Page 2 of Bloom and Burn
“I can stop by and help you close—”
“Mom. Seriously, I got this. And if I need help, I’ll hire an assistant. This is my shop, so stop trying to run it!”
She bites on her lip, evidently not happy with my comment. “I only want the best for you, Ryan. Running a business is not easy. I want to help.”
It’s more a case of her having control issues. If only she didn’t and considered my idea of expanding the business beyond just a flower shop, I’d be running a goddamn garden center by now.
“I can do this. Can’t you just trust me?”
I’m picking a fight. I know I shouldn’t, but today has been stressful enough as is without her nagging and doubting me.
“Maybe this was a mistake…”
Ugh, sometimes I just can’t with her!
We enter a bit of an argument because she’s not willing to back out. Eventually, she leaves, but even though I am finally on my own without her supervising my every move, my mood has been soiled.
“Ugh. I’m so over this. Can’t she just let me do this my way?” I clap my cheeks and reenter my shop. “Focuson the good. Today is your big day. The Blooming Orchid is yours.”
With renewed enthusiasm, I shuffle over to the flower bar and grab some yellow and purple irises which I mix together with white lupine into simple but pretty bouquets. The truth is that the Blooming Orchid is one of the oldest businesses in this part of Oregon, with a history dating back to my great grandparents. Over the years, we’ve had a steady flow of flower enthusiasts visit us from all over this and the neighboring states, so I kind of get where mom is coming from.
But being established doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to expand or change or improve. It is what I want to do, eventually, so I can breathe new life into our little shop.
Ahem. Correction.Mylittle shop and future garden-center-to-be. Because that’s happening whether or not mom likes it.
I love flowers, but why love only them when you can love all other plants, too? I peek at the rooftop gardening book. I am so excited to kick off some of the new ventures I want to try, like the balcony gardening workshops for the city crowd so they can incorporate the extra space they have. I’m confident it will be popular with the office workers. If my mom heard, she’d laugh at me. Or scold me. Or both, and then ban me from ever setting foot in the Blooming Orchid again.
With a pang of annoyance, I remember her words when I first brought up my idea about transforming the flower shop into a garden center. It was right after I graduated high school.
“Oh, Ryan, the Blooming Orchid has always been a flower shop—one of the best in the whole region! It will stay thatway. Flowers are what we are known for, what we love and what people love us for.”
She ignored all the data I had collected, the profit estimations, the growth. Just because of how stubborn she is. And then she gave me that look, the one with the slanted eyebrows and jutted out chin which screams ‘I’m disappointed in you just for suggesting something so outrageous’.
I shudder at the memory and shut it down, not needing that kind of angst on my special day. The truth of the matter is that I am in charge now, and once things settle down, I’m going to do what I want. A confrontation with my mom is unavoidable, but I can postpone it for a couple more months. This way I will have proof that I know what I am doing, so she will have a harder time guilting me into doing things her way. It’s a genius plan, really. Good job me.
Putting aside my drama for later, I focus on the tasks at hand. There are many of them, but I push forward, arranging flowers, taking orders, sorting out deliveries. There is a stream of clients throughout the afternoon, though it’s nothing as crazy as the morning rush, so I get a lot of stuff done and move onto repotting some of the bulbs into bigger containers.
Just as I get into it, the work phone rings. I pause my playlist and jog over to the counter where I left the device, my heart beating fast and wild.
“Hello. This Ryan at the Blooming Orchid. How can I help you?”
“Hi, dear. It’s mom.”
It takes me all the willpower I have in me not to groan or pull my hair out. Are you kidding me? What does she want now?
“What is it, mom? I’m kind of busy.”
“Oh, good, good. Let me know if you need help.”
I rub my forehead, feeling the start of a headache. “I don’t. Why are you calling?”
“Right, yeah. I just remembered something. I scribbled down some arrangement ideas in the notebook I keep in the second drawer. They would go well with the décor the town hall will be putting up, so please use those.”
Um, how about no? I had my own vision for the festival. But of course, I can’t say that or she’ll nag me until I agree. We even discussed it, and she said she won’t butt in, but I guess she’s conveniently forgotten that little detail.
Closing my eyes, I exhale deeply. I also make sure to mask the sound by overdoing a paper fold. “I thought we agreed I’ll design those myself. I even promised to use the ceramic bucket things…”
“Yes, but this is your first year being in charge, so it’s better to play it safe, okay? Just follow the instructions I left you. Love you.”
