Page 2 of Lovesick
“Thursday, I think?” Thursday morning or Wednesday evening, I hadn’t decided yet, but there would be plenty of time to make up my mind while I relaxed at home. I gratefully passed through the door as she opened it for me and tried to swing it shut with my foot. It didn’t shut, but I knew Abigail had my back. “I’ll text you,” I called over my shoulder.
I hefted my bag into the passenger-side seat, plopped myself behind the wheel and pulled away from the curb onto St. Charles Ave. It was a beautiful place to live, the Garden District - and since the sorority was part of Tulane University, the large, Greek-style house was very close to the campus.
A lot of girls who lived here didn’t have cars, and the ones who did would help out those who didn’t with shopping or rides to events or jobs. Most of them walked or rode bikes to the university grounds, though, rather than fight over parking when the campus was so close.
Still, I liked having a car. It was nice to know that whenever I wanted, I could hop in and simply drive an hour to see my family and visit my hometown.
Speaking of my family…
At a stop sign, I found ‘Mom’ in my contacts and gave her a call. “Hi, Momma,” I greeted her after she picked up. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m not coming to the house first. I’m going to park near the parade and meet you and Granny, okay?”
“That’s fine, Sweetie. Is anything wrong?”
Trust my mother to jump to that conclusion. “Not at all. I’m just leaving later than I meant to. Zoe has a big party tonight, and Abigail and I wanted to help her get ready.”
“Okay, Sweetie. Call us when you’re close and let us know where to meet you? Maggie says she’ll meet us there.” My mother’s voice grew distant as she moved away from the phone, probably talking to my grandma.
“I will.” I paused at my mother’s clear excitement. My selfish thoughts about not spending Mardi Gras partying like Zoe waved at me from the back of my mind. “I can’t wait to see you both.”
“Then stop talking and driving and focus on getting here in one piece,” Mom told me cheerfully.
“Okay. See you soon. Bye.” The call blinked, then ended. I turned on some music, set the phone in its holder on the dashboard and glanced at the navigation app.Estimated time: 1 hour and 10 minutes.About what I expected, given Mardi Gras traffic. Normally, it would take me just under an hour to get to Lafayette.
Despite the traffic, despite the party I was missing, suddenly I was finding myself in a much better mood than I’d been in since I had to turn down that invite from Zoe. All three of us had sat around in the living room before getting Zoe ready, joking about men and bemoaning the lack of handsome ones in our lives. Honestly, I just wanted a break from the rigor of nursing school and just have some fun.I can do that with my family.
Besides, I really did miss them. I missed Mom’s hugs and Grandma’s stories, and I even missed the room I had at home that was left untouched since I had gone to New Orleans for college four-years-ago. I had been so busy lately that it had been a couple of months since I’d been home. What would be different? Would there be a traffic light at that four-way stop that had such bad traffic around when schools let out in the afternoons? Would our neighbors still have the little dog that had run past my mom’s legs as she carried groceries into our house and chased our cat around?
Oh, Wisp! How could I forget about our little black cat? She was reason enough for me to go home to feel her warm fur tickle my nose when I picked her up.
Now, I couldn’t wait to get there, see my family, watch the parade, and sleep in my old room tonight with my precious black kitty curled up against the backs of my knees.
I didn’t need parties or men. With the help of my cat, a raucous parade, and some motherly and grandmotherly love, this Fat Tuesday was shaping up to be a good one after all.
Chapter Two
Marty
Flowers. Beautiful, yet confusing to those who worked to create the freshly-cut bouquets and arrangements meant as gifts between lovers or displayed at festive events; like today, for example.
Last year’s Mardi Gras had been, well, last year, but I remembered it being a little busier than today in our family-owned and operated florist shop. Today was Fat Tuesday, and we hadn’t seen a customer or received a call about an order or a delivery in over an hour.
I understood that alcohol and parties were much more popular than flowers on Mardi Gras, but from my vigil behind the counter, I saw people constantly walking past our shop on the sidewalk outside the tall glass windows. You would think some of these people would suddenly realize they could use flowers for some reason or another and come in.
Not that it mattered, really. Usually, the business did quite well and so did our nursery out on the edge of town. So, it wasn’t like we were starving for sales or anything. I was just bored. I shook my head.Enjoy it while it lasts, idiot….
My mother had made a run back to our nursery, but she would be here within twenty minutes or so to take over my place at the register. After that, I had to make a delivery to a nearby hotel. I doubted it would take long, but I also doubted I’d get a tip. It was a fact that during Mardi Gras most people were so busy tipping was the last thing on their minds.
To pass the time, I found a spray bottle of Windex in the back room and took it and a roll of paper towels to the front of the store. I sprayed a liberal mist over the fingerprints on the glass door. Then, careful to avoid getting any of the chemicals on the arrangements of delicate flowers in the display windows, I set to cleaning the week’s dust and dirt off the glass.
My hand swiped over the letters as I switched to the outside - LaFleur Flowers. My mother had worked hard to start this business. Then a few years ago, she opened a second one in Rayne, a nearby town, that was run by my brother, Joshua. Even though she worked with dirt, flowers, dyes for the water in the vases, and fertilizer all the time, she liked her home and her stores to be clean. Many times when I was a kid, I had come here after school, and my mom had handed me a rag or a broom and told me, “Go clean something.”
I looked through the pristine glass into the colorful, flower-filled place. I guessed her habits had rubbed off on me because I would much rather mosey around the shop and put things in order or clean something than just lounge behind the register until a customer happened to walk in. It saved having to clean everything all at once after closing, anyway.
An elderly lady wearing a ton of Mardi Gras beads around her neck split away from the constant stream of foot traffic and headed toward the door. I gathered my cleaning supplies and held the door open for her, smiling and giving each of my sleeves a quick, subtle tug to make sure I hadn’t given into my habit of rolling them up.
I liked to wear the simple T-shirt with our logo printed on the sleeve, but I needed to keep the tattoos that stretched around each of my biceps covered. Tattoos were slowly becoming more acceptable in many workplaces, but why turn off potential customers like this woman unnecessarily?
I already didn’t look like a florist. I would never forget the time a young mother came in with her baby daughter in a stroller. She took one look at the bulging muscles in my arms as I lifted a full watering can and asked with an obvious giggle how I could hold the flowers without crushing them. I just gave her a pink rosebud, told her unloading bags and bags of potting soil kept me in shape - trying not to laugh my ass off. She hung around for at least an hour before buying two arrangements for her home. Now, the story was a family favorite.
