Page 6 of Lovesick
Someone. Not something, someone. Someone had put me into this festive mood, and I would see that person again tomorrow.
Chapter Four
Marty
Fat Tuesday might not have been popular with the people buying flowers in Lafayette, but Ash Wednesday apparently was. The shop was considerably busier than the day before, and it kept me on my toes answering the phone, handling the register, answering questions and putting restocking notices into the system when the store’s inventory started to run low. My dad usually handled bringing the product from the nursery to the shop to restock - when he was sober. Otherwise, it fell on me.
Hopefully, not today, though. “Hey, Momma,” I started in that tone that implied I had more to say.
She glanced at me but didn’t pause while on her way to grab something from below the counter. “Yes?”
“I know we’re kinda busy today, but can you cover me for an hour or two? Maggie - you remember Maggie Fontenot, right? Maggie is in town, and we…ran into each other.”
My mother didn’t need to know quite how literal that statement was. I had a friend who worked in a body shop, and I had taken the delivery truck over to him earlier in the morning to get it touched up before bringing it back here. The job he had done wasn’t perfect. And I hadn’t expected it to be, especially since he had limited time, and he had insisted on doing it for free. Now, thank God, it certainly didn’t look like the vehicle had been in a wreck.
“Of course I remember Maggie. Her mother and I had lunch last week, remember?”
“It was dinner,” I reminded her, “and yes, I remember. I was just checking because she’s lived in New Orleans for four years. Anyway, I ran into her, and we planned to go out for lunch to catch up.”
“And you need a two-hour lunch break?” Whether she was in a great mood or a bad one, my mother might say something like that, but I could tell by her tone that she was feeling receptive right now.
“Time to drive there and back, eat and talk,” I pointed out. “I’ll bring you takeout?”
“You win,” my mother said promptly. When she wasn’t so busy with the shop that she just went home and crashed, my mother loved to cook - and she also loved to eat.
“You’re the best.” I hugged her, ignoring the sideways look from a customer who had just walked up to the counter. “I’ll call you before I leave and read you the menu,” I promised.
“You’d better. Come back here without my lunch, and you’re not leaving this shop for a week.” Since I wasn’t sure whether to believe that threat or not, I would just have to make sure I didn’t forget.
I helped one last customer - helped as in I explained patiently three times that our red orchids weren’t in bloom yet. But he kept insisting his wife must have a red orchid for her birthday because the one she had recently died.
Finally, I got him sold on a flawless, perfectly acceptable purple orchid instead. He brought it up to the register, watched as I rang it up - and tried to argue that I had promised him a discount for not having a red one today.
Then, he asked to speak to my manager. “Momma?” I called loudly. She poked her head out of the back room. “I need a manager.” She stepped out and raised her eyebrows. “How can I help you?” The look on the guy’s face was worth a thousand undeserved discounts.
I subtly slipped my wallet, phone and keys into my pockets while I stood around and waited for my “manager” to handle the customer. My mom knew me well, and she didn’t ask for my side of the story. She just waited patiently for the customer to finish his spiel, and then reiterated politely that we could not offer him a discount at this time.
At some point, she shooed me away with a pointed stare that said: “I’ll handle this and the food you bring me had better be good.” I breathed a sigh of relief as I stepped out of the shop into Lafayette’s spring morning breeze. I would take any sort of break I could get from dealing with entitled customers, and I had a date to get to.
Whoa there,I cautioned the wayward thought. This wasn’t a date. It was a lunch between two friends who hadn’t seen each other in a while and had a lot to talk about and catch up on. Nothing had changed between us. Nothing could change between us. She lived in New Orleans, I lived here in Lafayette. She would be a nurse, and I would own a florist business. There was no overlap anywhere in our lives.
I turned the key in my truck aggressively. If I kept telling myself that, I might stop regretting that it was true.
While I waited for the breeze to waft away the sun-heated air in the truck, I called Maggie. “Hey, still want to get lunch?” I asked.
“Sure. Where? And when?”
I winced at myself in the rearview mirror. I probably should have called her earlier. “Wing’s Grill? Right now?”
“Oh, I forgot about that place. I wonder if they’ll remember us?” Maggie asked.
“They definitely remember me. I’m still in and out of there all the time. And they can’t possibly forget that time you managed to spill two drinks during one meal.”
“Oh, yeah. And the mess of napkins I left all over the table and the floor because I tried to clean it up myself?”
“That too.” We shared a chuckle. “I’m on my way. I’ll get us a table.”
I wasn’t surprised Maggie remembered that incident with the iced teas - she’d been awfully embarrassed about the whole thing at the time and left an extra-large tip for the waitress. I had tried not to laugh, telling her that plenty of people spilled their drinks.
