A Bouquet of Love by Janice Thompson Read Free Book Online

when you shared a one-bathroom apartment with seven other people?—I slipped into the tiny room I shared with my sisters and sat on the edge of the twin bed, my gaze landing on the curtainless window with its broken blinds.
    Strange. We’d spent days organizing the shop downstairs, but barely ten minutes on our apartment. Maybe someday. In the meantime, I’d better snag this alone time to think through my job dilemma. Surely I could come up with a solution.
    Minutes later Eva entered the room, her hair still wet from the shower. She took one look at me and her eyes filled with concern. “Cassia?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œWhat’s going on with you today? You’re not yourself.”
    Eva might be two years younger than me, but she seemed to know me better than I knew myself at times. I wanted to tell her about the new job. Tell her that I’d rather work in a flower shop any day than open the new business with Babbas. But I couldn’t. Not yet. After all, I hadn’t even committed to take the job. Okay, I’d agreed to come back on Friday and work for four hours, but other than that, I’d given the woman—what was her name again?—no formal commitment.
    â€œYou look sad.” Eva’s nose wrinkled as she stared at me.
    â€œNot really sad,” I responded. “Just . . . confused.” An awkward silence rose up between us. My sister continued to towel her long, dark hair. I finally finished my thought aloud. “Have you ever just wished you had a different life?”
    â€œLike, wished you could trade places with someone else, you mean?” Eva slung the towel over the bed’s footboard, then walked to the vanity mirror and gave her reflection a pensive look.
    â€œNot really that.” I rose and stood alongside her, staring at our dual reflections. “Just wished that things were different. Like maybe wished you had the courage to stand up to someone who micromanaged your every move.”
    â€œOh, that .” My sister groaned and turned to face me. “Why didn’t you just say this was a conversation about Babbas?”
    I sat in front of the vanity, frustration gripping me. “Because I’m twenty-three. I’m a skilled floral designer, but no one would ever know it, thanks to him. He doesn’t think I can cross the street by myself without getting hit by a car.”
    â€œWell, there was that one time in Santa Cruz where you—”
    â€œWhy does everyone have a story about the way I was as a kid?” I slapped myself on the forehead. “The point is, I’m so tired of being treated like a child. I’m not. I’m responsible. Have I ever given him any reason to think otherwise?” My sister opened her mouth to respond, but I added, “Recently?”
    â€œNot recently .” She grinned and gave her reflection another look.
    I rose and walked to the window. Peering outside, I surveyed the Strand under the glow of the setting sun.
    â€œI’m twenty-three. Other girls my age are married. Have babies. They’re not stuck at home under their father’s thumb. They’re chasing their dreams.”
    Across the street, something caught my eye. The door to Parma John’s opened and that woman—the one with the gorgeous curly hair and svelte physique—stepped outside onto the sidewalk. The handsome cowboy followed with theadorable little girl in his arms. Behind him came the feisty little boy. I watched as they all made their way toward a truck parked nearby.
    I envied her—the girl with the picture-perfect figure and flawless hair. No doubt she had a perfectly sane life, one not riddled with overbearing parents and wacky family members who were always in her business. Clearly she got to eat all the pizza she liked on top of that. Oh, and that dreamboat of a cowboy who always kissed her at every turn? I envied her for that too. Where did a girl have to go to find a