Thorn in My Side (Bunch-A-Blooms 2)

He smirks. “No, I wouldn’t have. One thing down, a million more to do. What else are you currently working on?”

“We’re knocking out all of the reception things first because it’ll require the largest quantities. I’ve thought about toying with the theme, but it’s difficult to come up with just one thing for both men and women, so I ended up with the idea of having cufflinks for men and a bracelet for women. They’re pretty universal, and small enough that I’ll be able to make the right number easily.”

“I like that. What kind of cufflinks did you have in mind?”

“One of two things. I can hammer down a texturized circle set, or do a square set with a more intricate pattern etched onto it.”

“Hmmm.” He rubs his chin, and I can’t help but focus in on his lips. I’ve never seen a man with lips so pouty and pink before in my life. I watch them form words. He’s elegant without trying.

“Do you have an example?” he asks.

“I have two loose interpretations. I’d have to tweak it to match their style, though, so you’ll have to keep that in mind and use your imagination.”

“Understood.”

I return with the items I have ready to wrap and ship out for a customer.

“How would you change it? Because right now it’s so…”

“Plain?”

“Yes, that’s it exactly.”

“Well.” I sit beside him, grab my sketch book and pop open the pencil box on my cocktail table. I began to sketch, and the world fades around me as I work to put what I see in my head onto paper. I tilt the pencil, shading the areas in as I add depth and detail. It’s therapeutic in a way. The tension rolls off me like water off a duck’s back. He hums, but remains quiet. As the sky opens up outside, and the rain taps a rhythm all its own against the building, I’m in my happy place. I tuck my legs under me and lean back into the corner of my couch.

I put the finishing touches on my sketches and hold it out in front of me, turning it this way and that as I squint. Does this speak to the couple and the theme? I think so.

“This is more of what I had in mind. I could even do a combination of round and square.”

He takes the sketchbook from me, and his entire demeanor changes. Suddenly he’s lighter and less closed off. “These are quite good, you know.”

“The cufflinks?”

“The drawing.”

“Oh, thank you. It’s something I’ve always done.”

“It shows.”

“Do. Do you draw?” I ask hesitantly. We’ve never crossed over into personal territory before.

“Yes, and paint, when I can find the time.”

He shuts down like a home with a tripped alarm. His eyes lose a bit of their shine, and the joy is hidden behind his stiff posture and dour expression. “I like where you’re headed with both of these. Now tell me what you had in mind for the women’s bracelets.”

I mentally sigh, wondering why Rachel puts up with his heavy-handed ways. He’s like an overprotective mother on crack. What is he going to do once she’s married and her loyalties lie elsewhere first? I launch into a new drawing and quiet the voices in my head. Here we have common ground. As long as I keep sketching, he’ll be tolerable, and we’ll get one step closer to him walking out the front door until the next inquisition, I mean, meeting.

Luka

I'm neurotic. I can recognize it, yet I remain powerless to resist the emotions triggering my need to control every last detail. It’s my coping mechanism. The way I handle the fact that there are a vast number of things out in the universe, I have no say so over. Rachel is more daughter than sister at this point. I’m not marrying off my younger sibling, as much as I’m losing a daughter. Soon, she’ll be out in the world where I can’t soften blows. It’s terrifying. I was at my wits in when our parents died. She was barely fourteen, and I was twenty-five. I knew nothing about parenting, especially a little girl. Yet we’d muddled through it all. Kane, Asher, Micah and I banded together to keep the business strong, our family together, and Rachel stable. It was a tender age to lose one's parents. Perhaps that’s why we indulged her more than we should have. Thank God, she had our mother’s sweet nature, or she’d be a spoiled rotten brat by now.

I run my fingers through my hair and peer in the mirror. That’s the last one accounted for, out of the house with a career, and a life. Now, what am I going to do with myself? Life’s been about nothing but work and family for so long. A slight panic has begun to creep over me. This is the end of an era. The silence in the mansion is stifling. After she returned from college and promptly moved out to live with Joseph, I noticed how huge the place is with everyone gone. The weekend visits allowed me to pretend I wasn’t totally isolated, but those have trickled down to once or twice a month.

She pops by once a week, but I know it’s because she feels she has to. I should tell her she doesn’t have to. No, I will tell her, just not yet. I’m not a man who likes change. Fate’s been a hateful bitch to me, so I distrust the future with an intensity that borders on paranoia. When you plan for the worst and expect nothing, you’re already ahead of the game when it comes to not being disappointed.

I push away from the sink, feeling closer to fifty than to my actual forty years. I feel like I’m back in college and waking from a bender with my frat brothers. I flew back in from our London branch on a redeye, caught a few hours, and now I’m headed to brunch at Sugar N’ Spice. Once a month we all come together for a meal. The place changes frequently, but we all show unless there’s illness or an emergency situation. It’s a family tradition. We’re staunch about those. Strange to some, but not us. Not when we know how very quick life can be snuffed out. I throw on a pair of jeans, a white long-sleeved Henley t-shirt to ward away the chill, and a fresh pair of sneakers. I welcome the casual attire and relaxed vibe.

We’ve been expanding our business and developing a new line we want to launch around the same time as Rachel’s wedding. Th