Page 12 of My Sweetest Agony
Sweat trickles down my temple, and I swipe it away with my forearm, trying not to smear soil across my face in the process. Though, that’s not an unusual look for me most days, since I’d rather spend them here than in the main store area behind the counter.
Working in the greenhouse this time of year can be stifling, but with certain plants—like this orchid—it’s a necessary evil. And I’ll happily suffer in here rather than do it alone at home like I have been for weeks.
Marlo seems unbothered by the heat and humidity, sitting in the plastic chair with her booted feet kicked up on the planting table, popping Cool Ranch Doritos into her mouth as she watches me work on repotting.
I cast a pointed look in her direction. “You could help, you know?”
She scowls at me and crunches on another chip. “I could, but you’re the one who said you needed to come into work this week. That you needed the distraction and to get things back to normal. I’m also on my break, which I am legally entitled to.”
One of her blond brows rises haughtily at me.
Goddamn her for actually listening to me.
And for being right about the break.
I point a dirty-gloved finger at her. “You’re right. I did say that, but that was not an invitation for you to slack off and do zero work now that I’m back. Remember that.”
She smirks victoriously and returns to her snack, rocking on the rear feet of the chair as she scans the greenhouse and the few customers milling around the front portion where we keep the plants and flowers for sale.
I roll my eyes and get back to working on loosening the roots. Hopefully, Gladys will do better in this larger pot. The thought of potentially losing Mom’s last orchid is too much to even consider right now.
No more death.
Even if Gladys is only a plant.
At almost fifteen years old, she’s reaching the end of her lifespan. I don’t think Nonni or Mom ever got one to last longer than this, and even almost a decade after Nonni passed and five years since Mom did, this last tangible piece of their lives and their passion for this place has come to mean more to me than it probably should.
If it finally dies, I don’t think I could handle it.
As it is, I’m barely getting out of bed. Barely getting dressed. Barely making it in to the shop. And I’ve mostly kept myself tucked away in the greenhouse or back rooms of the store, avoiding having to deal with customers because I can’t yet.
The tears seem to come whenever they want to. Often, when I’m not even thinking about Drew. I’ll just find a wet drop on my hand and realize I’m crying again. And I do not want to do that in front of a customer.
Bad for business.
Many have been coming here for all their gardening needs for decades, and over the years, they have grown accustomed to Nonni and Mom’s bright, sunny dispositions.
The way mine used to be.
Before.
Back when I enjoyed this. Enjoyed work. Enjoyed laughter and food and good wine. Enjoyed life.
None of it feels right anymore.
Like I shouldn’t be living every day while Drew just…isn’t.
When I know I’m going to return home to that empty house where his big, vibrant personality used to take up so much space.
Even now, the sound of customers chatting outside on the main sales floor and wandering between the aisles in the greenhouse makes me shift restlessly on my feet.
Crawling back under the covers and hiding away from the world that seems to want to hurt me so badly still feels like a really good alternative. Even though I’ve forced myself to be here, to try to take baby steps forward since that night.
Something about Cam’s sudden arrival and abrupt departure left me reeling in a way that left me two choices—either I was going to allow myself to fully tip over that edge into the bottomless black abyss, or I was going to start working my way toward more stable ground.
I hope I made the right choice…
Marlo starts rocking back and forth, still on the rear two legs of the chair, completely unbothered by the noise and chaos that is Buds & Blooms in the early summer.
