Family For Beginners

“I’m just pleased they have friends.”

“See that’s the difference between us. I think extermination, and you think cockroach dating service. Roach.com. Have you talked to him about it?”

“I sent him a strongly worded email.”

“And what did he say?”

“Nothing. He hasn’t replied.”

“And how long ago did you send it?”

“A month?”

“A month? Knowing you it said ‘Darling landlord, if it’s at all possible for you to sort out my damp apartment and the cockroach I’d be hugely grateful but don’t worry if it’s an inconvenience.’”

“I was firmer than that.” But not much firmer, and her words hadn’t had an impact.

“What about the damp? Has he found the cause?”

“He hasn’t looked. I’m worried because that suspicious damp stain on my ceiling is spreading.”

“Maybe your neighbor has died and his rotting corpse is slowly decomposing and leaking through into your apartment.”

“If he’s decomposing, he’s making a lot of noise about it. He was singing opera last night.” She glanced up and saw the man still standing there. He had to be freezing cold. Should she open the door? Offer him shelter? A hot drink? “Maybe it’s his mother’s birthday and he hasn’t had time to buy her a gift.” She saw it all the time, people who rushed in and grabbed one of their ready-made bouquets without expending thought or time on the selection process.

Flora didn’t judge. Instead she took pride in the fact that her hand-tied bouquets were a talking point in this little corner of Manhattan’s Flower District. Like her mother before her, she loved creating a bouquet to a specific brief, but was equally happy creating something that took the pain out of decision-making. Some people were nervous when buying flowers, dazed by choice, afraid of making a mistake.

Flowers, in Flora’s opinion, were never a mistake. Her mother had always insisted on fresh flowers. It wasn’t enough to be surrounded by them in the store where she worked, she’d insisted on filling her home with them. There would be a large arrangement in the entryway, welcoming guests with scent, another bunch in the living room and small posies in each of the bedrooms. Violet Donovan had considered flowers to be art, but essential art. If economy became necessary, then it would be made in other areas, like clothing or dining out. When reflecting on early childhood, most people remembered events. Flora’s earliest memories were all of fragrance and color.

That had lasted until she was eight years old and she’d gone to live with her aunt who didn’t share her sister’s obsession with flowers.

Why waste money on something that dies?

Flora, raw in her grief, had pointed out that everything dies and surely the important thing was to make the most of it while it was alive? Up until that point she’d skipped through life, but she’d soon learned to tiptoe, picking her way carefully through every situation. She’d learned quickly what made her aunt angry, and what simply made her scowl.

At that moment the man lifted his gaze from the flowers and stared straight at Flora. He couldn’t have known they’d been talking about him, but still she felt her face bloom peony pink with guilt.

Her smile was part welcome, part apology. It didn’t occur to her to pretend she hadn’t seen him.

“Whoa,” Julia muttered. “Do you see the way he’s looking at you? Geoff looked at me that way and a month later I was pregnant. You’re either going to be the love of his life, or his next victim depending on whether you’re the romance or thriller type. Maybe he’s going to use rose petals to bury your body. Or the body of his wife.”

“Stop it!”

“Maybe he’s staring at your dress. I wish I could get away with wearing that. You manage to look edgy and arty. I’d look a mess. I mean—red dress and purple tights. No one but you would think to put those colors together. Kaitlin would refuse to be seen with me, whereas she thinks you’re the coolest person on the planet. And where did you find those earrings?”

“In the market.”

“Whatever. You’re rocking that look. Although I wouldn’t want to look at you if I had a hangover.”

“I like clothes to be—”

“—happy. I know. You’re all about spreading a smile. Everyone else I know is moan, moan, moan, me included, but you’re like an oasis of sunshine in an otherwise dark and stormy life.”

“Your life will be stormier if you don’t finish that bouquet fast.”

Julia snipped the rest of the stems and then glanced up again. “Still there. The man is going to get frostbite soon. Look at his eyes. Full of secrets.”

Flora didn’t answer. She had secrets, too. Secrets she’d never shared. That wasn’t the saddest part. The saddest part was that no one had ever been remotely interested in digging deep enough to find them. No one had wanted to know her that well.