Anyway, my mother left the flower shop to my dad when she passed, and my dad, I think, had every intention of giving it to me when I was old enough. None of us expected him to pass away as suddenly as he did, least of all him. His affairs weren’t in order, and so the flower shop went to my stepmother, who sold it. I was fourteen, which I think is a difficult year for any girl, but most especially when you’ve lost your father and the place you thought would be yours. I won’t pretend I didn’t mourn deeply.
Life moved on. Time took away the sting. I went off to college and got myself a boyfriend. And then I graduated and we broke up, and lo and behold, my mother’s old flower shop went up for sale. It felt like Providence. I took out a loan, signed on the dotted line, and here I am, the owner of my mother’s old flower shop. I thought about naming it The Flower Pot again, but my mother’s favorite flowers were forget-me-nots, and so, the name has a double entendre. Her picture hangs on the wall above the cash register. I absolutely love what I do.
Boy, do I get winded when I e-mail you. You must be easy to talk to. I’m actually quite shy in real life. My friend Rachel (the one living in Fiji) is always telling me that I need to get out there and live life. But I think owning and running a successful flower business counts as that, don’t you?
Enough about me. It’s your turn. What got you into ghostwriting? Not many little boys I know want to be a ghostwriter when they grow up. And are you really not going to tell me which celebrity you’re ghostwriting for? Would you tell me if I guessed correctly? Where on the Upper Peninsula do you live? Oh, and I’ve been meaning to ask. What does the 24 stand for in your email address?
Affectionately,
Amelia
PS: Guess what movie I rented for tonight? I’ll give you a hint. Jimmy Stewart and Doris Day play the lead roles.
“If I’m honest I have to tell you I still read fairy tales and I like them best of all.”
—Audrey Hepburn
The next morning at the flower shop, while Astrid and I worked and worked on corsages and boutonnieres for the homecoming dance, I couldn’t stop smiling.
“What has you so giddy?” Astrid asked.
“Nothing,” I quipped.
But then I started humming. Astrid gave me that sideways look of hers and asked again. I laughed and shrugged and couldn’t for the life of me stop thinking about Nate Gallagher.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Tue, Sep 29, 2015 1:57 a.m.
Subject: Re: I’m the world’s biggest basket case
Wait a minute. The guy whose car you hit is giving you advice? Do you like him? Is he cute? Please, Amelia, I’m surrounded by tribal folk all day, including bare-chested, saggy-breasted women who don’t usually have all their teeth. I could use a little bit of normalcy. For the love of all that is holy, SPILL.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Wed, Sep 30, 2015 6:23 p.m.
Subject: Re: I’m the world’s biggest basket case
There’s nothing to spill. The two of us exchanged some e-mails. I was a little giddy about it. But he hasn’t emailed back in a while, and it’s his turn.
It’s weird, though, because he’s always been so fast at responding. This lull isn’t like him. Of course it comes after I signed my last e-mail “Affectionately.” Affectionately?! What was I thinking? I might as well have told him I loved him.
But you’d think if he wasn’t freaked out before then (I’ve done some ODD things where he’s concerned), a little word like affectionately wouldn’t do it.
Do you think something happened to him? What if he got into an accident and he’s in the hospital? Or . . . oh my goodness, Rachel, what if he died? How would I even know?
Never mind. He’s not dead. I just did a search for his name in all the obits for the Upper Peninsula (he’s a Yooper). Nothing came up. Which means only one thing. He must not be interested.
Oh well. It was nice while it lasted.
—A
PS: Yes, he’s cute. In fact, here’s a picture. Too good to be true, eh?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Fri, Oct 2, 2015 6:46 p.m.
Subject: Re: The Shop around the Corner
Dear Amelia,
Now it’s MY turn to apologize profusely. Please forgive me. I had to take an impromptu trip to New York City to meet with the celebrity. It turned into a long, extended, dreadful affair with all-day meetings at the publishing house. I barely had a moment to breathe, but I promise I thought about you the entire time.