Kate
Standing on the sidewalk outside the local florist, I check my phone for the second time since we left the ranch.
It’s not that I don’t trust Jackson, but this is his first time taking care of the kids since his accident. And sure, the other guys and his dad are all there, if he needs a hand with anything, but Odessa and Rhett are total agents of chaos at the best of times.
When the girls started planning Cecily’s baby shower a couple months ago, I assumed I wouldn’t be in attendance.
I think they did, too. Jackson was in such rough shape, the only time I dared to leave the house was for Odessa’s therapy sessions, and that was out of sheer maternal guilt because the last thing I want is for her to grow up blaming herself.
But today, I’m here. I’m here with my closest friends, about to spend the next two hours gossiping and creating bouquets. Everything feels so normal, it’s almost as if the past three months were a dream.
Instead of the typical baby shower with silly games and pastel cupcakes, Cecily simply wanted us all to hang out somewhere other than my kitchen, for once.
And when Blair mentioned that the florist down the street from her clinic was offering DIY floral arrangement parties, it was the obvious choice for our girls’ day.
In single file, we weave through the maze of floral arrangements. White curtains dampen the sunlight, and in the center of the room is a massive oak table heaped with flowers to choose from.
I sink into a pink wooden chair next to Cecily at the table, then confirm the ringer on my phone is at full volume before tucking it into my purse on the floor beneath me. Around the table, Blair, Cassidy, Beryl, and Whit settle into their seats.
Looking at her phone, the corner of Blair’s lip lifts. Then her eyes travel up to meet mine. “Apparently Odessa’s making the guys eat mud pies.”
“Sounds like something she’d do.” With a breathy laugh, I relax in my seat. I knew the kids would be fine, but confirmation is always welcome.
The owner—a twenty-something woman with short, jagged black hair and arms filled with bangles—stands at the head of the table with pairs of shears in her hands and launches into her spiel about flower arranging.
It should be straightforward, if you ask me.
Pick flowers, cut stems to length, pop into vase. Apparently, that’s not the case.
Once the obligatory tutorial’s out of the way, the shop owner offers everyone lavender lemonade before leaving us to our own devices.
Whit takes a small sip of lemonade and plucks a spray of baby’s breath from the pile. “This feels like the kind of thing women would be doing in a historical romance novel—all we need are Regency gowns and a scandal to discuss.”
“We’re severely lacking scandals,” Blair says. “But since we’re finally without kids and husbands hanging around, I’d love to hear all about Kate’s trip to the hot springs.”
Wide-eyed and excited, Cecily nods eagerly. I’m not the type of person to share intimate details about my marriage, but I needed to tell someone about our late-night pool break-in. And since Cecily and Beryl are in the kitchen with me for hours each day, they heard all about it.
“Oh, yes. Tell them, Kate.” One hand resting on her large, perfectly round baby bump, she leans to grab a pink ranunculus.
“It was wonderful—two nights of kid-free relaxing, soaking in the hot water…” I shrug.
Blair looks up from where she’s trimming some stems, eyes flitting between Cecily and me. “It was nice? That’s all we get? Cecily’s face right now says you’re leaving things out.”
Lifting her kitschy glass to her lips, Cecily murmurs, “Leaving a lot out.”
I roll my eyes at her. “Okay, we did a lot of talking and sort of…getting to know each other again, which was lovely. And on the drive home, we stopped at a quaint farmer’s market—Jackson surprised me by buying himself a new wedding band because the paramedics cut his off after the accident.”
A chorus of awwws breaks out amid the sounds of snipping scissors and flower stems clinking on vases.
Cecily nudges me with her elbow, pushing for more. I swallow hard and pick up my lemonade. Between short sips of sweet liquid, I quietly spill the most salacious part of our weekend. “And he woke me up in the middle of the night to break into the hot pool and have sex.”
Blair sits back with an impressed look on her face. “Damn. Go Jackson.”
“In the pool?” Cassidy asks.
I confirm with a single nod. “In sixteen years, we’ve never done anything like that before.”
“This is exactly the kind of scandal I like to hear about,” Whit says. “There’s really something in the water at that ranch, isn’t there?”
Cass snips a stem. “Got that right.”
“Whatever it is, it was nice to feel like Jackson and Kate again. We still have a ways to go, of course, but the trip was like a reset button.”
Beryl’s been so busy quietly putting together a variety of flowers, meticulous in her arrangement of them, I nearly forgot about her sitting on the other side of Cecily until she quietly says, “What I would give for a vacation away with a sexy man.”
Laughter spills across the table from all sides.
“Don’t start getting any ideas about snowbirding to somewhere tropical,” I warn her with a teasing undertone. “We need you around here.”
Beryl scoffs, placing a defensive palm on Cecily’s stomach. “Oh, please. As if I could leave my grandbabies like that.”
Blair slips a small bundle of light blue flowers into her vase and looks to Cecily. “Speaking of babies, are you and Austin still undecided on baby names?”
Cecily hesitates, her lips curving. “If the baby’s a girl, we’re going with Lucy….”
We all nod solemnly. I remember discussing baby names with Jackson while I was pregnant—we went back and forth on naming our daughter after his mom, too. Even though it had been a few years since Lucy Wells passed, the collective family wound still felt too fresh when Odessa was born.
“And if it’s a boy, I have no idea. You wouldn’t believe the names Austin’s vetoed.”
I chuckle. “The man doesn’t speak much, but when he does, his opinions are strong.”
“I have a feeling she’s a girl, anyway.” Cecily smooths a hand over her stomach. “But we should probably agree on something for a boy. I’ve been having the weirdest dreams about names lately—like the other night, we named the baby Pickles.”
Cassidy tilts her head. “Hey, I mean…we still call Hazel ‘Little Spud’ sometimes, so I’m on board.”
My phone pings, and I race to pick it up, only to find Jackson’s sent a picture of Odessa, Rhett, and Hazel—with muddy clothes and hands, disheveled hair, and the brightest smiles I’ve ever seen—standing next to a picnic table covered in plates with even more mud.
Jackson: The kids have been busy. Hope you girls are hungry <3
My fingers lightly tap my lips, feeling the smile I can’t hold back as it spreads across my face. I take a deep breath of floral air. Everything feels light and hopeful, and I gleefully show the photo to each of the girls.
“Speaking of little spuds, looks like Hazel has enough dirt in her hair to grow potatoes.” Blair squints at the screen before passing the phone to Cass, who only shakes her head and laughs.
“Those are the happiest little kids I’ve ever seen,” Whit says.
I settle back in my chair, the chatter swirling around me like the scent of peonies and lavender.
And as talk settles into name suggestions, guesses on when the baby will arrive, and pregnancy cravings, our hands move as easily through the flowers as our conversation does.
The vases fill like the hours, easy and unhurried, and for the first time in months, I’m not anxiously counting the minutes until I’m back home. I’m savoring them.