“Aww, that’s too bad.” Mom reaches down and squeezes my shoulder. “You really seemed to liked hm.”
“What? No, I didn’t.” Finally, my voice is back. And it’s good at lying, it seems.
Mom’s lips slide to the side of her mouth. “Well… it certainly appeared like you liked him. You were bouncing around the house the next day, all happy and giggly.”
I groan. She’s probably right, but I don’t want to think about that. “Well, that’s changed. I don’t really like him. Not at all.”
“Okay, okay,” Mom says, bringing her fingers to her lips to turn an invisible key. “I’ll shut up about it.”
She leaves and closes the door behind her. I turn to Livi.
“That’s it. I’m cancelling the greenhouse.”
“Are you sure?”
I press my hand to my forehead, where I’m starting to get a headache. “There’s just no way I can be around Gavin anymore. I hate him. He ruined my greenhouse and he ruined my heart.”
There’s another knock on my door. “Yes, mom?” I call out, sounding a little more annoyed than I want to. It’s not her fault I’m pissed off. But it’s Grandpa who opens the door.
“I always know which room is yours,” he says with a gentle smile. His eyes focus off to the side, and not at me. “Your room smells like strawberries. And…currently like pizza too, but that’s unusual.”
I smile. Strawberries are kind of my signature scent. I have strawberry shampoo, body wash, and strawberry air freshener in my room.
“What’s up, Grandpa?” I ask. “Livi is here with me.”
“I brought you something.” He walks slowly into the room and then reaches into the brown paper bag he’s holding. He takes out a brown bulb that kind of looks like a dirty onion.
“Is that a flower bulb?” I ask, because there’s no reason he’d bring me a dirty onion.
He nods, holding it out in my general direction. I get up and take it from him. “It’s a tulip bulb. Got it from Macgregor’s nursery. I called them up and they delivered it to me since I can’t drive anymore. You wanna know why they went through all that trouble?”
“Small town charm?” I guess.
He chuckles. “Your grandma used to visit there every week. Probably their best customer.” He points at the bag. “Tulips were her favorite. I was thinking you could make this be the first thing you plant for the children at the daycare.”
The lump in my throat grows to nearly the size of this tulip bulb. Grandpa still thinks our greenhouse is standing and ready for plants.
I nod slowly. “I will,” I say, tucking the bulb safely back into the bag. “I promise.”
