courier standing on the step. He looks about thirteen. I glance over his shoulder, expecting to see his bicycle in my mother’s parking spot. Instead, there’s a blue compact with its motor running.
“She’s not here,” I tell the guy, “but I can take it.” I put out my hand for the envelope he’s holding.
He pulls back as if I’d just tried to light him on fire.
That tickles my funny bone, but I don’t laugh. “Do you need a signature?” I ask with a straight face. “Because I’m happy to sign for it. Heck, I’ll even sign Joanna Malcolm if you like. She’s my mother. I’ve forged her signature lots of times. I’m really good at it.”
The guy actually takes a step backwards.
This time I do laugh. “I’m just kidding,” I say. “My mother is out right now. If you want to leave whatever it is you’re delivering, I’ll see that she gets it. If that doesn’t work for you, come back in about an hour.”
The guy frowns. He’s obviously weighing his options. Finally, he mumbles, “I guess it’s all right.”
“Okay, then.” I grin and take the envelope. “Have a nice day.”
He doesn’t hear me, or else he ignores me. At any rate, he heads back to his car without answering. I watch him reverse out of Mom’s parking spot and boot it from the complex like a race-car driver.
I start to shut the door, but stop when a van wheels into the spot the courier has just vacated. The logo on the side panel is a jungle of crimson letters twined with vines. BLOOMIN’ GOOD it says. I sigh. More flowers.
“Afternoon.” The delivery guy smiles and waves. He’s been here before.
I return his wave and wait while he opens the back of his van. I’m thinking I should start charging my mother for all the personal assistant stuff I do. As the guy heads up the walk, I realize he has two bunches of flowers. I’m going to need both hands. I stick the envelope under my arm.
“Jeez,” I complain as he stacks the flower boxes into my arms. “You’d think somebody died.”
He chuckles and trots back to his van.
I shut the door with my foot and head for the kitchen. Depositing my load onto the counter, I dig through the cupboard for vases. The tall, square one? The short, round one? The leaded crystal? Roses demand an elegant touch. Daisies are more playful. Clearly, I need to scope out the flowers before I choose.
I lift the lid of the longest box first. Red roses — sans the thorns. Exactly what I expected. I grab the crystal vase, fill it with cold water and plant food, and start arranging the sprigs of greenery and baby’s breath. Then the roses. I strip the leaves below the waterline and re-cut the stems. One by one, I slide them into the vase. I’ve arranged my mother’s flowers so many times I could do it in my sleep. When I’m done, I step back to assess my work. Not bad. After a couple of minor adjustments, the arrangement is good to go. It just needs the gift card. I poke through the tissue in the box until I find the tiny envelope bearing my mother’s name. I prop it behind one of the roses.
I turn to the second box. Talk about overkill. Every girl likes to get flowers, but Reed really needs to pace himself.
I take off the lid and look inside. Daisies. I grin and high-five the air. I’m two for two. Either my mother’s fiancé is very predictable, or I’m clairvoyant.
No vase for this one. In the cupboard over the stove, there’s an old brown teapot that belonged to my grandmother. It’ll be perfect. I hum as I arrange the flowers. Shabby chic at its best. I’m not sure if Mom will like it, but I do.
I scoop up the gift card, but then stop. My name is on the envelope. It takes a few seconds for the fact to sink in, but when it does, I can’t read the card fast enough. Of course, it’s from Reed. “For my best girl’s best girl,” it says.
Simple, but sweet — and so Reed. My mother definitely knows how to pick ’em. And why not? She’s had enough practice.
The phone rings. I lift it from its cradle and glance at the call display screen. It’s Reed.
“Hello, Mr. Atwater.” I can hear the smile in my voice.
“Hey, Dani,” he replies. “You sound like you’re in a good mood.”
“I am. Getting flowers can do that to a girl. But then, you’re the king of flower sending, so I guess that’s no surprise. Anyway, thank you. Daisies are my favourite. How did you know?”
“Just a lucky guess. You look like a daisy girl. I’m glad you like them.”
“I definitely do.”
“That’s great.” There’s a pause before he says, “Is your mom around?”
“No. She’s at the bridal salon getting her dress fitted.” I look up at the kitchen clock. “She should be back soon though. You could always call her on her cell.”
“Right. I’ll do that. Are you going to be around for a while?”
“Unless Beyoncé cruises by and asks me to go shopping. Why?”
“Because the travel agency is sending out the itinerary for our honeymoon, and I would hate —”
“The delivery guy has already been,” I say as I lift the envelope off the counter and check out the return address. “Time Travel Vacations?”
“That’s the one.”
“Time Travel. Where are you and Mom going? Jurassic Park? Ancient Egypt? Or are you planning to test drive your retirement home?”
Reed chuckles. “Cute. I think I’ll let your mother answer that. Anyway, I have to go. Enjoy your flowers.”
As I hang up the phone and lay the envelope back on the counter, I realize that, even though the wedding is just five days away, I haven’t once thought about Mom’s and Reed’s honeymoon plans. I’m fairly certain they aren’t going anywhere tropical. I mean, what’s the point? It’s the beginning of July in beautiful B.C. Why fork out thousands of dollars to jet off to some sunny beach when they can hop in the car and go to one in Vancouver? I am also pretty sure they aren’t going somewhere Mom has been with one of her other husbands, which means Kelowna, Singapore, Rio, and Melbourne are out too. That takes care of four continents — just Antarctica, Africa, and Europe left.
I don’t know of any resorts in Antarctica, so they’re probably not going there. But Africa? Maybe Mom and Reed are planning a trip to Egypt. If I was a betting person though, I’d put my money on Europe. Mom has never been. And there are so many fabulous cities — London, Vienna, Madrid, Monte Carlo, Paris. Yes, Paris. I get all dreamy just thinking about it.
———
Turns out I’m right. Mom and Reed are going to Paris — and London, Vienna, Madrid, Monte Carlo, and a whole travel brochure of other European hotspots.
“Six weeks!” I barely squeak out the words when Mom finishes reading me the itinerary. “That’s practically the whole summer! You’re going to be gone the entire summer?”
Mom’s
