exam!”
Jumping from my chair, I round the desk and wrap Abby in my arms.
“I can’t breathe, Mom. Your boobs are suffocating me. Also, so did Amelia.”
Grabbing Amelia, I pull her into a group hug and both girls giggle. We break apart, and I take turns looking between Abby and her new friend.
“I am so proud of you girls!”
Abby shrugs. “I couldn’t have done it without Tyler.”
I tut at her, and she laughs. “It’s true. He’s a great tutor.”
The girls chatter for a few minutes longer, but I finally have to shoo them to the door. I’m scheduled for a meeting with the guidance counselor in five minutes to touch base on my program.
The three of us are almost to the door when Abby turns back, her gaze landing on my flowers.
“Someone sent you flowers?”
Unable to hide my smile, I simply nod.
“Was it Tyler?”
“Tyler, your tutor?” Amelia asks, walking back to smell the bouquet.
Abby smirks at me. “Same person. Tyler is my mom’s crush.” She draws out the word crush in a silly taunting way. Much like one might chant Tyler and Josie sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.
Amelia’s eyes light up. “Like, an actual crush? Does he know?”
Now Abby is full on grinning. “Oh, you should see how he looks at her. The crush is mutual.”
“Oh my gosh, Abby. Is Tyler gonna be your new dad? Then you’d be related to Austin James.”
Abby’s nose scrunches up but right as her mouth opens to speak I clap my hands and point to the door with a dramatic flourish.
“Out, the both of you.”
The girls giggle the whole way out, their laughter echoing down the empty hallway.
Meanwhile I’m left with warm cheeks, and with another glance at my bouquet, I feel a tiny slip of all my worries and doubts flitter off in the distance.
Not entirely, but enough to loosen the ball of anxiety and depression weighing heavy on my chest.