Page 69 of For My Finale
She’d barely slept the night before, tossing and turning and thinking about Lilah. About the way she’d stood in Blossom’s kitchen, the determined set of her jaw as she said she was leaving. And Blossom had let her go.
She hadn’t tried to stop her, hadn’t begged her to stay. It wasn’t because she hadn’t wanted to. It was because she’d known that it wouldn’t make any difference. Lilah had decided.
Blossom was no fool. She knew that Lilah was trying to protect her from the kind of life she lived, she knew that Lilah still thought that someone here had leaked her story to the press. But there was more. Lilah hadn’t found the meaning that she was looking for here. And without that, she’d never stay.
The bell above the door jingled, snapping her out of herdaze. Arty walked in, rubbing his hands together and surveying her with a keen eye as he approached the counter. He knew. Everyone would know by this point.
“Alright there, Blossom?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she said automatically, even though they both knew it was a lie.
Arty hummed to himself, then decided not to pursue the line of conversation. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “I came by to talk about the bookshelves. You said you wanted the back wall and far wall covered with built-ins, so I figured I’d stop in and take some measurements, see what we’re working with.”
Blossom blinked at him, her mind struggling to process his words. “Right. Bookshelves.” She frowned. “I don’t know, Arty. Maybe later.”
Arty studied her for a long moment before setting his paper down. He sighed. “Look, Bloss, I know it hurts,” he said, his voice a little softer. “But famous people… they’re different. I should know, I spent enough time around them down in London. They have to be different, to deal with it all. The attention, the pressure. You can’t take all this so personally.”
Blossom shook her head. “Lilah wasn’t like that.”
Arty sat down on a counter stool. “She left you, Bloss.”
“She did what she had to do,” said Blossom, her voice quiet but firm.
Arty didn’t look convinced. “Do you really believe that?”
Blossom opened her mouth, but no answer came out. Because she didn’t know. She wanted to believe it. She wanted to believe that Lilah had gone because she felt like she had no choice, not because she’d just chosen to go.
The bell over the door went off again, and Daisy walked in, her arms full of boxes of tissues and blocks of chocolate. “You poor thing,” she said, dumping everything down on the counter. “I thought you might need some emergency supplies.”
Blossom gave her a weak smile. “It’s a nice thought, Daze, but I’m not sure even that much chocolate is going to fix all this.”
“It can’t hurt,” said Daisy.
“Don’t think chocolate hurts anything,” said Arty, opening up a bar and breaking a piece off. “You should at least try, Bloss.”
“And have a cry,” Daisy said, handing her a box of tissues. “Crying helps. It’s cathartic.”
“I’m not sure that’s the way to go about things,” Blossom said.
“Has she been like this all morning?” Daisy said, looking over at Arty.
“Pretty much,” said Arty. “In denial probably.”
“Um, I am still here, you know,” said Blossom.
Before either Daisy or Arty could respond, the bell went off yet again, and this time Gloria swept in, as dramatic as ever. She threw her hands up in the air and collapsed onto a stool.
“Well, this is a disaster,” she declared. “An absolute catastrophe.”
Blossom groaned. This was the last thing she needed. “What now?”
Gloria gave her an incredulous look. “What now? Lilah’s gone, that’s what!”
“I know,” said Blossom. “But please don’t give me any more chocolate and I really don’t feel like crying right now.”
“Well you should,” Gloria said. “Because without Lilah here, who’s going to direct the play?”
Blossom blinked. She hadn’t thought about that. “Maybe we don’t do the play?” she suggested.
