Page 158 of Down Bad

“Perhaps all my friends might be interested to know there are better options out there for their floral needs. And oh … I have lots of friends. Too many, actually,” he mumbles. “Let’s keep in touch. Sort out the details in time. Party isn’t for a month or so.”

Suddenly I’m shaking his hand. “That sounds great, Mr. G—”

“Just Joseph.” He takes a step back, giving my store one more looking over. “It was a beautiful lesson you taught my niece, you know. To value things not for their outer beauty … or monetary worth, but for how enriching they are. To seek good qualities in everything. Even an inexpensive filler like waxflower can upstage the world.” He smiles. “Have a lovely day, Mr. Callahan.”

He leaves.

And I’m standing there holding his card, astonished.

Then smiling ear to ear.

“Big gun?” asks Cash between customers when I finally come behind the counter.

I glance down at the card again. “The whole arsenal,” I reply.

Cash pumps a fist in the air.

I take a moment after closing the store later, shut my eyes, let out a sigh of delight, and find myself thinking of my parents for some reason. Their happy faces the day they left on their eternal road trip. The distractedly happy way they sound whenever I can get ahold of them. What they must look like now, wherever they are, wherever they’ve found themselves.

And I recite my mom’s words to myself: “You are blooming.”

You are blooming.

I depart the shop with a light heart, hop in my car, make the short drive home, and pull into my driveway.

Upon getting out of the car, I freeze.

Staring ahead.

Not seeing what I’m seeing.

Him, sitting on my front porch.

Diego, on that top step, right on my porch, right there.

Staring right back at me.

Next to him, a backpack, and a weary-looking potted orchid.

—32—

Diego

I should’ve prepared myself better.

For how cute he’d look, rolling up onto his driveway, popping out of the car, and finding an unexpected delivery at his doorstep.

Me.

But the sight of Wyatt again after all these days apart, seeing him with his cute folded-up sleeves, his fitted work pants, his big, bright, stunned eyes, his parted lips.

“You came back,” he finally says.

“Yeah,” I say back.

Silence.

Birds in the trees.