Chapter 2
Iris
“Thank you for coming to Petal Pushers. Have a wonderful day.” I wave at the patron as the bell over the door chimes, signaling their departure.
Opening a flower shop has been a dream of mine since childhood.
I longed for days surrounded by beauty and elegance.
Creating displays and bouquets for people as a way to share in celebrations and important life moments always felt like something meaningful.
Flowers can communicate so much, and when my love for them never waned, I knew this would be my calling.
And while I’m thankful every day for each and every customer that walks in these doors, I would be lying if I said the work was easy.
It’s been a long day; my feet are aching, and all I want to do is go home and curl up with some hot chocolate while watching the newest episode of my favorite supernatural mystery show, Haunted Shores. Unfortunately, I still have to finish closing up before any of that can happen.
With the help of my assistant, Vera, we get through the closing routine efficiently.
She takes over the sweeping, dusting, and stocking, while I close out the transactions for the day and balance the till, readying the float for the next day.
We’ve worked together for years, and over time we’ve developed an unspoken routine for daily tasks like this.
When I finish in the office, I join her out front to finish setting up and checking the new displays, ensuring they look presentable for the morning.
“That should do it,” she says, placing a carnation in the perfect position.
“Gorgeous,” I respond. And I mean it. With her attention to detail and exceptional design skills, she has been a wonderful addition to the team.
So much so that there are times I am unsure what I will do without her whenever she decides to leave.
Not that she’s said anything about going, but being only in her mid-twenties, it seems inevitable.
There’s a big world out there for her, and it’s genuinely only a matter of time before she realizes it and ventures out to explore it.
With everything finished, we head out the door, and I lock up behind us. I love my store and the creativity I get to explore every day while working with flowers, but the days can still be draining, especially when there are large events to cater for.
I turn back around, giving the store a final look as I make my way across the parking lot, and I’m overcome with gratitude.
This little store affords me the ability to live comfortably, have my own apartment, and has helped me develop relationships within the community that I don’t know what I would do without.
My life is so different from what I anticipated as a young child with grandiose dreams. And I’m so much happier for it.
Walking down the stairs to the subway terminal, I pop my earbuds in and press play on my phone, where I am shockingly greeted with eager Iris’ music from this morning—loud and rockish, which is definitely not what I need now.
I turn down the volume and switch it over to something more pop-related.
At the end of a long day, I need something more fun and bubbly than the morning’s pump-up music.
The train arrives a few minutes later, coming to a squealing stop, and I step onto it, sitting in one of the few remaining vacant seats.
The subway ride is only twenty minutes through the city.
I’ve lived in Hollybrook all my life, but even so, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the sheer volume of traffic, which is why I opt for public transportation most of the time.
Most days, it takes me less than half an hour to get to and from work, but in a car, it can take at least an hour, depending on the season.
Tossing my keys on the table at the door, I kick my shoes off and hang my coat on the closet doorknob. Yes, I know I should hang it in the closet like a real adult, but dammit, I live alone and I can do what I want.
I head to my room and quickly change into a pair of sweatpants that I have turned into shorts, and my favorite oversized hoodie, before making my way to the kitchen.
My apartment is a small single bedroom, but I love it.
I love having my own space and the freedom to decorate and move about as I please.
I’ve spent years thrifting vintage furniture and decor to achieve the look I want.
While some might call these styles outdated, I think they bring warmth and history.
There’s always some story to each piece, whether it be a family heirloom or a vintage piece of fabric. And I love it.
When the kettle whistles on the stove, I bring it over and pour the hot water over the chocolate powder already in the mug, ensuring there’s enough room to top it off with a splash of milk and add marshmallows.
Satisfied with the number of fluffy clouds on top of my hot chocolate, I wander to the living room and curl up on the couch with a soft lavender chunky knit blanket and flip to the newest episode of Haunted Shores, a show where ghost hunters visit abandoned seaside buildings.
It’s dramatic and ridiculous, and I love it.
As the credits begin to roll, the yawning intensifies, and I can’t fight the sleep demon any longer. I turn the TV off, bring my dishes to the kitchen, and put them in the sink to deal with tomorrow.
The apartment plunges into darkness behind me as I walk through, preparing myself for bed. The dark has never really scared me, but sometimes, I feel like there’s more out there. That maybe we aren’t as alone in this world as it can seem. Though, perhaps that’s just the ghost-hunter show talking.
Silly as it may seem, I love to sleep. My bed is the comfiest thing ever and probably the most expensive item in my house. It’s like a cloud, soft and plush as I settle in. The mattress forms to my body, and the blankets are like a little comfort fort.
It doesn’t take long for me to start drifting to sleep, but as I do, there’s something that feels off.
In a hazy state, my mind wanders, running through the usual bedtime pattern.
I can’t think of anything I’ve left on and figure I’m just being paranoid.
So I brush it off and tell myself to go to sleep.