CHAPTER 19
Declan
When I get to the shop the next morning, there’s a bouquet sitting on our front desk. My heart lurches, wondering if it means what I think it does.
Sean and Frankie are already here, getting ready for the day.
“Come check it out, lover boy,” Frankie calls out when she sees me. I make my way over to the desk, where a whole bunch of lavender and those little white flowers – I think they’re called baby’s breath – sit in a frosted vase. A card sticks out of the top and I grab it.
Thanks for the piercings, and congrats on a successful first few weeks in business! You’re all crushingit.
-Elsie
I glance over at Sean, who gives me a knowing look. “You know those aren’t for the rest of us.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh please!” Frankie laughs. “That girl is just as smitten as you are.”
I shake my head and stick the card back in the flowers, but I can’t fight the grin tugging at my lips. I think back to opening day, when a customer told me about the girl with the flowers, and what it means to receive a bouquet from Elsie.
It’s how she shows people she cares about them.
Elsie can fight this thing between us all she wants. Because somehow, even if she won’t admit it, I’m lucky enough to have been added to the list of people she cares about.
And fuck, that feels good.
CHAPTER 20
Declan
I blame my post-therapy exhaustion for why I don’t see it coming.
Every other week, I have hour-long sessions with Deja, the therapist I started seeing out in Boston over five years ago. They don’t always leave me feeling like I’ve been turned inside out and wrung dry, but a good number of times they do. Today was one of those days.
We had a lot to talk about. My grandparents want to come visit soon to check out the shop and see the town I’m now calling home. They suggested inviting my mother along, if I’m feeling up to it.
“Is there anything your mother could say or do that would make you feel comfortable having her visit you in Port Myles?” Deja had asked me. “Is there a goal post you’re waiting for her to reach?”
Fuck if I knew how to answer. In all the years I’ve been attempting to rebuild a relationship with my mother, I’ve never once let her come to me. It’s always been the other way around. She’s triedhere and there, made an offhand comment about looking at train tickets to Philly, or mentioned some of the sights she’d like to see in New York. But I never took the bait and she never pushed it. But now, with her less than a half hour away, I know it’s unreasonable to expect that I can keep this up. The whole keeping her at arms’ length and out of my space thing isn’t going to cut it for much longer.
But fuck, I don’t know if I’m ready to let her in like that just yet.
“I don’t know,” I’d admitted. “I don’t know if there’s a point where I would think, ‘I’m ready to have her come visit.’ I think it might be a rip-the-Band-Aid-off situation. I need to just do it, deal with it and get over it.”
Deja had studied me for a moment before speaking, while I fought the urge to look away.
It was weird at first, adjusting to doing virtual appointments instead of in-person. Somehow, her scrutiny feels sharper when all I can see is her face on my phone screen. I can’t look out the window of her office and avoid her stare when I get uncomfortable.
“Part of the reason you moved to Port Myles was to be closer to your mother,” she pointed out. “You wanted to continue repairing what had been broken. Why do you think it feels like such a big step to have her in your space, but you’re willing to step into hers when you visit her apartment?”
The answer came easily. It used to be like pulling teeth to get me to talk about shit like this, but not anymore. Now Iwantto talk about it, even when it’s difficult, or I don’t quite know how to articulate the way I’m feeling about something. I know it’ll help in the long run. Just have to rip that Band-Aid off and deal with the messy bits first.
“My apartment ismyspace,” I told her. “I’m in control here. I work hard to earn money, and I use that money to put a roof over my head, food in the fridge and cupboards, clothes in my closet thatare clean and fit me properly. After so many years of relying on Sasha to provide them for me – or my grandparents, when she failed to do so – I don’t take it lightly that I’m able to do that for myself as an adult. It feels like taking a step backward, letting her into that space that I built for myself, all on my own.”
“Kind of like you’re popping that protective bubble you’ve built around yourself,” Deja had said. She stared straight ahead, but I could hear the tell-tale scratching of her pen against paper as she took notes.
“Exactly.”
