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Chapter Two: Emilia
I was going to need a stronger allergy medicine in this line of work. I couldn’t really complain though, I was lucky to finally have this shop, even if it was slightly small. Everything was finally up and running.
I clipped the roses and put them in their vases, lining the back wall, and then I worked my way up. The gardenias were next, and then the tulips. The flowers were blooming so well, spending my last bit of investment on that green ceiling was worth it. I didn’t have to come in and flower them as often, and they got just the right amount of sunlight.
Now all I needed were people to buy them. The hardest part was over, I guessed. Building the place up, getting a lease, commissioning flowers and growing my own consistently enough. But now, people would have to buy them so I could pay the bills. I seemed to be in a constant tug of war with paying bills, since I was twelve and my mother…
I couldn’t think of her now. I would be holed up for the rest of the day. A decade and a half later and it still hurt.
“Emilia! Emilia!” I smiled at the voice.
Dan was a sweet neighborhood kid who liked to help around the shop. But I recently found out it was his grandparents that were my most loyal customers. I started selling fresh flowers from my backyard back in college, and a kind lady started buying them from me. Every fresh bloom, then every week, then every day for the past seven years.
“I’m here.”
Dan appeared behind the azaleas. He was growing really fast, he is almost taller than me now, and his boyish looks are fading to a more handsome one. He looked just like his grandmother, Sasha. Brown hair, brown eyes, soft features.
“Nanna needs a big order.” He slipped me a piece of paper.
“How big?” I asked, before looking at the paper. When I did, I almost fell from the ladder.
“Oh my, a gala?”
He nodded.
“Another charity ball. She needs an entryway and…well, it’s all there.” He was right. She gave him a layout of the whole place, and marked where every flower should go.
“Um, when is this happening?” I asked him.
“Saturday.” He said casually, as if that wasn’t just two days away. I was wonderi
ng how the hell I would pull this off, but I couldn’t let him see that.
“Okay, great.”
“You need any help?” he offered. He was already in his school uniform, so I was sure he had places to be.
“No, thanks. Maybe for the gala. One day I can actually pay you.” I smiled. He waved me off and slung his backpack back over his shoulder.
“Now worries, Emilia. I’m glad to help!” He was out the door before I could protest.
I kept working. There was actually a lot to do, and I just kept postponing it. But by the end of the work day I had organized all the flowers, trimmed down their stems, and prepared the usual orders for Sasha.
She usually came by in the morning. Maybe she would explain more about this charity ball happening on Saturday. I put my oversized sweater on, and locked up before I started the short walk to my studio apartment. Really, it was right around the corner and only took me one song to get there. Once inside, I popped in a frozen dinner and took a quick, hot shower. And it actually had to be quick because the hot water only lasted a few minutes.
It was a dingy place, but it was mine. The one small window I had was lined with an array of plants, daisies mostly because they were my favorite. Right next to it was my bed, well it was just a mattress and box spring with a quilt I made from old tee shirts, but it was comfortable. I had a small bedside table that mostly held a bunch of clutter, and a small couch that only held laundry I refused to fold. My television was my laptop, and the kitchen might as well be the bathroom. Yeah, not much. But it was all mine.
Once I settled in with Netflix and my lasagna, I called Ivy. She and I had been friends since high school. These days, that was a really long time. We went to the same college, the state school here. Iowa had good schools regardless.
“Hey, I was just about to call you!” Ivy had such a chipper voice, I wondered how she could always have so much energy.
Her job was way more stressful than mine. She was an up and coming designer and assistant, which meant she had to be at her boss’s beck and call, planned all the shows for him, handle orders, then find time for her own designs.
“How odd, how was today?” I put her on speaker and settled into the couch.
“Ugh, horrible. I just now got back. I was about to find something to eat. What about you? How is the shop coming?”
I just got into the official shop space last week, I had been working out of the makeshift greenery I made of the roof, behind the landlord’s back.
