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and_herflowersMarjorie stared at the sign. Just … stared.
It wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t what she had asked for. It wasn’t what she … that wasn’t the name. Stupid Aaron had put the wrong name on the stupid sign and now she had to go get him to fix it because no—that wasn’t right. That wasn’t right at all.
“No, this is … no.”
She was already moving to the front door of the flower store, away from where Marilyn was standing on the side walk. “Hey, where are you—Marge? Marjorie!”
“Aaron!” Marjorie made her way through the mostly empty store. There were a few batches of Tulipa clusiana sitting on the table that just came in from the greenhouse outside, but there weren’t any other flowers in the room. They weren’t even open yet, but the flowers were too pretty to just leave in the greenhouse. They were going to wilt soon anyway—might as well let them sit in the window for a while. She headed to the back, stepping over the boxes and other speed bumps that littered their way to her brother’s office and stopped in the doorway when she saw him on the phone. “Aaron?”
He held up his finger to her, indicating for her to wait, and finished up his phone call, before turning back to her with a smile. “So you saw the new sign, huh?”
“No, the sign—the sign’s wrong, Aaron,” she said softly. “It’s—we agreed on ‘Midtown Flowers’ for the name. Not ‘Marjorie’s Flowers’. You changed it.”
“Guilty.”
Marjorie gave him an exasperated look. It wasn’t that she didn’t know he meant well. He did. He was trying to give her—something. Something she didn’t understand, because she didn’t think she actually needed anything. All she wanted was to be out in the back in the greenhouse, with the flowers. Flowers were easier. Flowers didn’t wither when she touched them, instead they actually seemed to benefit from her being there. She wasn’t sure why Aaron wanted her name on the sign so badly, but the fact that he had changed it without her permission was not making her happy.
“Aaron … ”
“I know we agreed on Midtown Flowers. But it’s a boring name, sis. It’s not … personal. And you need something personal if you want to keep people coming back.”
“But why do I have to be the personal? Why couldn’t it be ‘Aaron’s Flowers’ or ‘Marilyn’s Flowers’ or ‘Morgan Family Flowers.’ Why’d you have to pick me?”
“Because they’re not our flowers, Marge.” He slid an arm around her shoulders. “They’re yours. You know that.”
Marjorie leaned into him at that, letting him walk her back out towards the front of the store again and back up to looking at the sign. “I can’t. I can’t carry a store, Aaron, you know I can’t. I’d have to be up here in the front all the time, and I’d have to deal with people, and you know I’m no good with people, and people will get upset and then we’ll have to close again, and—”
“Okay,” he began, skidding around in front of her and placing his hands on her shoulders. “Let’s slow that train wreck scenario in your head right there. You are not going to crash and burn the store just because it’s your name above the door.”
“You rhymed.”
“Yes, I did. It makes it easier to recite in your head over and over again. Look, Marge—they are your flowers. Your name doesn’t put all this pressure on you. All you have to do is make the flowers beautiful, and me and Marilyn will do the rest.”
Marjorie stared up at him for a moment, trying not to let her eyes stray to where her name was written in bright red letters over the store, and keep them on the man in front of her. “You sure?”
“Positive.”
“What if people want to ask who Marjorie is?”
“We’ll say that she was killed in a tragic accident involving a giant Venus Flytrap.”
She rolled her eyes. “Dionaea muscipula doesn’t eat humans. You know that.”
Aaron just smirked at her before wrapping his arms around her shoulders and looking up at the sign again. “One of these days, sis, we’re gonna have to get you to sit through Little Shop of Horrors.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, before turning and looking back at the store again. “Do you really thing we can do this?”
“I know we can,” he replied with a smile. “We’ve got the best flowers in the city and we know it. How could we lose?”
781 words
It wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t what she had asked for. It wasn’t what she … that wasn’t the name. Stupid Aaron had put the wrong name on the stupid sign and now she had to go get him to fix it because no—that wasn’t right. That wasn’t right at all.
“No, this is … no.”
She was already moving to the front door of the flower store, away from where Marilyn was standing on the side walk. “Hey, where are you—Marge? Marjorie!”
“Aaron!” Marjorie made her way through the mostly empty store. There were a few batches of Tulipa clusiana sitting on the table that just came in from the greenhouse outside, but there weren’t any other flowers in the room. They weren’t even open yet, but the flowers were too pretty to just leave in the greenhouse. They were going to wilt soon anyway—might as well let them sit in the window for a while. She headed to the back, stepping over the boxes and other speed bumps that littered their way to her brother’s office and stopped in the doorway when she saw him on the phone. “Aaron?”
He held up his finger to her, indicating for her to wait, and finished up his phone call, before turning back to her with a smile. “So you saw the new sign, huh?”
“No, the sign—the sign’s wrong, Aaron,” she said softly. “It’s—we agreed on ‘Midtown Flowers’ for the name. Not ‘Marjorie’s Flowers’. You changed it.”
“Guilty.”
Marjorie gave him an exasperated look. It wasn’t that she didn’t know he meant well. He did. He was trying to give her—something. Something she didn’t understand, because she didn’t think she actually needed anything. All she wanted was to be out in the back in the greenhouse, with the flowers. Flowers were easier. Flowers didn’t wither when she touched them, instead they actually seemed to benefit from her being there. She wasn’t sure why Aaron wanted her name on the sign so badly, but the fact that he had changed it without her permission was not making her happy.
“Aaron … ”
“I know we agreed on Midtown Flowers. But it’s a boring name, sis. It’s not … personal. And you need something personal if you want to keep people coming back.”
“But why do I have to be the personal? Why couldn’t it be ‘Aaron’s Flowers’ or ‘Marilyn’s Flowers’ or ‘Morgan Family Flowers.’ Why’d you have to pick me?”
“Because they’re not our flowers, Marge.” He slid an arm around her shoulders. “They’re yours. You know that.”
Marjorie leaned into him at that, letting him walk her back out towards the front of the store again and back up to looking at the sign. “I can’t. I can’t carry a store, Aaron, you know I can’t. I’d have to be up here in the front all the time, and I’d have to deal with people, and you know I’m no good with people, and people will get upset and then we’ll have to close again, and—”
“Okay,” he began, skidding around in front of her and placing his hands on her shoulders. “Let’s slow that train wreck scenario in your head right there. You are not going to crash and burn the store just because it’s your name above the door.”
“You rhymed.”
“Yes, I did. It makes it easier to recite in your head over and over again. Look, Marge—they are your flowers. Your name doesn’t put all this pressure on you. All you have to do is make the flowers beautiful, and me and Marilyn will do the rest.”
Marjorie stared up at him for a moment, trying not to let her eyes stray to where her name was written in bright red letters over the store, and keep them on the man in front of her. “You sure?”
“Positive.”
“What if people want to ask who Marjorie is?”
“We’ll say that she was killed in a tragic accident involving a giant Venus Flytrap.”
She rolled her eyes. “Dionaea muscipula doesn’t eat humans. You know that.”
Aaron just smirked at her before wrapping his arms around her shoulders and looking up at the sign again. “One of these days, sis, we’re gonna have to get you to sit through Little Shop of Horrors.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, before turning and looking back at the store again. “Do you really thing we can do this?”
“I know we can,” he replied with a smile. “We’ve got the best flowers in the city and we know it. How could we lose?”
781 words
