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She pulled the last curler out. “I called Sally next door, she said she’d be home tonight if you need anything. Maybe you could give them to her as a thank you.”
I tried to hide my grimace. Sally always smelled like heavy perfume and she pinched my cheeks like I was a stupid little kid. I didn’t want to give her flowers.
“You’re going out?”
Mom nodded. “I got a call from the guy I met at the store in Redmond last week. The one I told you about, I think he was a banker or something.” Leaning in toward the mirror, she fluffed the curls, running her fingers through them like she always did. “If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll have a gift for me,” she muttered. “Won’t go very far if he doesn’t.”
I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just stayed quiet, setting the daisies on the counter.
Mom turned, setting a hand on my shoulder and giving me a slightly warmer smile. “Some day, I’ll find the right man, I just know it. And he’ll bring me flowers every week. Maybe this is the one, yeah?”
Slowly, I nodded, because I knew that’s what she wanted me to do. Mom kissed the top of my head and rushed back into her bedroom to finish getting ready.
Ten minutes later, she was gone in a cloud of perfume and a promise she’d be back by nine to put me to bed.
The flowers were still on the counter.
I stared at them for a while, that sandy feeling still in my eyes, no matter how hard I tried to blink it away. Before I could do something stupid, I carefully filled the vase with water, and set the daisies—still wrapped in paper—into the light green glass.
The vase went onto the center of the table, and they looked stupid and small, but I didn’t know how to fix them, so I stomped out of the house and let the door slam behind meso loud that the windows shook. It felt good. Since it was something I could never get away with if Mom was home, I opened the door and slammed it again.
“You know how to fix that if you break it?” a voice from across the street called.
I pinched my eyes shut, heat flooding my cheeks.
Slowly, I turned around and shook my head. “No, sir.”
Mr. Henry was washing his car. “Why don’t you come help me with this?”
With shuffling feet heavy from embarrassment, I crossed the street and picked up the soap bucket without making eye contact.
One of the things I liked most about Mr. Henry was that he never made me talk if I didn’t want to. He just let me help him, and if I felt like talking—which I usually didn’t—he’d listen.
The water in the bucket was cold, but I refused to complain, so I finished soaping up the side and he pulled out the hose to start rinsing it off.
“Saw your mom leave,” he said.
I nodded. “Got a date for tonight.”
Henry gave me a shrewd look. “You buy her those flowers you were carrying home earlier?”
Thinking about that pathetic bunch of plants in the too-big vase, I had to swallow really hard before I could answer, but I nodded with my eyes locked on the side of the car. “Waste of money. She said she wants some from a husband or something.” I dumped the sponge into the bucket, and suds splashed out onto my tennis shoes. “That’s all she ever cares about,” I said, anger creeping into my voice now. “Wants someone to buy her things and get her pretty presents, and I hate it.”
Henry sighed, crouching down so I had no choice but to look at him.
“Some people think finding love will solve all theirproblems.” His face was slightly wrinkled, and I wondered again how old he was. “It won’t though. You just take your problems into that relationship with you. There’s no person in the world who can carry all that weight, it’s up to your mom to figure out why she hates being alone so much.”
“I love being alone,” I stated, my chin lifting in a dare. “I don’t need anyone to fix me.”
He smiled. “So do I, kid. Why do you think I never married? Being a lone wolf doesn’t suit everyone, you know. But it suits me just fine.”
A lone wolf.
“You probably never have to buy anyone flowers, do you?” I asked.
The laugh he let out was quiet, but real. He never pretended I was funny, or gave me those fake-smiles that some adults did with kids.
“No, I don’t.”
