Flower Feud (2 page)

The next morning, I woke up fairly bursting to tell my family the news about the middle school prom. The night before, Mom and Dad had been in a huge rush to leave the house to go out on a long-postponed date night, so I hadn’t had time to fill them in.

I had been left in charge of my three younger sisters, Rose, Aster, and Poppy. (My parents say they save money on hiring babysitters because I’m so responsible. This makes me happy, though I’d be happy to accept payment at any time….) The four of us played board games — Chutes and Ladders for Poppy’s sake, and then Cranium, for us older girls. It had taken a while to find all the pieces to the games, which were thrust haphazardly into the top of the hall closet. I’m talking Clue pieces in the Mouse Trap box and Battleship pegs in Pictionary. My parents are the most disorganized people I know.

I thought I’d make my announcement over breakfast. But Mom had to leave for the store early to let in a painter. After cramming the last bite of an everything bagel with chive cream cheese into my mouth, I headed out after her. Dad, Rose, Aster, and Poppy were all running late and would follow. My big news would have to wait until we were all together in the store.

While Mom got the store in order, she let me do one of my favorite tasks: start a flower arrangement. I stood at the worktable, sniffing a pink sweet pea as I contemplated exactly where to place it. The arrangement was being sent to my old fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Stanley, who had just had her appendix out, so I wanted it to be especially pretty and cheerful. I had just positioned the sweet pea next to an iris when the phone rang. I glanced up. Mom was nowhere to be seen. I walked to the front counter and answered.

“Flowers on …” I started to say, then caught myself. “Oh, sorry, I mean Petal Pushers!”

“What time are you open until tonight?” the caller wanted to know.

“Six thirty,” I told her. I replaced the receiver and
sighed. It had only been a week since we had changed the store name, so it was no wonder I couldn’t get it straight.

Mom appeared, a broom in her hand. She was wearing a pretty, printed kerchief over her wavy, light brown hair and a cute striped dress. She started sweeping up.

“Nope,” I said, wagging my finger at her. “Remember? Rose and Aster will be here soon. We’ll let
them
sweep the store.”

Mom smiled. “That’s right,” she said. “Today is their first official How-to-Work-in-a-Flower-Shop lesson.”

I nodded. My twin ten-year-old sisters had been all excited about working in the store, but, of course, they only wanted to do the fun stuff. Rose loved greeting the customers and Aster liked making arrangements of dead flowers (it’s a goth thing; don’t ask). It caused some serious friction between us. I mean, I had helped out Gran and Gramps in the store for years before
I
was allowed to do that kind of stuff. Mom and Dad had decided that my sisters could help out, but that I was allowed to teach them the ins and outs of the flower business.

Mom leaned the broom against the wall. “Fine with me,” she said with a grin. Cleaning isn’t really her thing (to say the least), so she was glad to pass it on. She gazed
out the front window, which had been cleared of flowers and was now filled with a rather large man in coveralls who was scraping off the old store name.

And by old, I mean ancient.
FLOWERS ON FAIRFIELD HAD BEEN SERVING YOUR FLORAL NEEDS SINCE 1912
. The painter, who was at that moment working on the
s
in Flowers, would soon be painting our new name “Petal Pushers” in bright and cheerful colors.

The new name is cute, huh? Poppy came up with it. She’s only five and she’s full of surprises.

Mom sighed. “It’s a little sad to watch the old name disappear, isn’t it?”

I, too, felt a twinge of sadness. I worried that we were making too many changes all at once. But I decided to channel Becky, who always looks on the bright side of everything. “It’s progress!” I declared. “You’re changing things up with your new arrangements. Things are being updated.”

Mom smiled at me gratefully. “I guess you’re right.” Still, she looked melancholy.

The bell above the door rang as my twin sisters walked inside. Dad and Poppy had stopped at the playground before heading to The Corner Café to pick up
coffee for Dad and a muffin for Poppy — their Saturday morning ritual.

Aster looked around the store, taking everything in quietly as is her habit. Rose, on the other hand, shrugged out of her cropped denim jacket and deposited it on the counter. “Gorgeous!” she squealed, looking at my half-finished bouquet. She took a bright pink rose from the arrangement, clipped it with the shears, and placed it behind her ear. I was annoyed that she had disturbed my arrangement, but I decided to let it slide. The flower
did
look pretty against her gleaming blonde hair. It also matched her bubblegum pink T-shirt perfectly. Rose is super-girly and dramatic. She’s an aspiring actress and gets the lead in almost every school play.

Aster, her twin, was clad in black tights, black boots, and a black dress under a moth-eaten mustard yellow cardigan that I think used to belong to Gramps. I couldn’t help but smile at my sisters, who were complete opposites, yet somehow shared a room and got along just great. Go figure.

I left the “Get Well Soon” arrangement for Mom to finish, knowing she would add something interesting to it. People had really been remarking about the change in the flowers since Mom and Dad took over. Don’t get me wrong,
Gran and Gramps did beautiful arrangements. But Mom had lots of fun, creative ideas with stuff that you wouldn’t imagine putting into a bouquet. For instance, she had placed a pale blue plastic dinosaur from the toy store in the middle of the “Baby Boy” arrangement she’d sent out yesterday. The new mom had called to tell us how cool and different it was.

I took a deep breath and faced my sisters. I knew this was going to be difficult. It always is when you’re sharing something special that once belonged just to you.

“Welcome to Flowers …” there I went again! “Petal Pushers,” I corrected myself. “Today we’re going to learn Flower Shop 101.” I picked up a folder off the counter and took out a sheet of paper I’d worked on that week.

I saw Rose and Aster glance at each other and roll their eyes.

“Step one,” I started, ignoring them. “Opening up. This includes sweeping, wiping down counters, and cleaning out the cooler and the buckets.”

I handed Rose a rag and some spray and she began wiping down the front counter. I pointed Aster in the direction of the broom and she went right to work, making a tidy pile of leaves and dust.

“Step two,” I went on. “Checking voice mail. New orders may have come in since closing the day before. If there are any emergencies, you deal with them immediately.”

“A flower emergency!” said Rose, pausing and holding the rag over her heart. “Like when the mayor was allergic to the flowers in all the centerpieces and we had to remove them the night before the wedding?”

“That’s right,” I said. “Or once, when Gran and Gramps were still here, an arrangement was accidentally delivered to the wrong address. The guy who got it was so excited to get flowers that he refused to give them back. So we had to make a whole new one really fast. You never know what will come up.”

“When do we start designing arrangements?” Rose asked.

I sighed. “We have more work to do. One of you can clean the bottom of the cooler of any leaves, petals, and stems, and the other can clean the buckets out.”

“I’ll take the buckets,” said Rose quickly. She gets cold easily and wanted to spend as little time in the cooler as necessary.

Ten minutes later Rose was kneeling over a bucket and
giving me a very dirty look. “You didn’t tell me this would involve a
toilet brush,”
she said. I laughed. It’s the easiest way to clean the flower buckets, along with a squirt of soap and some bleach. But it’s not one of my favorite tasks, either.

When the cooler was cleaned and the buckets were scrubbed, Rose and Aster looked at me eagerly.

“Step three,” I said. “The fun part! Our supply of premade bouquets is pretty low. We need to arrange them.”

Aster and Rose cheered. “What are premade bouquets?” asked Rose.

“For people who are in a rush,” I replied. “Who don’t have the time or the money for an arrangement to be made especially for them.”

Rose smiled. “A man rushing to meet his long-lost love at the bus station,” she said dreamily.

“A mourner on their way to the cemetery,” said Aster.

“Someone running late to a birthday party,” I said, bringing them both down to earth.

Rose made a face at me. “Bo-ring.”

Aster laughed.

We made an assembly line and ended up with these
bright, springtime bouquets of purples and yellows, and cute round yellow flowers called billy balls for an accent. Mom nodded her approval as she put the finishing touches on Mrs. Stanley’s arrangement. “Nice work, girls!” she called. Rose and Aster both grinned.

Aster wrapped the bouquets in colorful tissue paper and cellophane, and Rose was on ribbon duty. We made short work of the task. I blinked. Maybe having some help around here wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“Look at my girls working together!” cried Dad. We looked up. We hadn’t even heard him come in the back door. Poppy, her favorite velvet evening bag looped over her shoulder, sat high up on his shoulders, eating a very large muffin and getting crumbs in Dad’s hair. She waved merrily from her perch.

Dad deposited my littlest sister on the far end of the counter, where she finished her muffin, happily kicking her feet. Dad kissed Mom hello and rested his elbows on the counter, Saturday’s paper fanned out in front of him. Poppy fished her new doll, Blanche, out of her evening bag and started grabbing leftover floral, tissue, and ribbon odds and ends to make a tiny bouquet for her.

“Blanche is getting married today,” she said out loud, to no one in particular.

I was going to say something about how unprofessional it was to have Poppy sitting on the counter, but I held my tongue. I had more important things to focus on. Finally, everyone was there, together, and I could share my news!

I cleared my throat. “Guess what?” I began, and my family swiveled around to face me. “My school is having a prom. It’s called A Night in the Tropics.”

“Sounds like fun, Del!” said Mom.

“OMG, what?” Rose shrieked. “You’re going to get your
very
own prom? You’re so lucky!” She reminded me of Heather and Amy.

Aster rolled her eyes. I was glad
one
Bloom sister was being sensible.

“Um, not really,” I replied. “I mean, Ashley is in charge of the whole thing, so you can imagine how annoying it’s going to be. But,” I added, glancing around at my family, “
Petal Pushers
is lucky. Because now we’ll get twice as much business!”

“That’s true!” Mom said, beaming at me. “We’ll have
kids from the high school
and
the middle school coming in for corsages and boutonnieres.”

Dad let out a low whistle. “That’s great!”

“I know,” I said. “How many prom orders have we gotten so far?”

Mom wrinkled her nose. “Two or three, I think,” she said.

Two or three?
“Are you sure, Mom?” I asked. “The prom’s in a couple of weeks. That doesn’t sound right at all.”

Mom shrugged. “I’m sure all the kids are procrastinating,” she said.

Hmm. Mom is the number one procrastinator in the world, so of course she’d choose that as the reason.

“Well, I can work on the middle schoolers at least,” I said. “Some of them might not even know they should buy prom flowers. I’ll remind them where the best place in town is.”

“Thanks, hon,” said Mom.

“What’s a prom, anyway?” Poppy wanted to know.

“Only the coolest thing ever,” answered Rose. “They’re held your junior and senior years of high school. You get to buy a gorgeous dress. A boy asks you to go. He buys you a corsage to wear on your wrist, and you buy him a boutonniere.”

“That’s a flower to wear on the lapel of his suit,” I explained to Poppy.

Rose continued. “Sometimes there’s a theme. Like Under the Sea, or A Night on Broadway.” She smiled. “That’s what I hope mine is.”

Mom and Dad glanced at Rose, clearly amused by her enthusiasm for an event that she wouldn’t be attending for at least six years. Unless the middle school prom tradition continued … which meant Rose would get her wish in a mere two years.

Ugh.

“I don’t understand,” I said to Rose. “How do you know so much about proms?”

“Totally obsessed,” explained Aster. She knows her twin better than anyone.

Rose wasn’t finished yet. “You get your hair done. You should get a manicure and pedicure. You get beautiful shoes to match your dress. And some places, the prom is in a fancy hotel.” Her eyes were shining, as if this was the most
wonderful thing she could think of. Besides getting a standing ovation at curtain call, of course. “There’s a band or a DJ and they play all this great music and you dance the night away with your friends and you slow dance with your date. It’s a beautiful, romantic night,” she concluded.

Mom and Dad looked like they were trying hard not to laugh.

“So how were
your
proms?” I asked them. “Beautiful and romantic?”

Mom grew up right here in Elwood Falls. Dad is originally from Long Island in New York. They met at a party when Dad was in grad school in Boston, and Mom was visiting a friend. Dad was standing in the corner when he saw Mom by the refreshment table. He walked over, picked up a piece of fruit and asked, “‘Do I dare to eat a peach?’” And luckily, my mom did not run screaming. Instead, she turned to him and said, “‘I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.’” Well, that was it for Dad. She was beautiful
and
she could quote from “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” a poem by T. S. Eliot. They fell in love and a year and a half later they were married.

“I actually never went to my prom,” Mom replied. “I bought
this totally cool vintage dress and I borrowed some amazing rhinestone jewelry from Gran. And Gramps made me an extraspecial corsage as a surprise, which my date was supposed to bring over. So I was sitting in the living room waiting for my date to come get me. Finally, his mom called — he got food poisoning from some bad clams and couldn’t go.”