CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
BLOSSOM
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After my consultation with Monique, the rest of my day was busy.
I had to switch from wedding mode to funeral mode. And funeral mode always drained my energy. Weddings were filled with excitement. Hope. Possibilities. Brides talked about the future. They were happy and excited about what came next.
Funerals were filled with sorrow and loss. Funeral clients talked about the past. About regrets. About missed opportunities and not spending enough time with their loved ones when they had the chance.
There was no such thing as being just a florist. I became something more to each person I worked with. For my clients, I sometimes had to be the shoulder they cried on. The person they confided in when the grief became too heavy to carry alone.
Sometimes, they needed to get things off their chest, and they couldn’t say it to their families. So, they said it to me. It just slipped out in the course of our conversation. Ivy said it was because they sensed the empath in me.
I don’t know the reason. All I knew was that I had to be strong during their moments of weakness. But being strong for everyone took a toll after a while. By the time I locked up the shop that evening, my social and emotional battery was dead.
All I wanted was to go home, take a shower, crawl into bed, and sleep until morning. I didn’t even want to dream, because sometimes that took energy. I was halfway down the walkway that connected Blossoms and Vines to my little cottage when my phone rang.
Pulling it out, I stared down at the screen. It was Nancy, one of my mother’s caregivers. My stomach dropped. Nancy wasn't just my mother's CNA. She'd been Mom's friend for years. Long before Mom's memory started slipping away. I answered the call.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Blossy. This is Nancy."
The concern in her voice instantly put me on alert.
"I hate to bother you, sweetie. I know you stopped by just this morning and had breakfast with her. But can you come by again tonight? Your mother is having a bad evening, and she keeps asking for you."
I slowed my pace.
"Of course, I can. Did someone visit her and get her riled up?" I asked, immediately wondering if Ms. Tina had stopped by.
Sometimes Mom remembered the people from her past fondly. Other times, she remembered only the bad things that happened between them. Then there were those heartbreaking times when she didn’t remember them at all.
Unfortunately, you never knew which version of history her mind would decide to grab onto. Or if you’d be written from her mind completely that day. I swallowed, trying not to get choked up as I thought of all the times she’d had no idea who I was.
"No. No one stopped by," Nancy told me. "It was a television show this time. I caught her watching it too late."
"What show was it?"
"The First Forty-Eight."
"Damn," I muttered.
Turning left, I followed the pathway around my house to the back driveway, where my car was parked.
"A young woman died on the show, and the police suspected it was a drug and trafficking ring that dumped her body.
The police were saying the woman was a possible informant, and the head of the drug ring found out about it.
Now Camelia is certain that something has happened to you or Kelly. And she keeps saying it's her fault."
She was remembering the incident.
My eyes drifted shut. For a second, I couldn't breathe.
Mom.
Even on her worst days. Even when she couldn't remember what she'd eaten for breakfast. Even when she forgot what year it was... she still remembered that incident. The mind was a crazy thing.
And sometimes, it was a cruel thing. Just as I thought that, the right side of my head began to ache. I took a deep breath and released it slowly, trying to focus only on what was needed of me right now.
"I'm on my way, Nancy. Let her know I’m coming to show her that I’m just fine."
"Okay. Sorry, Blossy."
"Don't apologize. I’m glad you called. She's my mom. I'll come whenever she needs me. I don't mind,” my voice cracked on those last words.
I swallowed around the lump in my throat before continuing.
"My mom has always been there for me. If she could, she'd still come when I called. Every time. No matter where I was. No questions asked. And I will always do the same for her."
Silence followed.
Then Nancy sniffled. "I'll head back and tell her you're on the way, sweetie."
"Thanks, Nancy."
The call ended as I unlocked my car door and checked the front and back seats to make sure no one was in there. It was a habit. Despite my cottage being surrounded by a gate that required a code to get in, I still checked my car for intruders.
I tossed my purse onto the front seat, placed my phone in the console, then slid into the vehicle. After buckling my seat belt, I pressed the fob attached to my visor and waited for the gate to slide open.
The drive to my mother's house was quiet. No music. No podcasts. Just me and my thoughts. And my thoughts were being torn in so many damn directions. Mom. Kelly. Ivy. The Petals. Rome. Weddings. Funerals. The Circuit.
It was all so much.
Too much sometimes.
My grip tightened on the steering wheel. I loved my job. Though I hadn’t always wanted to take over the shop, I was happy I had. Working there brought me joy... most of the time. And I loved growing flowers.
I’d always loved working in the garden and flower nursery with my grandma and my mom. It was calming and allowed me to clear my head. But even my garden was no match for the chaotic thoughts I had these days.
I also loved the people in my life.
Every single one of them. Most of them had grown up with me. As kids, they’d run around the shop and the garden with me. But as our shops and intel hub grew, they moved away with their parents, branching out to run the new shops.
These people weren’t just staff to me. They were family. I would give my life for them and knew they’d do the same for me. The problem wasn’t love or loyalty. The problem was me. I was tired.
It felt like everyone needed something from me. Everyone depended on me. Everyone trusted me to hold everything together. They had such high expectations of me, but I didn’t deserve the pedestal they’d placed me on.
I didn’t deserve the faith they’d put in me. If they knew what really went on in my head, how scared I was sometimes, how I often thought about giving up just to escape everything...
"Fuck," I whispered, warm tears sliding down my face.
My vision blurred. Blinking, I brushed my knuckles over my cheeks, hating that I was crying. What the hell was wrong with me? So what, I was having a bad day. There were people in the world dealing with more than I was.
There were those out there with terminal illnesses, fighting to stay alive. Those who’d recently lost a loved one, who were trying to convince themselves that waking up each day was worth it, despite the pain.
People everywhere were battling demons no one could see. Many of their demons were scarier than mine. So why was I crying when I had it better than so many others? I didn’t even know what I was crying about. Nothing had happened. Not really.
Sure, Mom was having a bad day. But I could handle that. I would be there for her, comfort her, and help ease her anxiety. And sure, Rome had walked into my shop today and left me shocked.
But he hadn’t seemed suspicious of me. Interested, yeah. Cheating bastard. But not suspicious. And yeah, funeral consultations had drained me. They always did. But I pushed through because my customers needed me.
None of those things should've broken me. None should have me feeling this low. And yet tears kept coming anyway. My shoulders shook as a sob escaped me. Fuck! Why was I falling apart like this?
I swallowed, trying to bury this pain in the deepest parts of me so that my mom didn’t pick up on this negative energy of mine. I didn’t want to make her day worse. I also didn’t want to keep stressing Ivy out with this whole Rome thing.
And I didn’t want to keep Kelly at a distance, making her feel as if all the fault for the incident rested with her. I guess the reason I couldn’t pinpoint the one thing that had me feeling down was because it wasn’t just one thing.
It was a culmination of connected things.
This negative energy, this... depressed energy, hadn’t just occurred today, or this week. It had been accumulating for months. And today, the weight of it all felt a little too heavy for one set of shoulders to bear.
I had responsibilities stacked on top of responsibilities. And I’d been shouldering them for so long that I couldn't remember what it felt like not to carry them. I hadn’t realized I was becoming depressed because this was normal for me.
I swallowed hard. Enough of these thoughts! I reached over and turned on the radio. Rap music filled the car. But it didn't help. There was no drowning out the chaos in my head. Or the turmoil in my heart. There was no escaping it. No burying it. No shoving it aside.
All I could do was endure. But that was something I was good at. So, ignoring my pain, I sang along with the rap queens as I drove, only turning the music down when I pulled into my mother’s driveway. The second fob clipped to my visor controlled the garage door at my mother's house.
After pressing the button, I gathered my things while the door slowly rolled upward. Once there was enough clearance, I pulled inside and waited for it to close behind me before climbing out. A quick wave from me to the camera was followed by Nancy's voice through the speaker.
“I just deactivated the alarm,” she told me.
I nodded. Using my spare key, I let myself into my mother’s home and quietly made my way through the house. I heard the television playing, but couldn’t tell which direction it was coming from. At this time of day, it was probably coming from my mother’s room.
A lamp cast a warm glow across the hallway. We kept battery-operated lamps on throughout the house in case my mother got up in the middle of the night and moved around. The kitchen stayed locked at night.
We didn’t want her trying to cook at one a.m., then forgetting about the food and falling asleep. That happened once while I was staying the weekend with her. I’d awoken to the fire alarm going off and found my mother asleep in the laundry room.
It had nearly scared me to death.
Now, certain rooms had locks on the doors. However, we kept a snack bar in her bedroom in case she woke up wanting to snack. But she loved cooking. Therefore, I came over often and cooked with her.
We pulled out Grandma’s old recipe book and made some of the dishes I’d grown up on. Those were some of my favorite moments with her these days. Whether she remembered me while we cooked or not, I loved watching her smile as she did something she loved.
But her smiles were becoming fewer and fewer, and I hated that I couldn't stop this from happening to her. All I could do was watch as she got lost in her mind, a place even my love couldn’t reach her.
I stopped outside her bedroom door and took a moment to compose myself. After a couple of deep breaths, I knocked on the bedroom door and waited for Nancy to answer. The door opened a few seconds later.
The first thing I noticed about Nancy was that her hair was no longer gray. She’d dyed it back red. It was strange because I hadn’t seen her hair this vibrant red color in years. The second thing I noticed was her expression. Relief washed across her face when she saw me.
"Thank goodness," she whispered.
I immediately knew it was bad. Stepping inside, I closed the door quietly behind me. My gaze moved around the room, noting that items from my mom’s vanity table were strewn all over the floor, and a comforter was tossed into the corner.
Nancy must’ve given her another one after calming her down. My gaze moved to the bed. Mom was sitting upright against a pile of pillows. At the front of the room, the television was playing a rerun of her favorite game show.
A blanket rested across her lap. Her salt and pepper-streaked hair was slightly disheveled, and her hands twisted nervously together. The moment she saw me, she froze. For a second, neither of us moved. Then she tried to scramble out of bed.
“Mom!” I yelped, rushing forward.
“It’s okay, Cami,” Nancy was saying in a soothing tone as she straightened up the room. “She’s here. Look at her, she’s just fine.”
Reaching my mom’s side, I sat down on the edge of the bed, placing my purse behind me. Her hands trembled as she slowly raised them. She reached forward and cupped my face in her palms, gently, as though she needed to confirm I was real.
“You’re here,” she whispered.
“I’m here, Mom.”
She surprised me when she frantically turned my head from left to right.
"Mom?"
Her hands moved from my cheeks to my shoulders. Then her fingers traveled down my arms, searching, checking, looking for something.
"Mom, what are you doing?"
She didn't answer. Her eyes filled with tears as she grabbed my wrists and turned my hands over, checking those too.
“No blood. No bruises,” she muttered. “No injuries.”
My chest tightened. She was checking to see if I was hurt, just as she used to do when I was a kid. She looked up at me. Really looked at me. And what I saw in her expression shattered something inside me.
Relief. Pure relief. That’s what I saw in her eyes. The kind of relief that only came after pure terror.
"You're alive," she whispered.
My throat tightened.
"Of course I'm alive, Mom,” I told her, trying to sound happy, excited. “I’m alive and healthy."
A sob escaped her.
"I thought..." Her voice broke. "I thought they’d gotten you."
My heart stopped, and I could barely hold my own tears back. Mom clutched my hands tighter.
"I thought I’d lost you, Little Flower."
The room blurred. I blinked hard, trying not to cry. From the corner of my eye, I saw Nancy quietly slip out of the room, giving us some privacy. Mom was still staring at me as though I might disappear if she looked away for too long or took her hands off me.
"Mom," I started.
“Shhh...” she whispered, placing her finger over my mouth. “They may hear you. I don’t want them to know I’m your Mom. If they don’t know who you are to me, if they don’t know you’re my weakness, they won’t hurt you.”
I shook my head, too choked up to speak. My mother wiped my tears away.
“It’s okay, Little Flower. I’ll protect you,” she whispered. “I won’t let that family hurt you. It’s me they want. I’ll protect you from the Cattaneos, Little Flower. So don’t be scared. Mama’s here.”
Unable to hold back the tears, I wrapped my arms around my mother, holding on to her as sobs wracked my body.