Page 30 of Because of Her

“My sister went to Southern Italy and all I got was this lousy mug.” I pretend to read.

Madison feigns shock.

“Thank you,” I say. “It’s perfect.”

Because it is. The porcelain mug is painted in delicate swirls of blue, with bright yellow lemons creating a stunning focal point to the pattern. I’ve always loved collecting beautiful and unique homewares, and mugs are my favourite thing to have.

“You didn’t need to get me anything,” I tell her.

“I know. I wanted to.”

I reach out to hug my sister again, breathing in the fresh outdoorsy aroma of her familiar, signature scent. Her longgreen dress flows around her as she spins to the wall I’ve spent all day creating. Glancing down at my dusty black jeans and loose grey shirt, I wonder how two women, grown from the same circumstances, can end up so wildly different.

Madison always cares about her appearance. She’s always done up, hair perfect. Her natural beauty leads the way so she doesn’t have to put much effort into looking put together. But no matter how many times I tried to be like her, I’ve always felt the opposite. Dressing for anything more than comfort has always been trying for me, and at some point over the years, I gave up. Comfort over style became my motto.

I suppose it works better in this industry anyway.

“This is new,” she says, gesturing at the wall.

“It’s my winter project. I need to entice more people into the shop when I don’t have weddings to fall back on.”

Madison nods, and I can see she isn’t convinced it will work.

“It’s a selfie wall. I saw one at a coffee shop and people were literally lining up to take a photo.”

Her mouth presses into a thin line, far from the enthusiasm I was hoping for.

Sucking in a deep breath, she lets it out as she controls her words. “Yes but, at a coffee shop people will go to take a photo and walk out with a coffee. It makes sense.”

“Exactly!”

“What will they walk out with here? I can’t make coffee.”

In between writing her best-selling novels, Madison works for me at the shop. Thanks to her basic floristry skills, I don’t have to close on the days I secure events. The past couple of months without her was a juggle. I made it work, but I don’t think closing the shop most weekends was good for business. If I can’t somehow fill my winter calendar with events though, I won’t be able to offer her the shifts.

“Flowers, hopefully.”

This time, her nod is short.

“Cassidy.” Her tone is harsh, and I brace myself for the berating I sense is coming. “Dad can’t afford to bail you out of another winter.”

I clasp my hands together, twisting my ring. Her words hit a bruise I’ve been carrying for the past year, and it hurts. I never wanted my dad to bail me out, but when I’d mentioned I might have to close the shop, he paid the rent without question. My skin crawls at the way he jumped in to save me. After so many years of barely being around to support me when I needed him, it’s like he was trying to make up for lost time.

Acid fills my throat as I try to snap back at Madison, the words melting away before I can get them out. Instead, I turn back to my luscious selfie wall.

It cost more than I care to admit. Definitely more than I’ll ever admit to Madison. It has to work.

I don’t want to think about her comment, but it sticks in my head and even long after we say a strained goodbye, I’m still wondering exactly what all the influencers will walk out with. Because it’s one thing to draw them in with a selfie wall, but for it to be worth the thousands of dollars I spent, I need them to buy flowers while they are here.

Returning home after serving no customers all day, my mind races as my conversation with Madison replays in my head. She has always been my biggest supporter, and I’m used to her kind of tough love, but I can’t put my finger on what was different today.

My business is struggling, that wasn’t news to me. But it felt like she was throwing my financial concerns in my face. When Dad wrote me the cheque last winter, it was Madisonwho convinced me to use it, so it’s odd for her to now be berating me over that choice.

As I trudge up the stairwell, I can’t help contemplating how I ended up in this position. There have been a lot of decisions that led me to this point, and I feel like I made the wrong choice at every turn. Even at the times where I felt I had no other option, I’m starting to wonder if that was true.

I pause on the landing, leaning my forehead against the cool brick wall.

My life is a mess. And it was easy enough for me to swear off men as though they were the problem, but look how far that got me. Barely a week later, I was climbing into Callum’s lap and getting rejected all over again.

---