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

Olive

“O, are you still alive in here?”

“Barely,” I call back as I set aside the needle nose pliers and clench and unclench my aching hands.

“Holy crap it looks like a Hobby Lobby threw up in here.”

“Your compassion is boundless, Petunia.”

She smiles and raises the brown paper bag.

“I retract my previous statement. All is forgiven. You are a goddess among women,” I say.

She laughs.

“I thought that might change your tune. You’re not mad. You’re just hangry. You’ve been at this for a week straight with little break.”

I roll my neck and then my shoulders. “I know. I have to stay on top of the deadlines, and this is the only way to do it.”

“You can’t work if you pass out from exhaustion and hunger, babe,” she says.

“I know.” I rise. My knee pops. Stiff legs, back, and neck. Invisible pins and needles torture the soles of my feet. “Crap my feet fell asleep.”

“I’m not even going to ask you how long you’ve been sitting there.”

“Good, because I couldn’t tell you.”

“I’ll get the food ready in the kitchen.”

“What did you get me?” I ask

perking up. My belly rumbles at the scent of well-cooked Chinese food. The Blue Gibbon was arguably the best Chinese food in the entire city of Cincinnati. Voted number one more times than not in the yearly polls, the restaurant prided itself in using the freshest ingredients, and it showed.

“I got us the Poo Poo Platter to split. And for appetizers, drum roll please.”

I play an imaginary set of drums on my thighs.

“Coconut shrimp and Wonton soup.”

“Perfect. Let me change and wash my hands.”

“Take your time. I’ll make drinks too.”

“Mimosas?”

“Of course.”

“If you weren’t already married and I liked girls, I’d be trying to convince you to be my wife right now.”

“We’d be the best couple ever,” Petunia says blowing me an air kiss.

I laugh and nod my head in agreement. I’m inclined to believe soulmates don’t have to be romantic because no one has ever understood me like Petunia. One glance and we’ve spoken an entire conversation. She hears the words I don’t say, knows how to talk me down when I’m on a ledge, and believes in me unconditionally. I’ve never experienced love and acceptance like that in a romantic relationship. It could be that my picker is broken.

It always starts off well, and then their true colors came out, and I run for the hills. Other times we just grew apart, or they blame my ambition on the distance that sets in. I don’t want success on a small scale, or to eke a leaving. I wanted an empire. Achieving that will take hard work and sacrifice. I’m willing to put the time in now in order to reap the rewards later. They weren’t, so we parted ways. At thirty-four, I’m starting to feel the solidarity that comes with dream chasing. This project is a make it or break it moment for me.

It’s a chance to get my name out there, build my reputation further, and have enough money to sit on and to go big. It’s time to expand and give it the old college try. I’m so close to a breakthrough I can taste it. I shed my black tights and Rancid t-shirt and put on a clean pair of jeans and a lightweight black sweatshirt that says Shenanigan Enthusiast. I step into the bathroom, scrub my face, and put a dollop of Pumpkin Latte lotion on my palm. I rub it in and gently massage my hands as I move to the living room.

“Better?” Petunia asks.