6
Abigail
Five international phone calls from Momma and Daddy just to check in and chat, seventy billion local phone calls from my brothers because they like to know how often I breathe, another half a dozen from a heavily pregnant, can’t breathe easily, doesn’t want to be pregnant anymore, I’m-going-to-kill-my-future-husband Jess to confirm her wedding flowers, and several more from Kane Bishop as he prepares me for a wedding that might not go ahead if those babies arrive early.
That’s how my week goes, so time passes at the speed of light, until I find myself building Jess’ wedding bouquet on the morning of their planned nuptials.
It’s like everyone is prepared for the wedding to crash and burn, except Jess. I’m not sure I’ve ever met a more stubborn woman, but Jess hits her fortieth week of pregnancy with a constant stream of complaints about how the babies hurt her ribs and squish her lungs, but other than that, she’s in top shape and ready to marry her man. She’d prefer to it while sweating and sore, rather than after the babies arrive. She wants it to be official.
Jess chose a peony arrangement, which makes me smile. To me, they’re the most romantic of all flowers. They’re soft and gentle, beautiful and symbolic. They represent compassion and love, and are considered an omen of good fortune and a happy marriage — even if they are out of season.
As I build the bouquet one layer at a time, I sit at the entrance to my cool room on the floor, uncomfortable because the cold concrete hurts my tailbone, but unwilling to move as the fragrance fills my nose, soft music fills my ears, and Troy’s text message from just an hour ago scrolls on repeat in my mind.
My biggest big brother is stateside again, when he hasn’t been in so long.
His text ran on about how he loves and misses me, but I already knew that.
He can’t come home yet, but he’s closer, and sitting on the floor kind of makes me feel a little more connected to him. We’re in the same country for the first time in more than a year, and somewhere, in some state, his boots are touching the same continental ground as I am.
It’s foolish, I know, but I already admitted to being a romantic, and Rosa men are the most important men in my life.
“Excuse me, Abby?”
Music plays from my phone and wirelessly pipes through the sound system wired into the walls. It plays loud enough that I can sing and not feel self-conscious about my voice, but not so loud that when my assistant pops her head in the doorway that leads to the front of my shop, we have to shout.
With hands full of baby pink flowers, I look up at her and smile. I’m in my happy place this morning. “Yeah?”
Nadia is only a couple years older than me. She has the backside and breasts that certain men love, long, ash-blonde hair that I’ve always wished I could have, and at least once a day, she slips with her cussing and lets something fly. She’s mostly apologetic about it, but I know she thinks my aversion to swearing is funny. It’s cute, and not completely taken seriously.
She’s exactly the type of woman men like Spencer seek out. And it bothers me thatthatbothers me.
Nadia might be one of my closest friends in the whole world, though I suspect that’s more because we’re together every single day, rather than because we’re a good fit. She’s sweet, she’s fun, and she forces me out of my quiet little bubble when I need it most. But when I need the quiet, she respects that too. Best of all, she’s my brothers’ opposite; she never babies me.
“Kane Bishop is on the line.”
I add another layer to my bouquet. “Did the babies come? Is the wedding off?”
“Nope. The opposite, actually. They had a scan this morning, and Jess’ obstetrician said everything seems fine, and so long as Jess is careful, plans can go ahead.”
“The wedding is on?”
She grins. “The wedding is on.”
* * *
At two o’clockon the dot, knowing the ceremony is scheduled for three, I knock on Jess and Kane’s front door and wait. It’s surreal, knowing that these people who seem so much larger than life live on a regular street, in a regular home. There’s nothing extraordinary about the two-story house, the white window trim, or the ornamental pear tree growing in the yard. There’s nothing strange or special about the garage door, which is closed, or the little Mazda parked in the street, or any of the homes that surround this one.
Until you look closer.
Security cameras are set up under the eaves of the porch, and there’s another above the garage door… and when I look extra close, I see that the peephole in the front door isn’t a peep at all, but a tiny camera.
So I wave, then gently shake the box I hold in my hands. “Flower delivery.”
The door swings open and reveals an exact Jess-replica, but she’s not pregnant, and she’s not wearing white.
“You’re Laine?”
“I am!” Jess’ twin ushers me through the door and pulls me in for a gentle hug. She wears aqua, which practically makes her skin and eyes sparkle. She has a beautiful tan, despite the fact winter has only just ended, and the kind of smile that speaks of true happiness. “And you’re Abby Rosa, the flower chick. You look stunning, by the way.”