“Please make sure your workspace has all of the following—a vase, shears, a thorn stripper, a bottle of water, a packet of soluble preservative, and tape.”
Once Toni is satisfied that we all have the required equipment, she moves on. “Perfect. In groups of two, moving from left to right, we’re going to take turns selecting our flowers. Please select anywhere from two-six types. Think out of the box—mix it up, be bold, and don’t forget your greenery!”
Lety and I are last to go.
I gravitate toward brighter blooms—gorgeous orange lilies, red and orange carnations, purple chrysanthemums, along with orange miniature carnations.
Lety on the other hand goes for ruby red roses and sunflowers.
“You need something green,” she tells me, assessing my selections. “Perhaps some baby’s breath?”
I’m sure it’s my imagination, but it feels like she emphasized the word baby—no, that’s crazy. “I was thinking about these oak leaves.”
Her eyes dart to my stomach again. “I suppose.”
We head back to the table and Toni dives right into what we need to do to build our arrangements.
“First things first, ladies, we’re going to cut our stems at an angle—but please be sure to keep them one-and-a-half times taller than your vases. Once you’re done, please remove any thorns or leaves that will sit below the water line. This is important because it helps stop bacteria growth, thus extending the longevity of your flowers.”
Toni falls quiet as we follow her instructions, snipped and measuring and chatting quietly amongst ourselves.
As we’re working, a bitter metallic taste fills my mouth. Lety must see my disgust on my face. “Are you okay?” she asks.
I push my tongue against the roof of my mouth, trying to hold back the sick feeling the taste is causing. “Yeah, just, I don’t know—a bad taste—but I’ll be fine.”
She eyes me curiously. “You need water. And a mint.” She bends and retrieve a peppermint from her bag, passing it to me. Before I can thank her, she’s bustling over to Toni in search of water.
The mint instantly reduces the coppery taste, making me sigh in relief.
I can’t make out their conversation, but Lety speaks urgently, glancing back to me several times. Whatever she said has Toni leaving her post at the head of the table.
The gorgeous florist returns moments later with a bottle of water and a kind smile.
“Thank you,” I murmur to Lety as she presses the ice-cold bottle into my hands. After glugging down a few sips, I feel almost as good as new.
“You are welcome. It happened to me too.”
“What did?” I ask, resuming my leaf removal.
“My mouth always tasted like I was sucking on pennies when I was pregnant.”
“What?” Desi shouts, obviously tuned into our conversation. “You’re pregnant?”
The scissors fall from my hands, clattering onto the table, as I jerk to a halt mid cut. “I… uh… sorry, what?”
Lety gives me a look that’s equal parts pity and understanding. “Pregnant. You are with child, yes?”
“Are you really?” Desi’s eyes are wider than dinner plates. “Oh, my God! Does Dad know?”
My throat feels like sandpaper as it works overtime for me to swallow. “Yes,” I whisper, answering them both, right as Toni jumps back into directing us through the art of floral arrangement.
“Everyone please pour the provided water into your vase, followed by the preservative.”
“This conversation is not over,” Lety whispers from the side of her mouth, her words a soft promise rather than a threat.
Regardless, worry winds through me like a snake on a limb, constricting around my heart.
“Start with your largest flowers first. Work in a circle and rotate the vase as you go. Keep an eye on your symmetry. Wash, rinse, and repeat until your arrangement is complete.”
I sneak a peek a Desi while she works; her cheeks are pink and her eyes are bright, but otherwise, her face is unreadable.
Lety hums Rockabye Baby under her breath as she works.
I tug at the neckline of my sweater.
“Are you good?” she asks.
“Yeah, just hot.”
Lety spins her vase around, checking it from all angles before nodding once. “It is increased blood flow.”
“What?”
“You are hot from increased blood flow.”
“Oh,” I reply, dumbfounded.
I try and get lost in my work, but I’m pretty sure my bouquet looks like it came from the dollar-store-discount-bin.
“Time to go, Seraphine,” Lety says, startling me.
Sure enough, everyone around us is packing up to go. I quickly neaten my station and grab my vase. “Are you, um, good with Dilly’s still? I asked Mateo if he wanted to meet us there.”
“Desi has me hooked on the place,” she says, pulling her granddaughter into her side.
“Yeah, it’s good.”
“Good?” Desi cries. “Their grilled cheeses are lit!”
I nod in agreement, but I’m a million miles away.
Desi calls shotgun, and I’m all too happy to hideout in the backseat and watch over our flower arrangements.
The second the engine turns over and the doors lock, my anxiety ramps up to a whole new level and I find myself desperate to explain. “We were planning to tell you—today actually.”
“I have known for a long time,” Lety says.
“What? Did Mateo tell you?” Hurt pinches my heart. I mean, I wouldn’t fault him for telling her, I just wish he would have clued me in.
“No.” She parallel parks in front of Dilly’s like a boss.
“Then how do you—”
“A mother just knows.” Lety kills the engine. “This baby is a good thing. A blessing. I am excited. Let’s celebrate.”
“Now?”
Desi clambers out of the car, with Lety hot on her heels. I rush to follow. “Yes! Now!” the younger Reyes crows.
Her grandmother grins conspiratorially. “Cake—we will order cake!”
I loop my arms through theirs. “I do like cake.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Mateo
I walk to my truck with a spring in my step and an anticipatory smile on my face. I’ve got a plan in place and all that’s left to nail down is the timing.
But before I can figure out any of that, I’ve got lunch plans and a different kind of bomb to drop.
Though, I guess bomb isn’t really the right word—unless it’s a confetti bomb or something—because I know without a doubt Mamá is going to be happy.
Ecstatic even.
She’s been wanting more grandkids since Desi was born.
Something tells me Des is going to be on board as well.
The whole way to Dilly’s my mind bounces back-and-forth between the baby and the other thing. I’m ninety percent confident, but damn if that ten percent doesn’t freak me out.
“One thing at a time,” I murmur to myself as I park across the street.
A small smile unfurls when I walk past my mother’s perfectly parked car. Swear, the woman parallel parks with robot-like precision.