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1
JOSIE
The familiar snip of the scissors through the sage green stems of the roses sends a shiver of excitement through my body. The deep burgundy petals fall to the table and I watch them with rapt attention. Sure, it might be because it’s freaking freezing in my small, dimly lit garage in early April, but I’d like to think it’s due to excitement.
Tomorrow is my first wedding as a professional florist. I opened my business six months ago, and have done well for myself making bouquets for funerals, anniversaries, and other moderately sized events. But this is the first wedding I’ll be doing on my own as the owner of my business. I used to work with an older gal who lived up north for years until she retired. She asked me if I wanted to take over her company, and while the offer was good, I wanted to make a name for myself. Pave my own path and all that.
My ex, Zack, loved to patronize me about how being a florist would never pay the bills, or get me very far in life. At first, I thought it was tough love, his way of making sure I knew I would have to work for it, but when I mentioned moving somewhere new and starting my own business, his patronizing and unkind words toward me got worse. So, I dumped him. I don’t need that sort of negativity in my life.
I set off on my new adventure, getting all the necessary things lined up. My best friend since forever, Tessa, is still bummed that I moved. We used to do everything together, and even lived together. We talk on the phone as much as possible, but living about an hour from each other and both working full time can be tough to make time for each other.
Much to my mother’s dismay, I moved further away from her, to a small town called Ivy Ridge. I’m not a stranger to Ivy Ridge, having visited a few times in high school, and when I worked with the other florist, setting up some venues. I fell in love with the small town back then, and continue to love it every day I reside here.
It’s not like I don’t love my family. I wanted room to spread my wings, make it on my own. Moving away from my parents and hometown was bittersweet, but if I’d stayed, my parents would have tried to micromanage me. They have good intentions, but I want to be known as more than Josie, Kevin Carter’s daughter. Dad is the sheriff, and I know it sounds stupid, but I feel like people would only buy from me because of that, not because they think I’m talented.
I worked hard the first few months I lived here, getting all my licenses and business essentials set up, while also working at a restaurant to keep making money. When I bought this house a few months ago, the first thing I did was set up a little area in my garage to use as what I call “flower central.”
By posting the arrangements I've made and sharing fun behind the scenes stuff, I've been able to gain a small following on social media. I’ve also taken to leaving my business cards in random places. Bulletin board at the grocery store? Check. Dropping a card as I walk through Target? Check. Leaving one on the table when I’m done eating at a restaurant? You know it.
A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
When my cell phone rang a few weeks ago, I picked it up, fully expecting it to be a spam call. But when the sounds of a frantic voice screeched inside my ear, I nearly dropped my phone from shock and excitement. A desperate bride, Megan, had just found out that her original florist was going out of business and could no longer do her wedding. I guess one of her friends had found one of my business cards a few days prior, looked me up on social media, and when Megan called her in a panic, she immediately suggested me.
I set up a meeting with Megan and her husband-to-be, where we went over what she wanted, what I could do, and agreed on a contract that very day. Of course, I gave her full disclosure that this would be my first solo wedding, and she had every right to look for someone else, but she just said, “We all start somewhere, right?”
Megan’s wedding flowers have been my number one work priority ever since. Today, the day before the wedding, is when all my planning will come to fruition. I picked up the flowers this morning, and have been working on them since. The vases are boxed up and in the back of my car, along with my extra buckets and supplies I might need. Five of the six bouquets I need are ready to go, delicately set in a bucket with a few inches of water, and placed in the cooling fridge I specifically bought for business needs like this.
I’m currently working on the bridal bouquet, which is a beautiful mix of burgundy and dust pink roses, leatherleaf, and stems of baby’s breath. The differing colors compliment each other so perfectly, and when I hold it out to look at it, my eyes well up with tears. Not from the beauty of the arrangement—though it is incredible, if I do say so myself—but from the realization that this bouquet could be a life-changing bouquet. This event could mean big things for me, could move me up in the ranks in the wedding world, which is what I’ve always wanted.
I’ve dreamed of the day where I might see my name on wedding websites, tagged on social media when couples reminisce about their big day, my schedule fully booked without an inch of breathing room. I want to help people have the wedding of their dreams. Don’t get me wrong, I love making arrangements for someone’s loved one, whether it be celebratory, or in remembrance, but there is just something that I’ve always loved about the magic of weddings.
Finishing up Megan’s bouquet, I get started on the seven boutonnieres for the groomsmen. I label the container with the groom’s boutonniere with a large scribbled ‘I’ for Isaac, then get to work on the extra corsages and boutonnieres for the family members.
Though I’m somewhat aware of hours passing, the next time I look at the clock, I see that it’s nearing three am. Shit, I really need to get some sleep if I’m going to be presentable. Luckily, everything is done, for now. At least until I get to the venue and can get the vases set up. I quickly pack up the corsages and boutonnieres, stowing them away in the fridge for the night. I flick the lights in the garage off, and walk up the few steps into my house.
The house is dark, but my cat, Velma, greets me at the door. She stretches, sticking her butt up into the air, purring loudly as she does. “Hi sweetie,” I murmur, bending down to give her a little scratch. She leans into my touch, her purrs growing louder as she starts weaving her way between my legs. I straighten up, letting her do her thing, listening to her meow and purr as if I’d abandoned her for days. To be fair, I was in the garage for quite a while. Maybe that feels like a long time to a cat.
I walk through my home, stifling a yawn. The room is bathed in warm light, and I open a cupboard, blindly reaching around for a granola bar. When I finally get it in my hands, I open it, taking a huge bite out of it. It’s stale, the granola and chocolate chips crumbling onto the counter in pieces, but right now, it's hitting the spot. My rumbling stomach is appeased for now, and hopefully will be until morning, when I can grab a breakfast sandwich and coffee somewhere on the way to the venue.
The venue isn’t far from my place. I plan to leave by about nine so I have enough time to get there, set up the ceremony area, pass out bouquets and corsages, then head to the reception area to set up. I mentally review the day I’ve carefully scheduled as I finish my granola bar and wash my face.
I shrug out of my clothes, slipping on my favorite sweats and hoodie and setting my alarm before practically collapsing into bed from exhaustion.
This wedding could be my make or break. As my eyes fall shut, I recenter myself, and again, go over the plan for tomorrow. I need to make sure everything is perfect.
2
ANDREW
“Shots!” my best friend, Isaac, shouts from the end of the bar.
“Dude, I think it might be time to slow down. You don’t want to be hungover for your own wedding, do you?” I ask, resting a hand on his shoulder.
He shakes his head, his eyes falling shut slightly in his drunken haze. “Good point.” He boops me on the nose, saying, “Pretty sure Megan would kill me if I came to our wedding smelling like tequila.”
“You’ve got that right, my friend.” I make a slicing across my neck motion to the bartender, and luckily, he doesn’t question it, giving me a thumbs up. I nod gratefully, wrapping my arm around the shoulders of my childhood best friend. I could give two shits about the rest of the guys; Isaac is my main priority tonight. There’s seven groomsmen total, and combined with the ushers, random cousins, family members, and college friends, the group of us have all but taken over the bar tonight. It’s still early, just before midnight, and Isaac is in his happy drunk phase.
“Let’s get you to your room, Turbo,” I tease. He snorts at my nickname for him, but comes willingly. I stop when I see Nick, one of the other groomsmen, flirting with one of the bridesmaids. “Hey, he’s going to bed,” I say, pointing at Isaac.
