Chapter 7 #2
She switched the music, filling the space with nineties grunge instead of crooning jazz, and got to work.
Juliette took down the chalkboard display and wiped it clean.
She pulled the long rectangular shelving display away from the window and placed a workbench on each side.
She filled the tin buckets with water, and since it was still January, she opted for more wintry-inspired hues for the flowers.
Plum scabiosa and burgundy astrantia, wine-colored tulips and creamy white roses.
She placed wooden barrels on each end of the bench and loaded them with sprigs of eucalyptus and long-stemmed ferns for greenery.
Once she was done with the setup, she completely redesigned the chalkboard sign using a mix of calligraphy and swirls.
Without warning, the bell above the front door jingled. A cold gust of air swept through the shop, and Juliette spun around, coming face to face with her mother.
“I forgot my clipboard in the cooler and needed to make some changes to…” Gigi’s voice faded as her sharp gaze landed on the display.
Juliette froze, the chalkboard sign clutched in her hands.
Gigi’s lips thinned and she looked through her glasses perched on the tip of her nose. “What is this?”
“Oh, it’s a flower bar.” Juliette suddenly felt the need to defend her creation.
It was like being a child all over again, being forced to justify her every action and decision.
“It’s a concept I read about where customers can create their own custom bouquets.
They can grab as many stems as they want, and the cost of the bouquet will vary depending on the flowers they choose.
Then they bring them to the register where we can bundle them with kraft paper, ribbon, and twine.
It’s a great way to use some of the extra stems and flowers you have laying around so they don’t go to waste. ”
“I can see that it’s a flower bar.” Gigi’s face remained impassive. Void of all emotion. “But why is it here?”
Juliette bit her bottom lip. She hated the way her mother watched her sometimes. Hawkish. Too keen for her own good. It made her skin crawl with unease, with self-preservation. “I thought your front window display could use a makeover. A fresh design.”
“So.” Gigi crossed her arms, a dignified power move. “You’re a designer now?”
The barb hit, striking through the heart, and Juliette curled into herself.
Her mother waved one hand through the air in an effortless motion. “You think you can just waltz back into our lives after seven years and act as though nothing has changed?”
“No.” Juliette shook her head and set the chalkboard down, stepping away from it. “Of course not.”
But isn’t that exactly what she had done? She returned to Mystic Cove after years without phone calls or messages, and she’d expected to find everything exactly the same, assuming nothing and no one had changed.
“You come back home. You barely speak to me. I give you a place to stay for as long as you need. Yet you rearrange my shop without my permission.” Gigi’s brow furrowed with disappointment. The corners of her mouth pulled down at the sides. “All of this, and you don’t even say thank you.”
“I’m sorry. I was only trying to help. I just wanted to be useful.” Juliette fumbled for the right words, but even though her mother was right, her need to defend herself was stronger. “Arguing with you like this is why I left home in the first place.”
Gigi stormed toward her, one slender finger pointed straight into the air. “Non. You left home because you did not want this life. And that is fine. But I will not have you come in and change it all just because you think it needs a fresh design.”
She enunciated the final word.
Her mother was doing it again. Without even realizing it, she was doing it all over again. She was making Juliette feel as though her hopes and dreams were inferior, like they were worthless, useless in pursuing. Because they were not the same as what Gigi wanted for her.
Juliette was trembling now and her heart pounded inside the constricted wall of her chest. She hated arguing with her mother.
It was a one-sided battle, an uphill fight, and somehow Gigi always managed to have the high ground.
It was a war Juliette could never win. She clenched her hands into fists, letting her nails bite into her palms in an effort to keep herself from shaking.
“You never liked the fact that I preferred interior design over floral design.”
“If you love it so much, then why are you here?” Gigi spread her arms wide, and the blue velvet scarf she wore draped around her like an ocean wave. “Why are you not an interior designer in Washington, D.C.? Why did you not make something of yourself while you had the chance?”
“You know why I’m here.” Juliette’s voice was hoarse, lacking the confidence she so desperately needed.
Her eyes burned, the threat of tears on the edge of spilling over, and she furiously blinked them away.
She would not cry in front of her mother.
Not now. Not ever. “Rodrigo cheated on me. I had nowhere else to go.”
“You are here because you are scared.” Gigi tilted her head to one side as though she was truly seeing her daughter for the first time.
She clicked her tongue in disappointment.
“But I cannot stand here all night and argue with you. I have much to do. You needed a place to stay, so I gave you a place. You needed something to do, so I gave you something. I am sorry if none of these things are up to your standards.”
Juliette’s heart was torn into pieces. She wanted to stay at Mystic Florals because it had been a safe space for her.
It was comfortable and familiar. She knew the rules, understood the purpose.
Even if she didn’t like it, even if her mother was overbearing and controlling and oftentimes just plain rude, she thought it would still be okay.
She thought she could manage, that the two of them could somehow avoid confrontation. But now she wasn’t so sure.
“Thank you for letting me stay here, above the flower shop.” She tugged at the hem of her sweatshirt and considered her next words with caution. “But I’ll find somewhere else to work. I think that might be better for both of us.”
Gigi bristled.
It could’ve been a play of the dim light casting shadows upon her mother’s face, but Juliette could’ve sworn she saw a brief reflection of hurt.
In an instant, she was swallowed by guilt. She could apologize for the blunt honesty, but she vaguely remembered hearing her mother say something along the lines of apologies being for the weak. Take them with a grain of salt and assume they’re never genuine.
It would sound harsh to anyone’s ears, but Georgina Laurent was known for never holding back. For saying exactly what she thought. For having her own mind and not being afraid to speak it when necessary.
Everyone respected her for it. Everyone feared her for it.
“Mama,” Juliette began, but her mother lifted one hand to silence her.
“Perhaps you are right.” She disappeared into the cooler, then came back with her clipboard in hand. “Bonsoir, Juliette.”
Alone in the shop and worried she’d ruined everything again, Juliette headed up the stairs to the apartment.
Stripping off her clothing, she climbed into a faded pair of flannel pajamas, and turned off the music in the shop.
Numb under a pile of blankets with the electric fireplace blazing, she tried not to think of the exchange with her mother.
But the words stuck in her mind. They took harbor in the darkest corner of her thoughts, tormenting her, and keeping sleep at bay.
If you love it so much, why are you here? Why did you not make something of yourself while you had the chance?
Hadn’t Rodrigo said something incredibly similar to her after she’d caught him cheating on her?
Images of him filled her head almost instantly, coupled with a snapshot of their life spent together for the last seven years.
He’d come to Mystic Cove on vacation to escape the city, and after two dates and one late-night walk on the beach, Rodrigo had swept Juliette off her feet.
She’d been twenty-four at the time, resigned to working at the flower shop and taking care of her younger sisters, surviving on coffee and broken dreams. He made all of that fade away with promises of a better future, a better life.
Memories overwhelmed her, left her shaken and raw.
Their romantic weekend getaways to the Shenandoah Mountains and their spell-binding nights spent under the dazzling lights of D.C.
They did everything together—rooftop parties, galas, strolls along the Tidal Basin when the cherry blossoms were in full bloom.
And after all of them, after every magical moment, another whispered promise.
Slowly the moments bled into signs, into warnings she should’ve seen from a mile away, like unexpected late nights at the office and solo business trips.
But perhaps her subconscious did its best to fool her.
To persuade her. To make her believe things were still perfect.
Yet time had blurred the edges of perfection.
Time.
She’d had plenty of it during the midnight drive from D.C.
to Mystic Cove. Plenty of time to go over every detail of their relationship, to analyze every situation, to see where they could have possibly gone wrong.
To see where she made a mistake, to think about how she could have been so foolish as to not understand.
To have misread his happiness so completely.
New Year's Eve was only two nights ago, and the harsh, harrowing memory crashed into her like a crushing wave.
The pain was still fresh and her heart still ached.
Remember what happened was like reading a book, like she was on the outside looking in, watching it all unfold.
Helpless to do anything to stop it. After she discovered them in the bathroom, Juliette wandered through their rooftop apartment in a trance, desensitized to the chaos of partygoers all around her.
Champagne flowed like a river of sparkling gold, and alcohol-tinged laughter echoed in her ears.
Couples kissed in celebration, their entwined figures nothing more than shadows compared to the fireworks bursting over the Potomac River, illuminating the night sky with dazzling colors.
But Juliette had dropped down onto the overly expensive gray sofa.
She’d sat there, dazed as the party carried on in slow-motion, her head in a fog and her thoughts seemingly lost.
She didn’t know how much time had passed. Minutes? Hours? She no longer knew, no longer cared. At some point, someone pressed a glass of chilled vodka into her hand.
Eventually, everyone faded away, and there was only her.
And Rodrigo.
“Jules, I’m begging you to try and understand. It was just sex.”
“It’s never just sex.” Even now she could see the woman on the bathroom counter. Shapely hips, long blonde hair, her head tossed back as her hot pink nails carved their way down Rodrigo’s back.
“Juliette,” he crooned. “What you saw upstairs, it was nothing.”
His voice changed then, and it became more soothing, like he was trying to console a small child. “Surely you have to know, Jules. Deep down, you knew it was coming, just like I did. I merely saw the signs sooner.”
His smile had been gentle, sympathetic even. “Once upon a time, you had goals. You had dreams. Now you bounce from job to job, unhappy in every setting. You have no plans to do anything with your life except, what? Live off the allowance I give you?”
Tempered anger caused her to lash out at him. If she was strong enough, she would’ve crushed her glass in her hand. “You took all of that from me.”
He shook his head, his dark eyes warm and understanding despite her outburst. “No, I took you away from the place that took all of that from you.”
“You said I could do whatever I wanted.” Her voice broke.
“Yes.” He shrugged then, resolute, as though this sort of thing happened all the time. “I just thought you’d actually do something by now.”
Maybe Rodrigo was right. Maybe he hadn’t wasted seven years of her life. Maybe she had done it to herself instead.
Juliette snuggled into the plush comforter and closed her eyes, hating herself for crying, even if her tears were silent.
She couldn’t afford to waste another opportunity to do what she loved.
In the morning, she would text Brock.