Fragile Little Things ✓

38 give in

Indie

IT’S SPRING. MY FAVORITE season. And four months since I last saw Jem Valentine.

I gave up hoping he would come back a long time ago.

The last I know was that he was in Houston. I didn’t even find out from him. On Kendall’s Instagram page, I spotted him mowing the lawn at the corner of her story. He looked different. His hair was longer.

I missed his twenty-first birthday last night. He missed mine, too. The thought makes my chest ache like I’ve been bit by a freight train.

Last week, Kedar Williams asked me out on a date. And in an attempt to get my mind off things — all I ever do these days — I accepted.

We went to a baseball match, and although he was kind, and charming, I knew it would never work out. When you’ve felt every color of the rainbow, it’s hard to settle for just a few.

I told him we’d be better off as friends, and he just shrugged it off and passed me one of those easy-going smiles.

I figured I can’t spend forever sad. Wrapped up in my blanket and just let the world run past me. I can’t allow boys to dictate my life anymore. I can’t keep making the same mistakes. First it was Kade and now it’s Jem. I loved him, but it didn’t work out, and it’s fine. It’s completely fine.

I can’t forget him. He’s like an invisible tattoo on my mind. The only thing I can do is try and cover him up. Try and fill my schedule up so that I have no time to think about him, and all the time we spent together.

So I get my shit together. I throw myself into my classes. When I think of him, I pick up a textbook and focus on it instead. And since he floods my thoughts often, I’ve been studying for hours on end to stop thinking about him.

It’s like I’m in survival mode. And it works.

And now I’m passing everything — and not just scraping a pass, I’m getting A’s. My scholarship is safe, and my professors are happy.

I also finished my last dissection for the year. And I develop a newfound appreciation for life. For all these fragile little things. An acceptance that everything has to end, someday.

Nothing worth anything lasts forever.

It’s the only thing that keeps me going.

The only thing that makes me cherish the time I spent with Jem and accept it for what it was — something that was too good for me, and something that simply had to end.

But it’s as if the universe is conspiring against me because at work, Kat calls me into her office while I’m working the counter.

I follow the path to the room and stand in front of her, and she passes me a look I know can mean nothing good. My palms grow clammy and my heart kicks up a beat in my chest. I’m half thinking she might fire me for all those times these last few months where I’ve spaced out, staring at those pink tulips that Jem used to come for.

The reality is so much worse.

Finally she breaks the silence. “I’ve decided to sell the shop.”

My heart sinks. “What do you mean?”

This was the first place I felt accepted and heard as a kid. My gran was everything to me. She taught me the meaning of love, that there was courage in kindness and strength in fragility. Some days, the flower shop was the only place where I felt home.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” she says, “I want to sell the shop. Take the money and travel the world. I deserve a break.”

She spares me a single glance before she drags her gaze back to her laptop.