Page 12 of Late Bloomer
“I’m not going toactuallyfarm the flowers, silly,” I say. At least this part of the plan I’m certain about.
“Then why, may I ask, in the ever-loving hell did you buy a farm?”
“For, uh, the vibes… I guess?”
My dad, Lloyd, groans, then drops his head in his hands, Olivia hovering behind him, the bulging vein in her forehead looking at risk to pop any second.
“You told me I like nature!” I add, pointing between my sisters.
“So?I like wine, that doesn’t mean I impulsively buy a vineyard!” Olivia counters.
“That sounds like a super-fun idea!”
“Opal. No.”
“I’m sorry, but there’s no way this isn’t a scam, right?” Ophelia says, turning to Dad.
He groans again, then lifts his head. “The likelihood of this being valid seems marginal at best.”
My stomach plummets into a different dimension. Scam? No. It couldn’t be. That’s absolutely not possible. I mean, objectively, yes, I understand that internet scams happen. But they happen to elderly people still trying to fire up their Hotmail accounts or Gen X moms on Instagram after a few too many glasses of rosé. They aren’t carried out by older southern ladies who only want the best for their property… right?
“Holy shit, was this a scam?” I screech, fisting my hands in my short pink hair.
“Let me look at the contract and deed,” Dad says, pushing up from his ottoman and heading toward the kitchen island.
With an audible gulp of nerves, I search for the crumpled-up paperwork in my messy purse, trying to smooth it out as I meet Dad in the kitchen.
He sets himself up on one of the barstools, and I perch next to him, tucking my legs to my chest and dropping my chin to my knees. The rest of the family hovers behind us like an anxious cloud.
Dad reads.
And reads.
Andrereads.
After what feels like an eternity of reading what honestly can’t be more than four pages, he pulls off his glasses and sighs.
“Opal, my love,” he says, massaging his wrinkled forehead. “You are incredibly,incrediblylucky that this does seem to be a legitimate contract and deed.”
My mom gasps, and Olivia and Ophelia say something in the vein ofhalle-fucking-lujahin unison.
The instantaneous wave of relief crashing with my adrenaline makes me want to collapse on the kitchen tiles. So I do, crying out all the too-big emotions while clutching a hand to my chest.
“This is easily one of the most unhinged things you’ve ever done,” Ophelia says, nudging my side with her toe.
“I know.”
“Opal, sweetie, what is your plan?” Mom asks, staring down at me with big, worried eyes.
“What makes you think she has one, Mom?” Ophelia says, pinching the bridge of her nose.
I flick her off then turn to my mom. “I guess,” I say, swallowing past the lump in my throat and trying to get my buzzing brain in order, “I’m moving to Asheville. To be an artist.”
And as that fresh, exciting, beautiful idea dances through my mind, swirling down to my chest and ballooning my heart, I smile. This is it. This is the fresh start I need.
Things couldn’t look better.
Chapter 5PEPPER
