of course, it’s so unfortunate that my daughter couldn’t come with me today.”
Samuel nodded. “Not a problem. As long as the two of you have talked and are on the same page, it should be fine. And we can show her what we come up with and alter it if we need to. Nothing is set in stone—this is a work in progress.”
Sally Lemons was right—Samuel was amazing. Weezy loved him right away, and the way he knew flowers, oh! He was a wonder. All she had to say was “those little round green ones,” and he said, “Kermit flowers.” They talked about bachelor’s buttons and hydrangeas, lisianthus, and pincushion proteas. He knew the name of every flower, could describe the textures and colors so vividly. A couple of times, he went into the refrigerator and came out holding samples. He had flowers in every shape and size; he had green, and orange, and ivory. He talked about pairing textures and tones to complement each other. He agreed with her on the flowers she felt were a little tired (roses) and the ones that were timeless and elegant (lilies).
“Now, there’s one more thing I’d like to show you,” he said. “When the guests walk in, I like to give them a Wow!” He gave her some jazz hands when he said this. “One of my favorite things to do is a tall vase with monochromatic gerbera daisies, maybe in a dark orange, surrounded by a spray of tall grass. Now, it’s a little pricey, so don’t feel pressured. I just wanted to throw it out there.”
Samuel opened a photo album and pointed to a picture of the arrangement he just described. “It’s fantastic,” Weezy whispered.
On the ride home, Weezy’s flower high wore off. She got more deflated as she drove. What was she doing? How could she not have anything better to do with her free time than to have a fake meeting with a florist to plan a fake wedding? What was the matter with her?
Weezy thought of her mother, Bets, and how committed she was to attending daily mass. Weezy was almost jealous of her. Not because she herself wanted to actually go to daily mass (she didn’t, and anyway, if she did she could just go) but because it was an anchor in Bets’s day. Every morning she woke up and met her friend at the church at seven thirty, sometimes getting there a little early to say the rosary together. Afterward, they walked down the block to a little bakery and got donuts and coffee. It was simple, but it seemed nice to have an activity like that every day.
There was nothing worse than feeling bored and restless at the same time. Maureen could always find something to fill her time, but Weezy always felt like there was something else she should be doing, even if everything was marked off her list. Maureen and Bets both loved those cheap Harlequin romance novels, and every so often they’d exchange grocery bags full of them, passing the overflowing bags to one another. Weezy tried to read them, but she just didn’t get it. They were all the same. Why waste your time reading something that was just going to be thrown into a bag when it was done, and confused with the rest of the bunch? There was nothing special about any of them; you knew what the ending was before you even started.
She drove home slowly and pulled into the driveway feeling very low. When she opened the door, she smelled garlic and onions cooking. Claire’s head popped out of the kitchen. “Hi, Mom. I’m making dinner. Hope you didn’t have anything planned. I tried to call you, but your phone was off.”
Weezy walked toward the kitchen. “That sounds great,” she said. “I’m pooped.”
“I’m making sausage and peppers and some pasta thing to go along with it.”
“Mmm,” Weezy said. She smiled and sat down in a kitchen chair. “Do you need help?”
“No, I’m good. Where were you? Your phone kept going right to your voice mail.”
“I had some meetings. How was work?”
“Fine,” Claire said. “The same. Pretty boring.”
Claire had announced that she wanted something to do, a job, but she didn’t care what it was. This disturbed Weezy. She suggested that Claire look at grad school programs or research some nonprofits here, but Claire wouldn’t hear of it.
“I just want a job,” she’d insisted. “Just a job. I don’t care if it’s boring or what it is.”
Weezy