Page 46 of Coming Up Roses

Myla Rose

“Azalea,”I whine as I hobble behind her, my arms so loaded down with shopping bags that I’m not sure I can walk the five feet to the car.

“Oh, hush up and quit your fussin’. We’re heading home now.”

Azalea stops abruptly to check her phone, causing me to almost walk into her. Again. It feels like she’s been on that damn phone the last hour or so non-stop. I’m about to ask her who’s blowing up her phone when she bursts my peace and relaxation bubble.

“Oh, wait. We have one more place—”

“Are you kidding me? One more place?” I say, dropping the bags I’m lugging to the ground beside my car.

“No, ma’am, not even a little.” She opens the car door and scoops up my shopping bags, tossing them into the backseat with hers. “Now, hand over your keys. I’ll drive.”

I do as she says, cranking the AC to high. “Wanna tell me where we're going?”

“Sure, we’re going to this sweet little furniture boutique.”

“What? Why?”

“To look at cribs, Myla,” she says like I’m as dense as a brick.

“Right, because why wouldn’t we?” The sarcasm seeping from my pores goes unnoticed by Azalea as she haphazardly steers us out of the parking lot.

She drives for about thirty minutes, weaving in and out of traffic at breakneck speeds before we reach out destination. The sign reads STORK: An Upscale Baby Boutique. It’s cute as can be but way out of my price range, I’m guessing.

I mean, I live nice and easy with what Grams left behind—the house and car were paid for and passed down as well. And yeah, the salon is profitable, but I can just feel it. This place is going to be outrageous. Plus, I’m officially building a nest egg for little man—college isn’t cheap.

Everything inside STORK is luxurious. From the oh-so-soft new baby scent tickling my nose to the feel of the velvety soft blankets, this place is mom-to-be heaven.

The back of the boutique is divided into five small rooms, each one set up like a nursery. There are two girl rooms, two boy rooms, and one gender-neutral.

The third room is practically shouting Myla Rose, come in, come see. The walls in that room are an ivory color, Swiss Coffee, according to the plaque on the wall. But what really draws my eye is the crib. It’s a farmhouse crib, if there ever was one, and I absolutely love it.

Walking further into the room, I trail my fingertips along the edge of the crib. I can just see myself laying my little man down to sleep in this bed. I can see myself watching over him in it as he snoozes—until I see the price tag.

Good gravy, it’s almost $2500. They’ve lost their ever-loving minds. I can find something that’ll do just fine at the big box store for way, way less. Even if I don’t like it as much. It’s just a crib, Myla Rose.

I turn to go and search for Azalea, only to find her standing in the entryway to the room I’m in snapping pictures. “Why’re you taking pictures?”

“Memories, Myla. Memories.”

“Sure, okay. You ready to go now?” I ask her. My earlier tiredness is hitting me hard all of a sudden.

“Yeah, let me check out really quick. You go on out to the car.” She tosses me my keys, and that’s that.

My head’s resting against my seat with the air conditioner on high. I’m thumbing through notifications on my phone when a text from Simon pops up.

Simon: You okay, Myles?

Me: Yeah, I am. Why?

Simon: Just checking on you. Saw Cash outside your house this morning.

Me: What? Why was he there?

Simon: We’ll talk later.

Why would Cash have been at my house? That’s just the strangest thing. Before I can stew on it too much, Azalea throws herself into the passenger seat. Maybe she can make heads or tails of it.

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