Maybe This Time(19)

“Okay. I’ll work on it.”

“You will?”

“Um … yes.”

Janet gave me a hug and then headed straight for Caroline, as if she was going to inform her that moment of these plans.

“Look at you,” Mom said, standing. “Drawing and everything.”

If my mom was at all observant, she would’ve seen the design journal I toted around everywhere. How had she not seen it? I tried not to be hurt over this fact, but I felt the unwanted emotions bubbling just beneath the surface.

She threw her napkin onto her plate, then wiped her hands on the back of her jeans.

“Where are you going?” I didn’t mean for that to sound so desperate, but it did, I realized.

She showed me the time on her phone. “I told Taryn I’d be back for Gunnar at noon.”

Her phone said eleven thirty. Now she was worried about punctuality?

She squeezed my shoulder. “I’ll see you at home. And Andrew, it was great meeting you.”

“You too, Ms. Evans.”

“It’s Larissa.” She took the long route to her car, talking to a few people but really meandering her way toward Jett Hart.

Andrew sighed. “Your mom is nice.”

I studied his expression. Was he ever sincere? I just nodded.

He jerked his head toward Janet. “That was impressive, Soph.”

“Don’t call me Soph. And don’t mock me.”

He shook his head a little like he was confused. “Who says I was mocking you?”

“Your face says it.”

“Those bouquets you drew? That’s what you want at your wedding?”

“See, I knew you were mocking me.”

“Just a question.”

“Of course it’s not what I want at my wedding.”

“Isn’t that what she asked you for, though? What you thought would look best?”

“That is what I thought would look best at her event with her dress. My tastes don’t matter.”

“Kind of like these arrangements?” He plucked a petal off one of the sunflowers and let it drop onto the white tablecloth. “I’m sure you gave zero opinions about them as well.”

“What’s your point?”

“You want to be a designer, right?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.” Micah must’ve told him. I was going to kill her later. “A clothing designer, not a florist.”

“A real designer puts a piece of him-or herself in everything,” Andrew said thoughtfully. “So that when people see it, they say, that is a Sophie Evans design. You’re going to have to stop holding on so tightly to all those pieces.”

I couldn’t believe it. “You think because you throw a few pictures up on your computer that you are the expert on design and style?” I asked. “Right now, I don’t have a name for myself. People want something that fits who they are. That’s what they’re asking me for. And I’m really good at figuring out who people are and what they want. Really good.” I stood up and walked away.

I marched straight up to Micah, who was chatting with Lance by the food table. When she saw me, she stepped closer to me, a look of concern on her face.

I shook out my hands and then my whole body. “Ugh.”

“Is someone bothering you again?” She peered over at Andrew with a small smirk. “It’s like he knows exactly how to get under your skin. I need to ask him for pointers.”

“Funny.” My eyes locked onto my mom, who was still talking to Jett. She had one hand on his arm and was leaning toward him, saying something. “Seriously?”

“What?” Micah asked.

“My mother. I’m going to die of embarrassment. Jett’s now met most of my family and he’ll never take me seriously.”

“Your mom is not you,” Micah said.

“She may not be me but we are a reflection of each other, right? Good or bad, Micah, our family defines us.”





The text came in from my dad as I was walking toward the tree where Micah sat, waiting for the last of the guests to leave.

Hello daughter of mine. Haven’t heard from you in a couple of weeks. How is everything?

I shared a weird relationship with my dad. Was I angry that he could up and leave his family just like that? Yes. Did I understand his desire to escape such a small town and pursue his dream? Also, yes. So I went back and forth between being bitter and empathetic.

I texted back: Earned another fifty bucks for college.

Nice. I’ll match that by adding fifty to the savings I have for you here.

Thanks, Dad. I’m at work. I’ll chat with you later.

OK, honey. XO.

I gently tossed my phone onto the grass and sat down next to Micah. “Do you think Mrs. Perkins could walk any slower?” I asked. “One day we might get to leave this park.”

Micah giggled. “Yes, just in time for next year’s Mother’s Day event.”

I began picking dandelions and stringing them together into a chain.

“What did you think of the food today?” Micah asked. I could hear the worry in her voice, the hesitation. It was the first sign in months that she still hadn’t completely incorporated this new Jett Hart development into her well-organized life.