Page 43 of Wildflowers and Wide Receivers

“I just love repeat customers. How are you, Ms. Vivi?” the lady asks, and Vivi brightens at being remembered.

“I’m good,” she tells her, giving her a small smile.

The lady turns to look at me. “I see we brought a friend.”

“This is Ms. Sophie,” Vivi declares, proud to introduce me and my heart swells at how sweet she is.

“Hi, Ms. Sophie,” she says, giving me a wink. “Everyone around here calls me Aunt Ella, so if you need anything, just holler.”

“She has a shrimp allergy,” Jonah blurts and Aunt Ella and I both swing our gaze his way. He looks so serious and so concerned, and Aunt Ella just pats him on the shoulder.

“Got it. No shellfish near your girl here.”

The fact that he just made this known, to make sure nothing happens to me, my heart sighs and I swoon on the inside. I know I shouldn’t compare, but Isaac never did this.

We give her our drink order, and watch as she walks away.

“So, Vivi.” I shift in my chair to look down at her. “I want to tell you how much I loved your performance on Friday night. You did so good.”

Her cheeks turn pink. “Thank you. I love ballet,” she says, as she pushes her menu around the table.

“I remember from when you were in my office. I kind of figured that out when we first met.”

Vivi’s cheeks turn pink.

“What made you fall in love with ballet?”

“My mom loved ballet,” she says, so matter-of-factly.

“She did?” Somehow this wasn’t the answer I was expecting or I wouldn’t have asked and opened this door.

“Yes, she took me to see The Nutcracker before she . . .” She doesn’t say the word, but we all know, before she died. Vivi glances down at the table, sadness washing over her. I feel that sadness too. Even after all these years it sometimes creeps up on me, and my heart aches knowing she’ll go through life feeling this too.

“Hey.” I put my hand on her back and she looks up at me. Giving her a small smile, I tell her, “I love that you share ballet as one of your favorite things. That’s so special. My mom loved the opera, but me not so much. All that high-pitched singing hurts my ears.” I hold my hand out and try to recreate some type of sound that you would expect to hear from a singer, only I sound like a dying cat. Vivi's sadness recedes, and she lets out a little laugh.

“What about you, Jonah? What’s something that you loved or hated?”

“Hmm,” he says, tapping his chin. “Okay, I have two for you, one of each. I spent most of my time with your dad”—he looks at Vivi—“and you might remember this, but he loved parades. I don’t know why, either. Every year, when I was a kid, he used to drag me to the South Boston St. Patrick’s Day parade. It’s so crowded, the bagpipes are so loud, and well, I kind of hated it.”

“He took me to that parade,” Vivi says, eyes wide as Jonah talks about her dad. I can’t help but wonder how often do they talk about them?

“I’m not surprised at all. I’m not sure that your mom liked going either, but your dad was all, ‘It’s a tradition!’”

“I have some green beads from that parade in my jewelry box.”

“You have a lot of beads in your jewelry box.”

“You’re the one who took me to the Gasparilla parade this year.”

“Well, now you know why. I know if your dad was here, he would probably dress up like a pirate, and embarrass us all while trying to talk with a pirate accent, but he’d make sure we went every year because he loved parades.”

“Can we go again next year?” she asks, looking at him with big eyes.

“We can go every year,” he tells her, a promise laced in his words.

Jonah and Vivi stare at each other, both lost in their own memories.

“What about the thing you love?” I ask.