The back design area is partitioned off with a wall that runs behind the checkout counter but holds a large glass window, so we can see out to the store area if we are in the back working on arrangements. I see Stevie in there, fluffing up a large basket of peonies, alstroemeria, and Asiatic lilies. As always, his work is artistically beautiful.
“Hey,” I say as I set my purse and keys down on the back counter.
Stevie lifts his head and gives me a wink. “What are you doing here, kiddo?”
I snicker…that Stevie would call me “kiddo.” He’s a grand total of five years older than I, but at thirty, he does seem a lot wiser to the world, and I lean on him far more than I have a right to. I’ve been working for him at Fleurish for almost six years now, starting during my junior year in college at the University of North Carolina. When I graduated with a degree in business, I had no clue what I wanted to do with my life, so my part-time job to make some extra cash turned into a full-time career at Stevie’s little shop. My degree doesn’t gather dust, though, because while my main duty is floral design, Stevie has had me step in to help with other aspects of the business, such as inventory, bookkeeping, and marketing.
It’s a peaceful existence for me. I make enough money to rent a cute little apartment here in Chapel Hill and indulge my obsession with designer shoes. Past that…my life is pretty simple. I come to work, I go home. Every once in a while, I’ll go out with Stevie when he wants to bring me to some crazy, awesome drag queen show or I’ll go over to Uncle Jim and Aunt Penny’s house to hang out with them for a family dinner or sometimes I’ll go out for a glass of wine with Sutton. But otherwise…my life is without complications or relationships outside of my family and Stevie. Quiet and mellow would describe my existence.
Or…at least it did.
Now I think it’s getting ready to be all kinds of crazy, scary.
“Just restless,” I finally answer his question as I take in his neon-yellow tank top, white denim short shorts that are a little too tight in my opinion, and black Converse high-tops. “Thought I’d come help you a bit tonight.”
“Dive in, girlfriend,” he says as he removes a large peony and replaces the hole with a handful of alstroemeria, stepping back to give the arrangement a critical eye.
I walk over to the computer that sits on a desk on the eastern wall, and with a few taps of my finger I pull up the next order in line. It’s a fresh arrangement order from one of our long-standing customers who is about the sweetest thing ever. She’s been ordering a weekly vase from us for as long as I have been working here.
I stock up on everything I need from the cooler, laying the flowers and greenery out on the design table next to Stevie. He continues picking at the arrangement he’s working on as I grab a cobalt-blue ceramic pot from the supply shelf and a piece of dry foam block. Taking my items over to the large, industrial-size sink, I soak the foam under the faucet and use a small paring knife to cut it down to size to fit in the bottom of the pot, then pour a little water in behind it. Carrying it over to the design table, I take a seat on one of the stools and get to work.
I pick up a handful of mokara orchids and tuck them one by one into the foam base, building my framework first before I start adding some of the greenery. I add in some blue hydrangeas and lavender roses, but the orchids add a touch of delicate softness to the massive arrangement I’m creating.
“That’s stunning. Kind of like me,” Stevie quips with a huge smile as he reviews my work. With an overly dramatic voice, he says, “Miss Conyers is so going to love that arrangement.”
I give a quiet nod and tuck a few more orchids down into the foam base. “I hope so. She deserves something pretty she can smile over.”
Miss Conyers has been battling Lou Gehrig’s disease for the past two years and her health has been failing fast. She told me just a few weeks ago when she stopped by that the flowers make her smile and remember all the beautiful things about this life she lives.
Stevie’s smile goes flat and his eyes turn sympathetic. Walking up to me, he leans down and plants a kiss on the top of my head. “You doing okay?”
I shrug and place the last orchid in the vase before giving it a spin so I can check it out from all angles and make sure there are no holes that need to be filled in. “Just musing about my life.”
“And what a spectacular life you have now, and will have long into the future,” he says with a bright smile and a squeeze to my shoulder.
“You don’t know that,” I say flatly.
Stevie’s eyes fill with tears, and then he wraps his arms around me. Tucking his chin on my shoulder, he whispers. “I do know that. There’s simply no other option.”
“I’m scared,” I admit to him in a whisper, and his arms squeeze me tighter.
I’m scared because I found out two days ago that I have cancer.
Follicular B-cell lymphoma, to be exact.
“The oncologist’s office just called me a little bit ago,” I tell Stevie in a soft voice as I continue to stare at the arrangement in front of me. “I have an appointment at seven o’clock tomorrow. He apparently rearranged his schedule to get me in.”
“I’ll go with you,” Stevie says as he tightens his embrace. “You need someone with you to listen to everything he’s going to tell you. You’ll probably only absorb half of the information.”
“Thanks,” I say with true gratitude as I pick up the finished arrangement and walk it back to the holding cooler for deliveries. “But Sutton said she’d go with me.”
“Hey,” I say as I set my purse and keys down on the back counter.
Stevie lifts his head and gives me a wink. “What are you doing here, kiddo?”
I snicker…that Stevie would call me “kiddo.” He’s a grand total of five years older than I, but at thirty, he does seem a lot wiser to the world, and I lean on him far more than I have a right to. I’ve been working for him at Fleurish for almost six years now, starting during my junior year in college at the University of North Carolina. When I graduated with a degree in business, I had no clue what I wanted to do with my life, so my part-time job to make some extra cash turned into a full-time career at Stevie’s little shop. My degree doesn’t gather dust, though, because while my main duty is floral design, Stevie has had me step in to help with other aspects of the business, such as inventory, bookkeeping, and marketing.
It’s a peaceful existence for me. I make enough money to rent a cute little apartment here in Chapel Hill and indulge my obsession with designer shoes. Past that…my life is pretty simple. I come to work, I go home. Every once in a while, I’ll go out with Stevie when he wants to bring me to some crazy, awesome drag queen show or I’ll go over to Uncle Jim and Aunt Penny’s house to hang out with them for a family dinner or sometimes I’ll go out for a glass of wine with Sutton. But otherwise…my life is without complications or relationships outside of my family and Stevie. Quiet and mellow would describe my existence.
Or…at least it did.
Now I think it’s getting ready to be all kinds of crazy, scary.
“Just restless,” I finally answer his question as I take in his neon-yellow tank top, white denim short shorts that are a little too tight in my opinion, and black Converse high-tops. “Thought I’d come help you a bit tonight.”
“Dive in, girlfriend,” he says as he removes a large peony and replaces the hole with a handful of alstroemeria, stepping back to give the arrangement a critical eye.
I walk over to the computer that sits on a desk on the eastern wall, and with a few taps of my finger I pull up the next order in line. It’s a fresh arrangement order from one of our long-standing customers who is about the sweetest thing ever. She’s been ordering a weekly vase from us for as long as I have been working here.
I stock up on everything I need from the cooler, laying the flowers and greenery out on the design table next to Stevie. He continues picking at the arrangement he’s working on as I grab a cobalt-blue ceramic pot from the supply shelf and a piece of dry foam block. Taking my items over to the large, industrial-size sink, I soak the foam under the faucet and use a small paring knife to cut it down to size to fit in the bottom of the pot, then pour a little water in behind it. Carrying it over to the design table, I take a seat on one of the stools and get to work.
I pick up a handful of mokara orchids and tuck them one by one into the foam base, building my framework first before I start adding some of the greenery. I add in some blue hydrangeas and lavender roses, but the orchids add a touch of delicate softness to the massive arrangement I’m creating.
“That’s stunning. Kind of like me,” Stevie quips with a huge smile as he reviews my work. With an overly dramatic voice, he says, “Miss Conyers is so going to love that arrangement.”
I give a quiet nod and tuck a few more orchids down into the foam base. “I hope so. She deserves something pretty she can smile over.”
Miss Conyers has been battling Lou Gehrig’s disease for the past two years and her health has been failing fast. She told me just a few weeks ago when she stopped by that the flowers make her smile and remember all the beautiful things about this life she lives.
Stevie’s smile goes flat and his eyes turn sympathetic. Walking up to me, he leans down and plants a kiss on the top of my head. “You doing okay?”
I shrug and place the last orchid in the vase before giving it a spin so I can check it out from all angles and make sure there are no holes that need to be filled in. “Just musing about my life.”
“And what a spectacular life you have now, and will have long into the future,” he says with a bright smile and a squeeze to my shoulder.
“You don’t know that,” I say flatly.
Stevie’s eyes fill with tears, and then he wraps his arms around me. Tucking his chin on my shoulder, he whispers. “I do know that. There’s simply no other option.”
“I’m scared,” I admit to him in a whisper, and his arms squeeze me tighter.
I’m scared because I found out two days ago that I have cancer.
Follicular B-cell lymphoma, to be exact.
“The oncologist’s office just called me a little bit ago,” I tell Stevie in a soft voice as I continue to stare at the arrangement in front of me. “I have an appointment at seven o’clock tomorrow. He apparently rearranged his schedule to get me in.”
“I’ll go with you,” Stevie says as he tightens his embrace. “You need someone with you to listen to everything he’s going to tell you. You’ll probably only absorb half of the information.”
“Thanks,” I say with true gratitude as I pick up the finished arrangement and walk it back to the holding cooler for deliveries. “But Sutton said she’d go with me.”
