Page 6 of The Masks We Burn

“Mom, you’re—”

“The best. Yes, yes, I know. Now be safe driving home. I love you, son.”

“Love you, Ma.”

She hangs up first, and silence fills the truck, forcing me to listen to the hums of my engine. I may not know what the hell I’m going to do after graduation, but for now, I’ll embrace this freedom and hold on for dear life.

I can only hope it lasts.

CHAPTER THREE

I’m not a fan of roses. Honestly, they stink, have the worst little thorns, and are often overpriced. Kind of like the designer version of flowers. They aren’t especially prettier than others and don’t last longer, but with the name comes a higher price tag. They also happen to be the flower of choice by my mother formyfuture wedding.

Ha, yeah right. I’ll sell my left tit if it means I don’t have to get married just to live a comfortable life for the next couple of years. I mean really, that’s all I need. Just some time to figure out what the hell it is I want to do with myself, and make my own living without having to eat Ramen every day.

Shit, I sound shallow. I’m not trying to be, I just don’t want to go back to the days when I only ate decent food when I went to school. Or how we had to ration a pot of fucking spaghetti to last us for a couple of days, waiting for the next time Dad got paid. Don’t get me started on when it rained, or we encounteredanytype of weather outside of sixty-five and sunny.

I cringe at the memories of my childhood, the thoughts sliding down my spine, coating my nerves in the taste of what life was like back then. To the time before we had enough money to know what non-stale bread tasted like.

“So, no?” Lily asks from behind a bushel of yellow roses.

We’ve come to a large florist just outside of the city with greenhouses that could pack an entire stadium. They’ve got nearly every variety of flower you can think of, but somehow, we’ve managed to find ourselves in rows of picturesque roses. And they aren’t even the nicer ones like Groundcover or Polyantha, but just plain, grocery store ones.

I shrug. “What about camellias? They signify perfect love.”

Lily laughs. “Flower connoisseur, are you? That’s new.”

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I pick a faint petal off a dying flower and twirl it absentmindedly between my fingers. Though it’s from a yellow plant, the color nearly matches my snow leopard manicure. I don’t want to tell her the truth, how I’ve learned more about flowers from the plethora of pamphlets my mother sent than I have in my earth science class. Not only will she go full-on therapist mode, I know she’ll try and offer for me to stay with her after college till I get on my own two feet.

That’s just the type of friend she is. I remember when my parents suddenly pulled us from the back alleys of California and moved us to Washington when I reached the eighth grade. It always seemed shady as hell how fast we were plucked from poverty, but I didn’t care. I finally had money, but it didn’t make me any less awkward, and everyone could tell I didn’t belong in the cashmere sweater covering my frail shoulders. Lily walked by my lone table at lunch, complimented me, then sat down as if we ate together every day. After that, we were inseparable.

Even still, I don’t want to shack up with newlyweds. I mean, how fucking rude is that? Also, I can’t stand the thought of mooching off my friends. Now, my parents’ money? Oh, I worked for every dollar I squeeze out of them. Any child subjected to the shit I was would deserve it.

I sigh, tossing the petal to the moist dirt beneath the bush and decide to lie. “I did some research since I knew we’d be coming here, ass.”

She giggles again, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “Lo siento. Geesh. Alright. Take me to these camellias.”

I watch anime occasionally… okay, I’m kind of a secret fanatic, and have learned quite a bit from it. One pretty cool thing was, while the camellia flower represents love, it was also popular among warriors to symbolize a noble death.

I don’t tell her that part though, and instead, pull out the map a worker gave us to navigate to the greenhouse I’m searching for.

Inside, it takes only a second to find the flower, and I stifle a small gasp that Lily doesn’t. We aren’t being dramatic. They’re even more beautiful in person.

Three varieties stand strong next to each other. White, red, and soft pink petals wrap around one another in multiple layers. They’re packed in tight, the greenery poking through slight spaces already giving the illusion of what a bouquet will look like.

“Perfect,” Lily breathes, stepping beside me to touch one that is the prettiest shade of pastel pink.

“I’ve always wanted to dye my hair this color,” I murmur the random comment more to myself than Lily, but she nods.

“You should.”

I scoff. “And hear my mom’s mouth? No thanks.”

Lily turns and faces me, brushing her soft brown waves over her shoulder. “Umm, number one, it’s literally two shades away from the blonde you have. And two, do it now before we graduate and are sent off in the real world where weactuallycan’t.”

Trying my best to hide a grimace, and not think of graduation, I poke my nose into one of the white camellias. “But what about the wedding? Wouldn’t I stick out like a sore thumb?”

She circles something on the pamphlet and huffs a laugh. “Bitch, you’re fine and all, but believe me, wedding day? No one will even bat an eye at some pink hair.” Lily nudges me on the shoulder, a soft smile on her face. “I really think those are just excuses because you’re a little scared to do something out of your…”

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