Page 99 of Late Bloomer
It’s mind-boggling (and a tiny bit boring) that there are so many awards for flowers. Purest pink rose. And gerbera daisy. And peony. Cut perennials. Cut annuals. Zinnia solid color. Zinnia bicolor (noice). Dahlia, open center, dark or flame blend, variegated or bicolor (again, noice), three blooms, one cultivar. Dahlia, open center, dark or flame blend, variegated or bicolor, three blooms, three cultivars.
Under the table, I google the majority of words in those last two categories and receive little to no clarity.
And through all of these announcements and rounds of applause, my queasiness grows, nervousness pulsing through my joints. Every few minutes, I can feel Pepper’s eyes on me, but I never meet them; the pressure is too intense, too scary. I don’t want to see the hope I planted there as the fear we’re going to lose shrivels all of mine.
“And now, for our biggest award of the evening.” A hush falls over the dining hall and cold sweat prickles across the back of my neck. “The award for best large-scale installation and winner of one hundred thousand dollars goes to…”
Karen pops the seal on the envelope, making a show of reading the name and grinning in open-mouthed excitement. She leans in close to the microphone: “May I Have This Dance!”
They project an image of the wedding scene on the screenbehind Karen, the room erupting in applause as a man and woman yelp in excitement, standing and hugging each other before walking to the stage to collect their trophy.
My heartsinks.
I don’t hear a word of their acceptance speech, the sound of blood rushing in my ears drowning out the noise, my vision going fuzzy as tears gather.
I’m not a gracious loser. Never have been, never will be. Losing fucking sucks—a poignant taunt that your attempt wasn’t good enough. Every insecurity gathers in me, small at first, but gaining size and speed as they rush downhill until it’s an avalanche of self-doubt threatening to take me out at the knees.
I feel one of my sisters put an arm around me, but I shrug it off. I don’t want to be comforted right now. I want to wallow in my misery.
As I turn my face away, my eyes catch Pepper’s across the table. And, somehow, my heart sinks further.
Her lips are parted, the corners ticked down, and eyebrows furrowed as she stares at me.
Unable to take the crushing weight of Pepper’s expression, I push away from the table, tripping over my feet as I speed to the exit. Embarrassment and failure snag my lungs, stopping me in my tracks in the hall. Not only am I a sore loser, but I’m also a moron making a dramatic exit as if any of it matters. As if I matter.
“Opal?”
Pepper’s voice is gasoline on the flames of my messed-upfeelings, every one of her footsteps as she comes toward me an alarm bell blaring that things are about to get so much worse. I wish a trapdoor would open below my feet and swallow me whole. I duck my head, looking to the side as Pepper stops next to me.
“What’s going on? Why did you walk out?”
Words dam up in my throat, emotions building into a swollen knot trying to crack through. I want to be the person who lets out a deep breath, calmly turns to Pepper and talks through it all. I wish I could parse out my feelings, lay them at Pepper’s feet, ask her to throw me a bone as I sort them into something reasonable.
But that’s not me.
Instead, face hot and splotchy, I let out a rude grunt in response, gesturing at the room we vacated, then cross my arms over my chest, staring at Pepper as hurt and embarrassment churns into anger because that’s easier than feeling shitty about myself.
And I hate myself for it. I’m a bundle of too-sharp feelings, tangled into knots, and frustrated beyond reason that I can’t have a normal reaction for once.
Pepper cocks her head to the side as she looks at me, confusion morphing into cold layers of protection. “What?” she finally spits out, a sharp tone to her voice that makes my angry monster of emotions nod in satisfaction.
“We fucking lost, Pepper.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
I scoff. “Well. What do you expect me to say?”
Pepper drags her palm over the crown of her head, smoothing back flyaway hairs, then shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess something a bit more substantial than that.”
“Ha. You first.”
“I mean, obviously it’s a less-than-ideal outcome. Complicates things.”
Her words squeeze my heart to a bitter pulp. I wonder if anything I ever do, ever try, will wind up as anything other than a complicated mess. “Incredible insight. Thank you for clearing that up.”
“Why are you being so mean?” she asks suddenly, shoulders curling as she wraps her arms around her middle. “Are you seriously this upset they didn’t like your design?”
Rage lashes through me. “Wow. Real nice, Pepper. What a source of comfort.”
