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Any second, Cora will go into labor. Baby Clara will make her debut. Everyone in our circle is on edge, eager and ready.
Elizabeth and I decided not to take on any major orders in the two-week window of her due date. Which happens to be tomorrow.
Our part-time employee, Francine, is on standby. She typically works two days a week, less than sixteen hours, to help out when either Elizabeth or I am alone, or we have major events to work on. She will work more hours if either of us is under the weather, but prefers the lesser hours. Plus, she told Elizabeth early on, her minimal time here each week gives her a sense of purpose.
Our delivery drivers, Joe and Melanie, won’t be affected much. They come and go with orders, but keep an eye open for delivery and store updates.
With the impending arrival of her first grandchild, Elizabeth has busied herself more than usual. And driven me a bit crazy, to be honest. For the last twenty minutes, she has swept the same section of the shop repeatedly; not a speck of dirt to be seen.
But I don’t blame her.
If I were in her shoes, I would be jittery too. On edge. And I am, but my anxiety is nothing compared to that of a parent waiting to become a grandparent.
Any minute now, my niece will enter the world. We may not be genetically related, but Cora is one hundred percent my sister. Always.
The arrival of baby Clara will change all our lives. In a good way. I never thought it possible, but her birth will bring us all closer together. Bond us in a way we never imagined. Start a new phase of our lives and expand our friendships.
“You okay?” Elizabeth points to my hand.
“Yeah. Just zoned out and the thorn attacked.” I narrow my eyes at the thorny flower in question.
Elizabeth laughs. “They get you when you least expect it.”
I go back to the arrangement, one of several premade bouquets we have available. Elizabeth and I wanted an abundance of grab-and-go flowers in the case so Francine won’t be overwhelmed in our absence.
Elizabeth switches from sweeping to dusting, mumbling to the flowers as she moves through the shop.
I insert the next stem into the vase, then twist the arrangement left and right to see where I need to put the final flowers. My gaze drifts toward the front of the store. Toward the beautiful meadow painted on the wall. The wispy grass and abundant wildflowers. And I zone out again. Imagine myself in a magical place like the one Devlyn created.
A little more than a week ago, Devlyn and I shared the best and worst day. Between the age mentioned by the server and his aloof behavior after the museum, I considered throwing in the towel on our friendship. Everything about us is new. So breaking ties with Devlyn wouldn’t be the same as losing a friend I’d had most of my life.
At least, this is what I’ve told myself every day I’d considered texting him.
Then Devlyn took me by surprise. The next day, he reached out.
When the notification popped up on my phone, I expected to see a text withit’s been funsomewhere in the bubble. Those words were nowhere to be found. What I saw instead was an apology. A real apology. More than the basicI’m sorry. His message read…I didn’t mean to be such an ass. It’s a long story. But I’d love another chance at friends. Please.
I have never been the type to hold on to anger toward another person. Not unless they did something major. Something unforgivable. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I forgive easily and let the past roll off my shoulders.
With Devlyn, though… the man needs to figure out what he wants.
He dishes out the wordfriendsmore than an all-you-can-eat buffet. Not sure if the constant reminder is for me or him. Either way, it leads me to believe two things without hard evidence.
One—he fears anything beyond friendship with a woman. The thought hurts my heart on so many levels and stirs up a list of questions as to why. Two—part of him wants more than that with me. More than friendship.
More than once, I’ve wanted to ask who broke his heart. Who made him so anti-love. To love someone is human nature. His vehemence to avoid love has to stem from past hurt, past pain. Putting him on the spot, coming out and asking him who did this to him, won’t yield answers. And with our friendship so new, so on the edge of tipping one way or the other, asking would only push him away.
In his own time, and however he processes things, Devlyn needs to work through his emotions. I simply ask him not to rake me over the coals in the process.
Since his apology, we text or talk daily. No philosophical or life-altering chats. Just normal day-to-day stuff. Conversations similar to those I have with any other friend. Chats about work, strange clients, weird conversations we overheard at the grocery store, great jokes someone shared. And like all new friendships, we learn each other’s quirks and boundaries.
Another change since the apology… we hang out a lot. Like every other day. For my own sanity, I compare time with Devlyn to hanging with Jonas or Gavin. We meet up at restaurants, eat pizza or Chinese or sandwiches. Talk, laugh, and ask questions. Nothing too deep, though.
My cheeks have stung more over the past few days than any previous time. Devlyn makes me smile. Often. More often than a friend.
Our late-night phone calls—Devlyn is anti-text whenever possible—aren’t like the calls Cora and I shared as kids. The kind where you stay on the phone all night, trying to find something, anything, to talk about. Conversations between Devlyn and I hold more definition, more purpose.
Last night, we talked about college. How my experience compared to his. The way he spoke about art school and the people—professors and student body—enthralled me. His experience sounded otherworldly. In a sense, I suppose living and breathing art is a different way of life.
