Chapter 15 The Flowers
THE FLOWERS
BECKY
Iwake up to a pounding headache and my alarm going off obviously far too early. I peel open my eyes and peek at my windows.
Still dark. Need sleep.
I roll back over, covering my head with my blankets, until logic filters in. Shit, it’s Thursday.
I sit up and throw my covers off. Way too fast. A smallish wave of nausea rolls over me, and I put my head into my hands and will it away. I have always had fun at WWW before, but never during the school year.
On the table next to me is a couple Tylenol and a glass of water. I groan and immediately take them. That’s when pots and pans crash around in my kitchen and the blessed scent of coffee trickles into my room.
Oh fucking shit. I know who I talked to on the phone last night.
I quickly look at my bed, but I see his side…
or the other side of the bed looks undisturbed.
I tried sleeping in the middle of the bed.
It didn’t work. I could not sleep. I, embarrassingly, bought a body pillow to lay on that side.
I didn’t even do that after my last disaster of a relationship.
Another sound from the kitchen has me scrambling to check my phone.
“Maybe there’s something here.” Once I get my phone unlocked, my notifications populate the lockscreen.
“Huh.” I have eight messages. One from Vicky, one from Sonya, four from Trevor, and two from Carter.
Interesting. I have no Earthly idea who it could be.
I go at it straight, no hesitation, and read them to see if they give me anything to go off of.
Vicky
See you bright and early, lovely. I hope you had the fun you so obviously needed ;)
Uh, what the fuck does that mean? I got a ride home from…someone. Shit. I’ll remember.
Sonya
Thank you so much for the invite. I had such a good time! See you at school in the morning!
She’s a doll. I’m definitely hanging out with her again.
I wish I knew if I should say something to her about Taylor and Zack.
He looked pretty smitten the day she borrowed him in class, but Taylor does have Carter, so maybe I’d be creating drama where there is none.
I don’t know. I’ll keep my eyes out better, now that I know Sonya is with Zack. I don’t trust men right now.
Next I’ll check Trevor. Did I call him? Nope. Just messages.
Trevor
I’m here where are you guys?
Trevor
Becky, are you guys ok?
Trevor
Becky, seriously are you 2 ok? Where are you?
Trevor
nvm I’m glad you asked me for a ride, and Paige told me you got back safe. If you need a ride again, please don’t hesitate to ask.
There’s a story there I want to figure out. Paige seemed off, then told me she was not going home. Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m fairly certain I’ll find her in the kitchen. That leaves messages from Carter. I debate not checking them, but ultimately I give into my curiosity.
Carter
Are you home safe?
None of your business, Carter.
Carter
Okay, I heard you’re safe. I talked to your caretaker. hahaha good luck at work tomorrow!
Me
Okay dickhole.
I type it out, but delete it. I don’t really want to keep that communication open. I saw him last night and had a weak moment. I definitely called him. I fall back onto the mattress, grab a pillow, and shriek into it, just to release some of this feeling coating my skin, filling my body.
I roll around, releasing some of this agitation, then I roll out of bed. “Gahhh, I’m too old for this shit.” With a stretch, I shake it off, grab a cardigan, and finally leave my room to check out who my house guest is.
Sure enough, Paige is making me an omelette, or maybe making one for herself. She looks up over her shoulder at me and smiles. “Good morning starlight, it’s a beautiful morning for some eggs isn’t it?”
“Good God, you’re a morning person.” She snorts. I enter the kitchen more slowly, trying to avoid the chirpy atmosphere. I don’t need it to rub off on me. “So, Paige?” I make her name a question, and she answers with equal cheer.
“Hey gorgeous. How do you feel?” She finishes whatever she’s doing at the stove with a flourish, adding some spices and removing the pan from the heat.
She’s graceful even while cooking eggs. Wiping her hands on her pants, she takes a deep breath.
Then, she comes over and gives me a hug.
I figured it would be one of those quick, friendly ones with a slight back-patting, but instead, she lingers.
I allow myself to fall into the hug and melt a little into her soft, gentle, goodness.
“You’re going to be okay.” She whispers it, not loosening her hold at all, and damn her.
My eyes prickle with heat, but I lock that shit down.
Her arms are so tight around me that I consider maybe this hug isn’t only for me. So, I hug her a little tighter. “I know. You’re going to be okay, too, Paige. Whatever it is.” She gives me one more squeeze and backs away, keeping her hands on my arms.
“He told me. The night that you shut him out? When he showed up? He ended up at my house, again. Except, he only made it to the front porch.” Her face is apologetic, and a mirror of heartbreak.
“He told you?”
“Yeah, he told me. I’m so sorry, Becky. I want you to know I’m here, if you need to talk about it, okay?”
I simply nod my head in response. I don’t know what to say.
With a small, sad smile, she turns and grabs something from the counter, and then a strange drink gets thrust into my hands and a sweet, “Here baby, drink this,” is uttered before she’s back to the stove. What is even happening?
A change of topic sounds perfect. “I know I drank too much, but how much did I miss last night?” I ask, partly to Paige, partly to the void. Paige laughs.
“Okay, so I love Vicky,” she starts, turning back to and flipping the omelette like a pro. I guess it’s not done. “She told us to show up a bit before you, and we had a chat.” She looks up to find me staring at the strange liquid in my cup. “Drink your weird drink, it’ll help you function.”
She is such a mom. “Okay…?” I take a sip and scowl. Disgusting.
“Drink it!”
“Jesus, okay, Mom.” The glass is barely cold, and the drink is thick and green.
“Are you sure…” I start, but she’s already glaring a mom glare in my direction, so I just pray my nausea doesn’t come back, and gulp it the rest of the way down.
“Oh. That’s awful.” I say it under my breath, but the quiet chuckle from the stove is indication enough that she could still hear me.
I can’t help but notice my coffee maker is fully loaded, so I grab the first mug I can reach to save my soul.
A wrench handle sits awkwardly in my hand.
I pause and stare for a second, and put it back in favor of a punny one—I need a latte coffee.
“Anyway, we decided you needed to release an emotion beyond quiet resignation, so we decided to feed you some booze to lighten you up.” She says it with a slight smile.
“Speaking of releasing emotions,” I start, and wince, because that was a horrible segue.
“I’m not ready to talk about it.” She grabs a plate and expertly slides a delicious looking omelette onto it. My mouth waters.
“Okay, fine.” I’m not going to push it, yet. “Feed me, Seymour.”
With a tinkling laugh, she puts the plate in front of me and starts to clean up.
“You don’t have to do that. You cooked! Also, do you want one?” She gives me a look. “Okay, yeah, you don’t want to talk about it. Sorry, sorry.” I’m pretty sure I’m spot on with my assumptions, but she doesn’t seem to be in the place to discuss it. “So, can you tell me why you’re here?”
She stops at that and says carefully, “We agreed someone should stay with you to make sure you made it to work today.” She smirks. “Besides, you don’t have a car, doll.”
I hurumph.
An omelette, one weird drink, two Tylenol, three cups of coffee, and a cheerful farewell from a hilarious Paige, and I’m walking into the school, determined for my day to only get better.
A familiar shrill voice dashes any hope of that fantasy, plummeting me back into reality. “Ms. Duchamp!” Jill calls again, her voice climbing higher.
Shi—takke mushrooms.
I stop in my tracks, take a deep breath, and turn back to the office to face her.
“Yes, Jill?” Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask. “How’s the peacock?” Dangit, I have no control over that thing.
“He’s fine.” She’s silent for a second. We both blink at each other. Her, looking always angry, me, probably looking quite hungover. “You have a delivery. Please remove it from the office.” And she buries her head right back behind the computer.
I look around, but all I see are Taylor’s flowers. Okay, that’s low even for Jill. My stomach drops at the callousness of the move, and I want to get out of there before I finally give into my tears.
“Ahehehehem.” Jill over-exaggerates clearing her throat and nods toward the flowers again.
I follow her nod and see that the flowers are gorgeous. Wait a second. I step closer. That’s my name.
Ms. Duchamp
I love you. These are the first flowers I’ve ever sent you. Honestly, the first flowers I’ve ever bought, and I’m ashamed of that fact. I called the school to double check that these flowers are hypoallergenic and appropriate for you to have in the classroom.
I know that’s important to you. They gave me the green flag. I hope these bring you some joy on this gloomy Thursday morning.
Love, Carter
Ps: I also have a text you can choose to receive. Just text me “got the flowers you studly, beautiful man,” and I’ll hit send. ;)
I bite back my smile, but grab the flowers.
Stupid, ridiculous man.
?????
Carter
I got the name of the flower shop from Vicky and called first thing on Thursday morning, after googling the hours and the phone number.
“Yello,” an older man answers the phone, and I hesitate. Unsure how to go about this.
“Um, yeah, hi. My name is Carter Stewart, and I’ve apparently been sending flowers to Taylor, or Tay down at the elementary slash middle school the town over from you?”
“Oh yeah, Carter. Your assistant usually calls. The usual is ready to go in a bit. Were you wanting to make a change?”
“Um, no. Well, yes. Okay, I’m actually calling to ask you to stop. I’m not the one ordering those flowers.”
“You’re not the one ordering? It says right here.” He clears his throat. “Delivered Monday, Wednesday, Thursday. Wait for call on note. Your assistant called—”
“That’s not my assistant. That’s what I’m telling you. I am Carter. Someone is—” I sigh. “Someone is trying to make my ex feel like shit.”
“Oh, so it’s fake deliveries? I can oomph—”
There’s a grunt on the line then, “Yes, hello dear, how can I help you?” An older lady’s voice comes on.
“Oh, uh, well like I was telling the other gent—”
“Martha, what the, I didn’t even do anything.” The man’s voice calls over the line, sounding only a little distant.
Martha’s voice sounds muffled too, like she’s covering the receiver.
I bet they have a landline. “Yes dear, but this sounds too interesting for you.” Then louder and more clearly, apparently to me now, “What do you want us to do about the fake deliveries? I offer hexes. Want me to hex the next bunch? No, that might make our shop get a bad name. I can still hex her, though?”
I can’t help but chuckle, a little frightened, and a lot entertained. “No, ma’am. I was hoping you could no longer accept deliveries in my name made by any other person; and call me at this number if anyone tries, I would be very grateful.”
“Okay. Of course we can do that.”
“Actually,” I hesitate but change my mind and go for it.
“Could you up the ante, and if someone calls and claims I am asking for flowers to be delivered, could you call me and let me know? I’d like to swap out the name of the receiver for Becky Duchamp in the same location.
I’ll give you my credit card information to make things simple for y’all. ”
“Yes, that is more like it!” She cackles. Literally cackles. I’m a little afraid of her. “What would you like for us to do with this delivery?”
I give her some instructions, and am buoyed by her exuberance of the process. She especially loved my note. Giggling at my post script. I open my bank app to see my account higher than it’s ever been, and a plan solidifies in my mind.
First, I open and search for some necessities. After I finish there, I call Billy, an old friend, and then the head of the Friday Night Music Extravaganza planning committee.
I have some money to spend.