Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
Hanna’s phone buzzed in her hand as she tapped her foot against Olivia’s plush rug.
“I just want to respond to this real quick,” she said, holding up a finger in the middle of a thought. “I’m trying not to let texts sit these days.”
LOGAN
What time does your flight get in?
HANNA
Early, I have back-to-back salon appointments with Sara all day.
LOGAN
Let’s grab coffee when you can, want to game-plan our speeches.
Me
Sounds good! I’ll see you tomorrow.
“You seem like you’ve made a lot of progress in the last few months,” Olivia said over a mug of tea, and Hanna no longer doubted that she was right. She felt fine, but actually. Handling things with Logan had freed up a lot of her capacity to take care of herself.
She was still struggling to sleep, but she hadn’t had a panic attack in nearly eight weeks. She’d spent those weeks grouting tile, painting walls, and teaching herself to lay wooden flooring.
She’d taken up yoga.
She’d called her dad twice.
But in all the progress she’d made within herself, there was a certain Greek god she still hadn’t worked up the nerve to confront.
She’d responded to his photo, but nothing else came of it. She knew he was giving her space, that knew he was waiting for her to set the tone, and she’d settled so many scores.
Surely she could face one more.
“How are you feeling about the wedding?” Olivia asked.
Hanna knew what she was really asking—how many times have you thrown up thinking about the fact that you have five days of Milo ahead of you?
“Anxious, mostly. I’ll be spending a lot of time around Milo with nowhere to go. And things are weird because we left on somewhat vague terms. I still have so much to apologize for, but I also don’t want to make Matty and Sara’s wedding about my shit.”
“That makes sense. Do you think there will be a time, maybe beforehand, that you can sit down and just make your apology without expecting anything other than him hearing you out?”
Hanna sighed, knotting her fingers together with a tassel on one of Olivia’s soothing beige pillows.
“Yeah, I’m sure there will. That’s a good idea. Just kick the weekend off with a little groveling.”
“Your word choice, not mine,” Olivia smirked.
“Yes, sorry. I mean a constructive conversation during which I’ll own my responsibility for our distance, and then leave room for him to react however he needs to.”
Olivia tapped her pen against her lips. “I told you twice a week wasn’t too much. Look at you.”
Hanna thought her bank account might have a dissenting opinion about her habit, but her emotions couldn’t deny the impact.
“Yeah, yeah.”
Hanna picked up her bag, but Olivia stopped her before she left.
“I think your mom would be really proud of you, Hanna,” she said.
Six months earlier, the comment would have sent Hanna spiraling. How could someone who’d never known that her mother’s hair smelled like paperwork and Dior J’adore, or that her right shoe always wore down faster than her left, know how she’d feel about anything?
Hanna smiled, not even attempting to hide the tears as they flowed.
“Thank you.”
* * *
“You’ve returned!”
The floral shop glowed in shades of amber in the early autumn sun. Hanna propped her suitcase against the desk.
“I’ve returned,” she said. “And I’ve come to cancel my deliveries.”
“Aw, that’s too bad,” the owner murmured, flipping through her ledger. “My delivery boy thinks your friend is cute.”
“She is unfortunately taken,” Hanna laughed. “But I’m only canceling the delivery portion. I’ll be around to pick them up in person for the time being,” she chirped.
She hadn’t told Sara that bit yet, but she figured it would be best saved for a wedding gift. She’d just gotten off the phone with her realtor before walking in—all that eat-pray-love shit had earned her a more than decent offer on the house.
“Oh!” She beamed at Hanna, her green eyes sparking behind her purple glasses. “That’s great news, right?”
“Hopefully,” Hanna mumbled, glancing at the top of the desk, its wood stained with years of watermarks from spilled vases.
“He get his act together, then?”
Hanna choked on a laugh, her eyes grazing the florist’s.
“It was me, actually.”
“Ahhh,” she hummed. “You know, my husband used to tell me he was never wrong, I was just always right.”
Hanna shook her head. “The one who thinks diamonds are boring, right?”
“Yes,” she laughed. “Well, thought.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Hanna said. “Actually, no, I hate that I just said that.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed, her mouth parting in confusion.
Hanna corrected herself. "I don't hate the sentiment, I just... I hate how hollow it sounds, you know? I lost my mom not too long ago and I hate when strangers apologize as though they had something to do with it.”
Hanna knew she was rambling, but she still took a moment to pat herself on the back for being able to confess that out loud without breaking down.
“I knew I liked you,” the florist said, a soft smile pulling at her lips. “Grief is a real bitch, huh?”
Hanna’s nose scrunched as she laughed, taken aback by the shift in tone.
Mom would have really liked this woman.
The wound of the thought stung, but it did not bleed.
The florist scribbled a note on her ledger and set her pen down.
“Alright then, honey, I’ll just have your arrangement available here every Wednesday morning. You know, you’re back just in time for peak sunflower season.”
Hanna smiled. That much she did know.
“Actually, do you have something small I can pick up now? I hate to show up empty-handed.”
“Let me take a look.”
She ducked into the back of her shop, leaving Hanna to brush her fingertips over the bottles of wine and ouzo on the shelf in the window. She returned a moment later with a small bouquet of sunflowers and crisp, white dahlias.
“I have a big wedding this weekend and I’ve been playing with the dahlias and sunflowers together. I thought they’d be too dense beside one another, but I don’t know. I kind of like them.”
She held up the stems, rotating them to get Hanna’s opinion.
“What if you added something with a softer petal between to break up all the lines?”
She considered this, reaching for loose stems of velvet-soft greenery, the smooth planes falling between the petals for a nice break.
“Oh, I love that,” Hanna said.
“You know, whoever sent you packing is lucky you came back.”
Hanna’s face heated. She wasn’t so sure about that.
“I mean it, honey. You and I both know better than most how short life is. It’s good you didn’t waste too much time.”
“You’re so kind,” Hanna mumbled. “I just hope he feels the same way.”
“Well, if he doesn’t, his loss.” She reached for Hanna's crossed arms, leaning in with her sparkling eyes.
Hanna’s heart swelled at the gesture. It was the same feeling as when Cami hugged her—an impossible nostalgia for a version of her mother she would never get to know.
She’d have to find Lisa in the curves of mothers who did not share her blood, but shared her burdens.
She’d have to look for hard-fought wisdom carved into the smile lines of women in flower shops.
“Oh, honey,” she said, pulling Hanna into a hug.
“I’m fine,” Hanna protested, despite her eyes welling with tears.
“You deserve to be better than fine,” the florist sighed, patting Hanna’s back. She released her from the hug, but held onto her arms. “And don’t forget that.”
Hanna wiped at the corners of her eyes.
“Now,” she said, tucking a curl behind Hanna’s ear. “Go show whoever didn't follow you wherever the hell you ran off to, exactly what he missed.”
* * *
“Oh my god,” Sara screamed as Hanna stood in her doorway. “We’re getting married!”
Hanna threw her arms around her friend’s neck, the bouquet of sunflowers and dahlias releasing a sweet aroma behind her head.
“These are gorgeous,” Sara said. “Almost makes me wish we did dahlias.”
“It’s not too late,” Hanna said. “I’ve got the hook up.”
“Hmm,” Sara said, arranging the flowers in the teal mason jar she’d kept on the counter for Hanna’s weekly deliveries. She snapped a photo. “Maybe I’ll shoot her a text.”
Matty sighed beside her. “Stop torturing our vendors!”
“I’m not torturing anyone!”
Matty snagged Hanna’s bags and disappeared upstairs, but not before dropping a kiss on her cheek. “Room’s still yours for however long you want it.”
She bit back the urge to take him up on that offer. She needed to wait until she saw him.
That would be the determining factor.
“We have a stacked day,” Sara said, scrolling through her calendar as though she hadn’t already sent Hanna a painfully detailed itinerary the week before.
“I’m ready to be beautiful,” Hanna said.
“After manis, we have spray tans, blow outs, lunch with Cami, and then back home to get dressed for the welcome dinner. Taylor and Maricela will help the guys set up.”
“Am I your security bridesmaid for all of these appointments, or are you keeping me away from a certain groomsman?” Hanna asked.
Sara arched a brow. “First of all, two things can be true at once. Second, sorry, did you want to see Milo in your sweats and running around with string lights, or did you want to walk into the welcome party tanned, tweezed, and tucked into two pairs of Spanx, and ruin his fucking life?”
Hanna pursed her lips. “I don’t want to ruin his life.”
“Not even a little bit?”
“No,” Hanna insisted.
Sara set her phone down. “Wow, that was a test. Olivia really is worth every penny.”
Hanna tossed her hair. “I’m telling you! I’m a whole new bitch!”