Page 9 of When Wildflowers Bloom

Veda stares at me blankly, blinking.

“And I like to take notes on likes, dislikes, medications, any diet aversions. I’m happy to cook…” My voice trails off as I look through the open space of the combined living room and kitchen, spotting a box of vanilla wafer cookies on her kitchen table. Processed food, that means I’ll be bringing groceries.Noted.

I take a breath and smile again, clapping my hands together as I lower myself to sit on the purple velvet couch across from them. “Where would you like to start?”

Then we sit in a room of silence, blinking and breathing, that goes on for an eternity. I don’t look at Bo, but I know he’s staring at me while Veda stares at the table of papers and sticky notes.

“How about I get us some tea?” she finally asks. “Then we can go through all of this.”

I swallow my anxiety. There’s no doubt the tea isn’t organic based on the box of cookies. After the beer I had last night, andthat disgusting triple sec, I can’t just put whatever I want in my body. I might as well drink a glass of melted down metals straight!

Her eyes narrow in my pause, turning almost into two little slits that have me squirming. Her beautiful face is now carved to a near point—a hungry hawk assessing its prey.

“Tea sounds great.” My voice is shaky. “I can get it, if you’d like.”

She’s already standing. “I’m slowing down, not dead!” she snaps with a glare before walking out of the room.

When I hear her banging around in the kitchen, the weight of being alone in this weird-smelling room with Bo nearly pulls me through the wide-planked wooden floor beneath my feet.

“Birdie, huh?” he asks, tongue in cheek.

I close my eyes and take a deep inhale before blowing it out, letting myself look at him. In this moment, I’m living two separate lives. One of them paradise, the other hell, and I don’t know how to tell them apart.He’s here!At the same time.He’s. Here.

In the light of day, Bo looks the same as he did in the neon lights of last night but amplified. His eyes that were dark last night are now brown with flecks of gold, one with a freckle beneath. His hair and beard are longer than I thought—almost like they need a trim—but somehow, they suit him. While his T-shirt clings to his chest for dear life, much like I did last night, the arms I had considered toned are now clearly muscular. Skin covered cords reaching down to his hands. Hands with knuckles which I now see are covered in faded pink and white scars.

“Please, Bo.” My plea is barely above a whisper. “Don’t.”

His jaw tenses, toothpick still on his lips, as he stares at me in a way that strips me bare. As if he knows I have the kind of life where I need to pretend to be someone else but can’t talk about it.

Then Veda’s back, saving me with a glass of iced tea I don’t want to drink. When it’s in my hands, I look around the table I’ve covered with papers for space to set the glass, but it doesn’t exist. I settle on just holding it while repeatedly crossing and uncrossing my legs.

It’s like when Bo opened the front door a thick poisonous fog rolled out that’s paralyzed my ability to speak or think in complete sentences.

We are sitting around the coffee table covered in all my papers and lists and plans, and for the life of me, I’ve got no words.

“Well, Bo this is your big idea, why don’t you ask what you want to ask,” Veda huffs, cradling a glass of iced tea that rattles softly as her hand trembles and her twisted fingers work to maintain a grip on it.

He looks at her. “Gran, you act like I’m putting you in prison.” His eyes flick to me. “I can’t be here as much as I want—I try to stop by in the evenings after work, and I see her on the weekends, but I know there’s a lot to do around here and she needs help”—his eyes cut back to her—“even if she won’t admit it.”

She huffs again, and he shakes his head before looking back at me.

“Why don’t you tell us about yourself,” he says from his relaxed posture on the chair across from me. He’s the epitome of cool, wearing scuffed up work boots, faded jeans, and a plain T-shirt.His legs spread wide as he sits back and one arm drapes over the back of the chair.

He’s not touching me, not even close, but he might as well be sitting on my lap and tying a plastic bag around my head with how suffocating he is.

I sit up straight, clear my throat, and feign composure. “Well, I started Forever Fun seven years ago after nearly eight years working for the park district as the senior events coordinator. I loved my job but wanted more one-on-one time with the people I was working with. I have regular clients I visit, and sometimes we go on group day trips.” I hand them each a stapled packet of papers from the table without making eye contact. “Here’s a list of references if you’d like to call any of them, and some sample schedules I have with my other clients. I know you requested three days a week—another client I had just relocated, so I have Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays available.” I pause, swallowing through the dryness of my throat, then continue. “I’m prompt, hardworking, and fun to be around. I have no problem helping with housework or playing games. I like to cook, and use all organic ingredients, and I’m happy to clean—with nontoxic products of course.” The only person who laughs is me. “I drive a minivan.” My voice cracks when Bo poorly covers a smile that shows his dimples. “…for ease of entry.” Heat crawls up my neck as soon as the words leave my mouth. “So I can take you on errands or any kinds of doctor’s appointments as needed. And I’m first-aid and CPR certified.” After stumbling through my resume, I smile.

The only sound is Bo flipping through the papers too fast to be reading anything.

“Bah!” Veda huffs. “Bo, I don’t need this.” There’s desperation in her voice as she looks at him, tossing her papers on the other stacks. “I can make my own junk food, run my own errands, and clean with my own toxic chemicals!” Her palms and twisted fingers raise in outrage.

Tension knits Bo’s forehead when he looks at her, turmoil in his eyes. “Gran, please.” Then to me, “But she has a point. I read all that on your website before I submitted the application. Maybe not about the minivan…” He tilts his head slightly, lips twitching. “But who areyou? If I’m trusting someone to come here three days a week and deal with this battle-ax, I need more than that. I mean, you could be Pam Beesly from the Rockies for all I know.” He leans forward in his seat and props his elbows on his knees, a smile curling his lips.

My cheeks heat—again—at the reference. I clear my throat. “Of course. Right. Well, what would you like to know?”

“Why aren’t you drinking the tea?” Veda shouts before Bo can ask anything.

Ugh. I forgot about the tea. I cringe, eyeing the glass of amber-colored toxins with a wedge of lemon on the rim in my hands. I have to drink it. It won’t be the end of the world. I’ll take some activated charcoal when I get home to purge the poison from my body, and it doesn’t have to be a big deal. My body will never know the difference. At least, this is what I tell myself as I take the first sip.

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