Page 66 of Wicked & Wildflower

“Dahlia, do you have any formal culinary experience? You’re an incredible baker,” August says.

“Oh, thank you.” Dahlia blushes, and it kind of enrages me. I know he didn’t mean anything by it other than a genuine compliment, but I don’t like the thought of anyone else making her blush like that. “I don’t. I just got into it when I was pregnant, and it has been a hobby ever since.”

He nods thoughtfully. “You could’ve fooled me.” He takes another bite of the Boston Cream pie and points his fork at me. “You know what would be good for one of the empty suites on the boardwalk? A cafe. A coffee shop with an ocean view? It would bring so much traffic to the area and make a fortune.”

“You know, that’s not a bad idea. I think a lot of people were wary about replacing Sweet Rue’s after Ruby passed, but there is definitely a demand for that.”

“I think a chain would be a terrible idea, but another small business? It could work. Maybe we could even contact her kids and see if they have any of her old recipes on hand that could be incorporated, maybe as a way to honor her?”

Leo rounds the corner at that moment, snapping his fingers at us. “You’re fucking brilliant, Augustus.” He nods toward me. “We need to get with Scarlett and talk about this idea.”

“Why don’t you do that in the office when you return to work? You’re shouting, and we’ve got a sleeping child at the table.” Dahlia laughs quietly.

I look down at the strawberry blonde sprawled out next to me. “That can’t be comfortable for her. Do you want me to carry her up to bed for you?”

She smiles at me with enough gratitude to bring me to my goddamn knees. “Yeah, maybe. We can wait until everyone leaves, though.”

“Speaking of, I should probably head out,” August says.

“Oh, no. I wasn’t suggesting—” Dahlia starts.

“No, I know.” He smiles. “It is late though, and I’ve got to open the shop in the morning.” To my surprise, August hugs both Dahlia and me.

He stands from the table and stalks into the kitchen. I hear him say his goodbyes to my parents, along with Leo and Darby, who’re still boxing up all the leftovers. When he returns, hands full of Tupperware, Darby’s with him. She walks him to the door and hugs him again as he leaves.

As softly as possible, Dahlia helps me lift Lou into my arms, and she hardly stirs. I’m pretty sure she ate way more dessert than she let on and has fallen into some kind of sugar coma. She’s completely limp as I carry her bridal style up the stairs. Dahlia navigates me to her bedroom. I slowly lay her down in her bed, and I know I should probably leave, but I can’t.

Instead, I watch from the doorway as Dahlia settles her in and covers her with blankets. She kisses the top of her head, sitting at the edge of Lou’s mattress for a prolonged moment, stroking her hair.

I can hear my parents downstairs saying their farewells. I can hear the television shut off, the glow of the lights on the staircase dimming. The night has ended, and that means it’s my turn to leave too, to go back to my quiet townhouse on Pacific Street. Except the quiet I used to find peaceful only feels lonely now. An empty house feels isolated, and all I want to do is stay here. I tell myself it’s because today is a holiday and I want to prolongthe time with my family, but as I watch Dahlia whisper into her daughter’s ear, I know it’s simply because I don’t want any of these moments with her—with them—to end.

22

Wildflower

Guess You’re All Losers, Then.

Staring at the galaxyprojector on my desk, I quickly realize that my shit excuse for parents really know nothing about their granddaughter at all.

In the newest round of whatever game my father’s playing, he mailed Lou a Christmas gift. It arrived yesterday afternoon, and I quickly stashed it in my car before she got her hands on it and saw who it was from.

A card in the box stated it was a gift to “help her sleep at night”, whatever the fuck that means. The most cynical parts of me think it’s some kind of message, but what that message may be, I have no idea. What I do know is that Lou has never needed a nightlight. She can’t sleep in anything but pitch black and total silence. She’s also afraid of outer space and has a deep fear of aliens. This thing would scare the shit out of her, and you’d think that being a part of her daily life up until six months ago, my parents would’ve caught onto that.

I don’t know if they’re clueless or cruel, but either way, this thing has got to go. I brought it with me this morning to drop in the toy donation bin outside Heathen’s when I leave.

My father texted me not long ago asking if I’d received the gift, and I told myself I would call him to get to the bottom of whatever fucking game he’s playing. Thus far, I’ve not had the courage, but I’ve got to leave in an hour to pick Lou up from school early, and I’d rather this not be hanging over my head all afternoon.

Taking a deep breath and summoning all my strength, I pull up my father’s contact and press call. He answers on the first ring, not bothering to greet me, cutting straight to the chase. “Dahlia, I assume you received the Christmas gift for my granddaughter?”

“Yep,” I drawl. “Guess this is the year we’re pushing her to get over her fear of the solar system, then?”

“What are you talking about?”

I roll my eyes, leaning back in my chair. “She has been scared of outer space her entire life. And she doesn’t use a nightlight. If anything, this gift would traumatize her, not help her sleep better.”

He’s quiet for a moment, as if this information genuinely caught him off guard. “Your mother bought it.”Of course, he’d blame my mom.“She researched good gifts for a nine-year-old girl.” He clears his throat. “Maybe if we knew her better, had the opportunity to actually speak with her once in a—”

“I’m going to stop you there,” I say. “You had nine and a half years to get to know her, and you never tried. You wanted nothing to do with her unless you needed to play the role of grandparent to further either your social or economical standing in Crestwell. You could’ve used any of those times to ask her questions about herself, gauge her interests.”

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