Too Many Blooms (5 page)

It was the first Saturday — my full day at the shop — since Gran and Gramps had left. Mom and I headed out bright and early, grabbing breakfast bars from the kitchen on our way. Dad was already tying on his frilly apron, and I was glad to have an excuse to skip another of his culinary creations.

“I think today should go well,” Mom said as we set off down the front steps.

“I’m sure it will,” I said absentmindedly. Then I turned to her. “Wait, what do you mean? Is something special happening today?”

“Olivia finally hired a wedding planner!” she said happily. “And the planner is going bridesmaid dress shopping with Olivia and her friends this morning. So when Olivia comes in to the store this afternoon she should know her colors and we can get started choosing flowers!”

“Wait, Olivia is coming in today?” I asked. “Alone?” I added hopefully.

“No, I think she’ll have her bridal party with her,” Mom said.

“Mom!” I cried. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m sure I did …” Mom said. She shrugged. “Or maybe I forgot to. Does it really make a difference, anyway?”

The difference was that if I knew we were having a special meeting — possibly with
Ashley
there — I would not be dressed up like a reject from that old show Gramps liked to watch called
Hee Haw.
I looked down at my patched jeans and ratty sneakers and briefly considered running home and changing my outfit. I had been planning on cleaning out the flower refrigerator that day and had dressed accordingly. I hadn’t even washed my hair.

“You’re never going to believe this,” I told Mom with a sigh, “but it turns out that Ashley Edwards is Olivia’s cousin. So there’s a chance she might be there today.”

Mom grimaced as we crossed the street. She knows how much I dislike Ashley. “I can open up by myself,” she said. “Do you want to run home and change?”

I mentally started going through my wardrobe and assembling a cool yet casual outfit, then stopped myself. “No way,” I concluded. “If I change my clothes, then it’s like I care what she thinks.” I quickly pulled out the two pigtails I was wearing and combed my fingers through my hair. “This look says I don’t care at all.”

Mom seemed like she was trying not to laugh.

“I’m overthinking this, aren’t I?” I asked.

“Well, maybe just a bit,” Mom admitted. Then she grinned. “I can’t believe Pinky Dinky is Olivia’s cousin!”

I shook my head and laughed. “Oh, Mom,” I said.

After we settled in, Mom sat down behind the counter and began flipping through her sketchbook. I opened the refrigerator door and started cleaning up stray petals and leaves from the floor. It was chilly work. The whole time I kept thinking,
Please, Olivia, leave your junior bridesmaid at home today!

At precisely 2:14 (the appointment was at 1:30, but who was keeping track? Besides me, that is.) Olivia entered the store, her engagement ring flashing like a paparazzi’s flashbulb. A seemingly endless line of people followed her
inside. There were fourteen, yes, I said
fourteen
of her closest friends, all of them as pretty and polished as Olivia herself. There was her mom and grandmother. And, I was sorry to see, one obnoxious twelve-year-old cousin, dressed to the nines. She was wearing a fake fur vest (at least I assumed it was fake, but with Ashley you never know) over a ribbed turtleneck. Black jeans and ankle boots completed the outfit.

She said nothing, but gave me the up and down and curled her lip.

Maybe I
should
have gone home and changed.

The store was now packed with chattering women. The mingled scent of hair spray and perfume canceled out the usual sweet flowery smell.

Mom looked around wildly. “Um, Olivia, where’s your wedding planner?” she asked. Then she grew serious. “You did get one, didn’t you?”

Olivia laughed a tinkly little laugh. “Oh yes!” she said. “I think she had to stop off at the pharmacy for something. She said she’d meet us here.”

The bell over the door jingled and an older woman walked in. She wore a bright red coat, towering black
pumps, and bright red lipstick. Her jet-black hair was pulled back into a severe bun.

“Hello, I’m Corinne Jacobsen, the wedding planner,” she said. “Can I get a glass of water, please?” she asked, holding up a bottle of aspirin.

Mom and I looked at each other, our eyes wide. If the wedding planner had a headache, then the bridesmaid dress selection had not gone well at all.

And that didn’t bode well for us.

I pulled a couple of folding chairs from the back room, but there weren’t nearly enough places for people to sit, so we had bridesmaids all over the place, perched on one another’s laps and sitting cross-legged on the floor. I stood in the corner, carefully positioning myself so I could avoid having to look at Ashley, who sat at her cousin’s feet.

Mom got Corinne a cup of water, then stood in front of the group, her hands clasped, waiting for everyone to settle down. Finally, one enterprising bridesmaid stuck two fingers into her mouth and let out a whistle. Everyone quieted immediately. I stared at the girl admiringly. I could never figure out how to do that. And not for lack of trying, either. It would come in handy with my family.

“Welcome to Flowers on Fairfield!” Mom said, her voice a bit shaky. I clasped my hands together anxiously. As I learned in English class when we did public speaking, there is nothing worse than listening to someone who is nervous speak. It puts you on edge, too.

Calm down,
I thought, trying to send Mom a message.
You can do this.

“We are so excited to be a part of your special day, Olivia,” she continued.

Olivia nodded and beamed.

“So I wanted to hear how dress shopping went this morning,” Mom went on in her fake cheerful voice. “Have you settled on a color?”

Everyone started to jabber at once. Mom kept smiling, but her neck was starting to turn bright red. I had the sudden terrified feeling that she was going to throw up all over the wedding planner, who had managed to snag one of the chairs and was sitting right in front of her.

Olivia rolled her eyes. “No one can agree on anything!” she whined.

“Well, that pink dress with the tulle skirt was totally perfect!” said a dark-haired bridesmaid with hoop earrings.

“Yeah,” agreed the bridesmaid who had whistled.

“That’s because you two look good in pink,” scoffed a redhead. “And I don’t!”

“That’s just a myth,” said the dark-haired girl.

The redhead gave her the evil eye. “Have you ever seen me in pink?” she asked. “I look like a baked ham.”

Olivia shuddered.

“Now that emerald green dress …” started the redhead.

“Yuck!” called out a petite blonde. “I look like a corpse in green!”

The wedding planner stood up. “Ladies!” she cried, raising a hand to her temple. “Let’s remember whose special day this is.”

Olivia smiled at her. “That’s right,” she said. “If you don’t all stop arguing, I’m going to pick that yellow taffeta dress you
all
hated.”

There was a collective gasp and everyone shut up.

The silence was broken by Olivia’s grandmother, a sweet-looking lady in a pale blue suit.

“That redheaded gal
did
look like a canned ham!” she said in a superloud whisper.

“Mom! Turn up your hearing aid!” cried Olivia’s mother.

Everyone burst into laughter, including the redhead. “I told you!” she said.

“Ladies!” called Corinne again. “Need I remind you that the dresses need to be ordered this weekend? We have to come to some decision or you’re all going to be walking down the aisle naked on May nineteenth!” She looked at Mom. “And we can’t order the flowers until we decide on a color!”

What a mess! I craned my neck to steal a glance at Ashley, who was sitting on the floor looking smug. That made me mad. She was actually
enjoying
the fact that things were spiraling out of control!

I stared at Mom, silently begging her to speak up.
This wouldn’t be happening if Gran and Gramps were here,
I thought.
We are going to lose this wedding if she doesn’t do something fast.
But Mom looked defeated. Olivia and her friends weren’t giving her anything to work with. There were too many opinionated people in one room. Olivia just needed to make up her own mind. Suddenly I had an idea.

I cleared my throat. “Olivia,” I said. She turned around and looked at me quizzically. So did everyone else, Mom included. I gulped, but kept talking. “Suppose you were walking down Fairfield Street and decided to stop in our store and buy yourself a bouquet of flowers. What colors would you choose?”

Olivia thought for a moment. “I like bright colors,” she decided. “Purples, pinks, and reds.”

Catching on, Mom gave me a grateful smile. She walked over to the flower refrigerator and began pulling out red sweet peas, purple anemones, and some bright pink roses. She cut the stems and began arranging them this way and that. “This is one of my favorite color combinations,” she said. “Bold, beautiful, very joyful.” She began wrapping bright pink ribbon around the stems. Then she got a kind of
aha!
light in her eyes and turned around so no one could see what she was doing. I fidgeted nervously. Mom was either going to come up with something that would knock Olivia’s socks off. Or she was about to lose the sale forever.

When Mom turned around I saw that she had tucked
several strawberries that were left over from our lunch into the center of the bouquet.

“Ta-da!” she said.

“Strawberries?” said Mrs. Post. “How interesting!” And by “interesting” I am pretty sure she meant “bizarre.”

“Yes,” said Mom. “I think that fruit adds a fresh and fun element. The bouquet is playful, yet elegant.”

Sure, it looked pretty. Pretty strange, too. What would Olivia say?

Olivia stared at the flowers, her brow wrinkled. Mom handed the bouquet to a cute brown-haired girl wearing a navy blue sweater dress, who obligingly held the flowers bridesmaid-style, waist high. The flowers really stood out against the dark background.

“Have you thought about neutrals?” Mom asked. “See how the flowers pop against the rich navy blue of her dress?”

A smile spread across Olivia’s face. “Yes!” she said excitedly. She looked around at all her bridesmaids. “And navy blue looks good on everyone!”

“I do look good in navy,” agreed the redheaded bridesmaid. “Plus, I went to ten weddings last year and
no one
did fruit.” She nodded solemnly. “It’s very unique.”

This sealed the deal for Olivia. “It’s … perfect!” she cried.

Relief shot through me, and everyone sighed with happiness. Everyone except Ashley, that is, who was staring at me with open hostility. I smiled at her sweetly, which I knew burned her up inside.
Too bad for you, Ashley,
I thought.
Flowers on Fairfield is back in business!

“Ladies?” said Corinne the wedding planner. “Remember that silk chiffon empire-waist dress? Totally flattering and it definitely comes in navy. That bouquet would look amazing against it.”

Olivia looked around at the bridesmaids. They were all jostling one another to take a turn holding the beautiful bouquet. “That’s it!” she said. “Let’s go back to the store right now so they can take everyone’s measurements!”

As everyone began to get on their coats and grab their purses, talking excitedly, Mom and I grinned at each other.

But my happiness was short-lived. Because the shop bell jangled. And to my annoyance, in walked Rose, Aster, and Poppy. What were
they
doing here?

Poppy immediately ran up to my mom, wrapping
herself around her leg and hanging on for dear life. The bridesmaids all oohed and ahhed. “How cute!” they exclaimed.

“What are you doing with all these ladies?” Poppy wanted to know while Rose and Aster whispered to each other about who knows what.

When Mom explained that Olivia was getting married, Poppy disentangled herself and walked over to Olivia. “A wedding!” she cried. “Then you need a flower girl.” She cocked her head at Olivia. “Pick me!”

I groaned.

“So sweet!” said a bridesmaid.

Olivia laughed and told Poppy she had already promised the job to her fiancé’s niece, but that Poppy could be her alternate.

“That’s like being an understudy!” exclaimed Rose. “If the flower girl can’t perform on the day of the wedding, then the part belongs to you!”

This seemed to satisfy my little sister and she retreated behind the counter. I stole a glance at Mom, but she didn’t look embarrassed by Poppy at all. I seemed to be the only one who was totally mortified.

But just as Olivia was about to leave, Poppy came rushing back over.

“Bride lady!” my sister squealed. “I want to ask you a question!”

Olivia leaned down so she was at Poppy’s level. “Yes?” she asked.

“Where’s your tail?” Poppy asked in all seriousness.

Olivia wrinkled her nose in confusion. “My tail?” she said.

“Yeah, your tail,” said Poppy. “I thought you would have a tail.”

As Olivia smiled and turned away, my stomach sank. Surely Poppy wasn’t about to say what I thought she was about to …

“You sure don’t
look
like Godzilla!”

Mom and I glanced at each other in dread. I’m sure my eyes were bugging out as much as Mom’s were. Luckily, Olivia had left just in time and hadn’t heard. But someone else had.

“Godzilla, huh?” said Ashley. She gave me a knowing smirk and walked out the door.

School was over for the day and we were all crowded in the hall, doing the usual locker gymnastics. Everyone was maneuvering around one another, pulling out books and grabbing our coats and backpacks.

“Hello, Delphinium,” said Ashley from behind me.

I didn’t even look away from my locker. I knew that she’d be standing there, flanked by her handmaidens, and dressed in some fashionable outfit, with an impatient sneer on her face.

“Can I help you, Ashley?” I sighed, looking back at her. Right on all counts. She was wearing matchstick jeans and a soft-looking pink sweater that almost came to her knees.
And
had extralong sleeves with thumbholes. My fingers seemed to have a mind of their own and were practically reaching out to touch it to see if it was cashmere. I
folded my hands under my armpits so I wouldn’t be tempted.

She leaned in, scowling. “So you think my cousin is a Bridezilla, huh?”

I quickly turned away so she couldn’t see my guilty expression. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, busying myself in my locker. My stomach was tight with worry.

Ashley tapped me on the shoulder. When I turned around again she had a big smile on her face. “Oh, I think you do,” she said. Then she sauntered off with her handmaidens, and they stopped to whisper in front of a nearby bank of lockers. Rachel leaned against one of the lockers. It belonged to Maria Gonzalez, who at the moment needed to get her trumpet out for band practice. But of course Ashley and her friends didn’t notice. I rolled my eyes and turned back to my locker.

Suddenly I heard an annoyingly familiar boy’s voice behind me.

“What kind of name is that, anyway?” the boy snorted. “It’s just … weird.”

I nearly mis-shelved my Spanish textbook. Ashley was
bad enough to deal with, but now here was Bob, the bully from gym class.

Bob was the torturer of anyone who could somehow be considered different. This included the bespectacled, the too short or too tall, the kids with braces, the kids who didn’t wear “normal” clothes, and as I was well aware, the oddly named. I automatically assumed he was talking to me.

I spoke into my locker as my hands clenched and unclenched. “I thought I told you I was named after …” I started to say.

“Well, Bob,” said another voice. “I’m named after Alexander Hamilton, one of the Founding Fathers of the United States of America. Heard of him?”

I spun around. It was Hamilton!

Hamilton wasn’t getting annoyed and flustered like I did when Bob bothered me. He wasn’t throwing his milk carton at him and getting detention like the unfortunately named Dilbert Pickles. No. Hamilton was just standing there, hands in his pockets, casually talking to Bob like he wasn’t the dumbest bully in middle school history.

“Um, yeah, I’ve heard of him,” Bob said uncertainly. (With
his
history grades, I seriously doubted that one.)
“But at least I’m not named after him,” he added. He looked around for support. Surely, we all agreed Hamilton must be humiliated for allowing his parents to name him something so silly!

Matt, one of Bob’s buddies, spoke up. “Is your nickname, um, Ham Sandwich?” he asked Hamilton.

I winced. Talk about dumb and dumber!

“Um … no,” replied Hamilton. He looked like he was trying hard not to smile.

Bob thought that was hilarious. “Yeah, Ham Sandwich!” he said. “That’s your new nickname!”

Hamilton just shrugged, which made Bob even madder. “What, are we boring you, Ham Sandwich?” he asked, getting red in the face.

Suddenly, I found myself walking right up to Bob and Matt. “Excuse me,” I said. “Are you guys
always
this unfunny, or is today a special occasion?”

“Shut up, Delfingerprints,” Bob muttered.

“And who are you to make fun of people’s names?” I went on, pointing my finger in Bob’s face. He backed away from me. “I mean, how unoriginal. If you say your name backward, it’s still … Bob.”

Bob scowled. He couldn’t argue with that one.

“Good one, Del!” shouted Mike Hurley from where he stood at his locker across the hallway.

“Ham Sandwich!” Mike’s best friend, Carmine Rizzo, added with a snort. “That was totally lame!”

“Yeah, completely lame!” Penelope Peterson chimed in. Carmine, who had a huge crush on her, looked pleased.

Bob and Matt looked at me, furious that the tables had been turned. “Well, your names
are
dumb!” Bob finally said, backing down the hall.

“Yeah, walk away!” Mike called after them. “Come back when you can come up with a real insult!”

Hamilton picked up his backpack and walked over to me. “Wow, Del,” he said, his eyebrows raised. “That was quick!”

I shook my head. “I can never come up with anything when
I’m
the one being picked on!” I admitted.

“What a jerk,” he said. “I don’t get guys like that. They feel better by making other people feel bad about themselves.”

I nodded, thinking about Ashley. She could never resist an opportunity to make me look silly in front of
other people. “Welcome to Sarah Josepha Hale Middle School,” I said.

“Well, you showed Bob,” Hamilton said. “I bet it will be a day or two before he makes fun of you again, Delphinium Bloom!”

I grinned at Hamilton. Then I had to look away. I felt suddenly weirdly self-conscious.
What is wrong with you, Del?
I thought. I focused on his feet, which today were encased in beat-up work boots.

“There’s one of him in every school,” said Hamilton. “And if you’re lucky, there’s only one.” He looked at me. “It’s not so easy having a weird name, is it?”

I shrugged. “Nah.” I thought for a moment. “But it beats a lisp,” I said.

Hamilton laughed and explained that his dad had picked his name. “He’s a history buff and he loves Alexander Hamilton. He’s his favorite Founding Father,” he added, his eyes lighting up.

I nodded. I didn’t know anyone who had a favorite Founding Father. In fact, I’d be surprised if I knew anyone, my college professor dad excluded, who could name them all.

Hamilton was not done extolling the virtues of his namesake. “He led soldiers into battle during the Revolutionary War, he founded the Bank of New York, he was the first secretary of the treasury, and he wrote most of the Federalist Papers,” he explained. I made a mental note to Google “Federalist Papers” when I got home. They sounded important. He smiled. “And he also founded the New York Manumission Society to help end slavery,” he said. “He was a man ahead of his time.”

I searched my brain for any random bits of Alexander Hamilton information I may have stored there. Yes! “Wasn’t he killed in a duel?” I asked.

Hamilton’s face clouded over. Yikes. Maybe that wasn’t the best factoid to start with. “Yeah. Aaron Burr shot him. What a loser.”

“Well, Alexander Hamilton sounds really great,” I said. I decided to change the subject before I said anything else upsetting. “My weird name is not quite as interesting as yours. I’m just named after a —”

“Flower, I know,” said Hamilton. I stared at him, startled, and he smiled at me. “I think Delphinium is a really cool name.”

I blushed from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. “Um … thanks,” was all I could come out with. I had never met another kid, let alone a boy, who had ever heard of delphinium before.
How random!
I thought.

Hamilton sighed. “I guess … You know, I don’t get to see my dad as much as I’d like to since Mom got remarried and we moved here,” he said. “So I think that makes me more mad when people make fun of the name he picked, you know?”

“Well, you don’t show it,” I said. “You seemed so cool about it.”

He laughed. “Oh, I was just trying to look cool,” he said. “I was pretty mad inside.”

My mind started racing.
Who was he trying to look cool in front of?
I wondered. I tried to remember who had been standing in the now nearly empty hallway … Penelope Peterson? Maria Gonzalez?

Hamilton threw his backpack over his shoulder and gave me a salute. “Bye, Delphinium. See you tomorrow.”

I watched him lope down the hallway, and smiled as he jumped up to hit the
EXIT
sign above the door at the end of the hall. I smiled all the way home, too.

I was in such a good mood I didn’t even complain when I had to set the table for the second night in a row because Rose still wasn’t home from rehearsal. And I didn’t say anything when Dad announced we were having leftovers again. And it was his tuna casserole, which is bad enough the first night. Hot canned tuna — which culinary genius invented that one?

But as I was loading the dishwasher, I had a sudden, awful thought. I remembered someone else who had been in the hallway that afternoon. Could it be that the person Hamilton was trying to look cool in front of was …
Ashley Edwards?

I wanted to think the boy had better taste than that. But it was a definite — and unpleasant — possibility.