Page 5 of Forget Me Knot

“Do you always carry around flowers or was it just my lucky night?” I ask over the noise of the crowd, hoping to hold him there a bit longer.

Molly’s tight grasp on my waist loosens as she stretches her little face around and declares, “Aunt Dinah has on her lucky donut panties today!”

I use my free hand to cover her mouth, pulling her to my front and shoving the flowers in front of her tiny little traitor face with what is likely a manic smile plastered across my own.

“Oh.” He’s further away than I’d like him to be. Smile broad and teasing. “I’d say it’s me who’s the lucky one, Ms. Dinah. I hope to see ya tomorrow.”

He disappears into the crowd just as Emory joins Molly and me, standing shoulder to shoulder and openly gawking.

“Holy Moses, who was that?”

“I have no idea. But I intend to find out.” I squeeze the roses to my chest and turn to her. “He brought me these.”

Emory whistles and holds out a smaller, but equally sweet bouquet of daisies, wrapping her arm around my waist. “Must’ve been those lucky mint shoes.”

“And her donut panties!” Molly adds.

“Definitely.” I nod and look around the bustling shop. “Tomorrow I’m wearin’ cupcakes.”

Molly erupts into giggles, and Emory sniffs, pulling me into a hug. “You did it, Dinah Belle. We’re all so proud of you.”

I know she means herself and Molly, but she also speaks for our parents now and James. The people we’ve loved and lost who aren’t here to celebrate.

“I wouldn’t be here without you, Em.Wedid it.”

She kisses my temple just as Molly wraps her arms around both our legs and squeezes tight. “It looks like Barbie lives here!”

People laugh and chat around us, eating the various treats I’ve concocted and seeming to enjoy themselves immensely. Another burst of pride and anticipation surges through me. This is the start of something special.

3

CRAZY

GNARLS BARKLEY

JACK

Pretzel shop.

Dinah.

Beautiful.

Don't mess it up.

When I woke up this morning with a killer headache and a Post-it note plastered to my face and on my bathroom mirror and the lid of the toilet bowl and another on the coffee pot, I assumed the message was an important one.

Then I discovered more along every inch of my morning routine. In my daily journal. Inside of a boot. On the front door before leaving for work. My assumptions quickly turned to aggravation at the annoying, multi-colored breadcrumbs repeating the same vague message. You’d think if he was so concerned about menot messing it up, he’d leave a more detailed explanation as to why.

The morning progresses and more and more Post-its appear.

I growl when I find a pale pink one taped to the monitor in the shop and make sure to crumple it in my fist before throwing it in the trash at my feet. I don’t have the time or inclination to care about a pretzel shop or Dinah—no matter how beautiful she may be—whether the notes tell me I should or not. Not when I have a desk piled with orders for the day and a headache threatening to cut my workday short.

I start my daily task of organizing purchase orders based on pickup time, variety, and ease, then into deliveries and in-store pickups. The new tenant next door—Dinah, I’m assuming—switches on her ridiculous playlist. Just like she has every morning at the same time for months. I haven’t met her yet, but sometimes I can hear her singing severely off pitch, and it’s more than a little distracting. Today’s off-key karaoke comes in the form of Pharell Williams’ “Happy,” and it makes me want to scratch my eyes out.

Instead, I throw on the pair of noise cancelling headphones my little sister gifted me with last summer and retreat into myself, remembering all the frou-froucalming wordsthe neuropsych encourages me to repeat when I’m feeling overwhelmed. My head feels like it’s splitting in two, despite the fact that I’ve saidsilence, solitude,andsafeover and over again. I’ve nearly convinced myself to march next door and askPretzel Shop Dinahto turn down the music—that’s now making my walls shake—when my brother calls.

“Bro. What’s up?” Owen’s chipper. As usual. And lacking in phone etiquette.

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