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I laughed. “But do you really? Think of the vases I could break in a week.”
“There is that,” she said lightly, as if it didn’t matter that I was the actual clumsiest person alive. “What time do you work?”
“Ten. I guess I better get going.”
Piper laughed. “Wouldn’t want to be less than twenty minutes early.”
“Fifteen minutes early is late,” I said with a shrug and a grin. I got a lot of lighthearted teasing from my roomies about my need to be early everywhere. I checked the forecast on my phone. “Suddenly jacket weather is here, huh?”
“Happy fall,” Piper said. “I swear the trees started changing color overnight.”
I ducked back into my room, dug through the closet, and located my cropped denim jacket and my dark blue scarf. Yesterday the weather had been beautiful, but we’d been warned a cold front was coming through.
On my way out, I hugged Piper and told her congrats again, then rushed down the flight of stairs to the sidewalk level, hitting the final step wrong and nearly stumbling. But I didn’t, and I congratulated myself on the save.
The pavement was wet, though it wasn’t raining at the moment. The clouds were heavy and looked like they could open again soon. I should’ve grabbed an umbrella, but I was banking on the hope I could make it the three blocks to work without getting soaked. I had a car, but I walked whenever I could because it was stupid to drive three blocks.
Our apartment was directly above Oopsie Daisies, and I couldn’t help but notice the display window as I walked by. Piper had done more than paperwork this morning.
The window was awash with golds and oranges from an array of chrysanthemums, sunflowers, and pumpkins. She’d created a farmhouse-style display, with an old wooden ladder, metal buckets, an antique chair, and rustic-looking crocks. She’d added three wooden signs—something Piper both collected and created—“Pumpkin kisses and harvest wishes,” “In a world where you can be anything, be kind,” and “The earth laughs in flowers.”
My roommate had such a knack for making things beautiful. There was no question she was doing exactly what she was meant to be doing.
As I reached the sidewalk in front of the gym, my phone rang. I pulled it out.
Cynthia. My stepmother. My friends had a litany of not-so-nice names for her, but I tried not to use them. I babysat my younger half-siblings often, had cared for them since they were born, and I’d hate to slip up around them.
As I crossed to the hardware store, I sucked in a breath for fortitude and answered the call.
“Hi, Cynthia.”
“Quincy. You remember the annual awards ceremony for your father’s company is next Thursday evening, right? The one where he’s receiving an award?”
I’m doing well, thanks. How ’bout you?
The lack of warmth between us was the status quo. It could be exhausting, so I mostly tried to ignore it.
I tried to recall mention of a ceremony. “I don’t think you told me about a ceremony,” I said, actually certain she hadn’t. An award would be a big deal for my dad, and I would’ve remembered it.
“I’m sure I did a few weeks ago.”
“If you did, I don’t remember it,” I said, keeping my tone light, making an effort to get along. She was the type of person you couldn’t win an argument with.
She expelled a disappointed sigh. “Fall sports season is extra busy for us, so maybe I forgot. At any rate, the dinner is at seven in Nashville, and we’ll need you to be here to watch Molly by five thirty.”
I tried to remember my schedule for next week. “I’ll have to check whether I work.”
“If you do, you need to switch shifts with someone, Quincy. You know I can’t find anyone else this late.”
Which was why she should’ve asked me about two weeks ago instead of assuming I could stay with my half-siblings.
“This is an important night for your father.”
I rolled my eyes and bit my tongue. I loved my father, everything about him except his choice of second wife. He deserved the recognition, deserved to bask in the spotlight for his normally unspotlighted job in insurance. But I resented her using that to manipulate me.
“It’s just a server shift,” she pressed. “Surely you can find someone to trade with. They do that all the time in the food industry.”
That wasn’t false, but I ground my molars together because Cynthia knew exactly nothing about being in food service. She had never worked in the industry. She’d had her job as the office manager at Dr. Julian’s medical practice for as long as I’d known her, and her self-importance because of it was off the charts. It reeked of insecurity, but even knowing that didn’t make her easier to deal with.
