Our correspondence consists of weekly emails where I update him about each flower for each of his employees and he responds with a measly,seen.
Good lord, even his texts sound like a menacing email.
“What?” Sunny pushes, reaching for my phone.
“Nothing,” I stuff it into my yellow‘who says you can’t be the best’tote bag.
“That’s not the look of nothing.”
I open the door, willing myself to leave. But not before turning my face back to her and giving my most terrifyingMike Wazowskismirk. “It’s the look of I love you.”
“Gross,” she replies. “Get out of my car before I throw up.”
I do the most adult thing I can think of.
Pressing a swift kiss on my best friend’s cheek, I launch myself out and shut the door behind me.
She rolls her window down while I run around the front to my shop.
“You’re disgusting, Nova!” She makes an effort to wipe her cheek and dry heaves.
“And you’re dramatic,Sunaira.”
I stick my tongue out before slipping inside.
She shakes her head, but I swear I see the tiniest hint of a smile on her lips before she drives off.
The temporary happiness fades away as I slump against the door and remember how royally screwed I am.
After a terrible ride of exposed butt cracks on the TTC, I’m taking the sun coming out after a morning of cloudiness as a sign to keep pushing forward.
Downtown Toronto is hell to walk through on a regular day. Walking across Eaton Centre is asking to get bumped into students who are desperately trying to get to class or students who don’t careabout tanking their GPA.
There’re also people with signs at the intersection holding up poster boards about resurrecting Jesus.
Completelynormalfor us Ontarians.
When I finally get out of the busy square, I trudge through more blocks. After carefully packing the flowers inside of the picnic basket, I noticed the wheel of the bicycle was punctured. Which meant another one of those spoiled neighbourhood kids got to it again.
When I rented the building just outside of Rosedale—at the border of the loud city and the suburban houses—I thought people would be nice, business would be booming, and I wouldn’t be under debt.
Oh boy, was I wrong.
POPSICLES ONLY ¢99
I halt.
Nova, no.
One can’t hurt.
Is a popsicle worth the 15,000 you have to pay?
Damn it.
I shake my head, forcing myself to continue walking past the sign. When I reach a stop light counting down the numbers from thirty, I stop. A car zooms past,Beautiful Liarblasting out of the rolled down windows and right into my ears. My foot tapping against the concrete, each number taunting me.
15
