❝WHO SAYS THAT WE HAVE TO LIVE
our youth recklessly? i'm fine
living my own way. i don't have
to dance on tables or dye my
hair crazy colors to prove
i'm young and living life
to the fullest.❞
𝐠𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠�...
Hoppla! Dieses Bild entspricht nicht unseren inhaltlichen Richtlinien. Um mit dem Veröffentlichen fortfahren zu können, entferne es bitte oder lade ein anderes Bild hoch.
George hummed happily while he navigated his way through his mother's blindingly orange kitchen. Most people assumed it was an homage to the 1970s (because everything inside those four walls was manufactured back in the day), but George knew that it was more of an homage to his mother's habit of procrastination that, for better or worse, he had inherited.
Instead of working in the shoppe or doing his migraine-inducing calculus work, George decided to make a date with the vanilla ice cream he had stowed away in the back of the freezer.
His mother, along with her apprentice (slash right hand man slash stalker who worshipped the ground she walked on), Richard had gone down to London for a flower expo, thus leaving the brown-eyed boy behind and in charge of the shoppe.
It all would have been exhilarating if people actually decided to visit the store, but Liverpool was currently stuck in the middle of a thunderstorm from hell and no one in their right mind was out.
So, instead of twiddling his thumbs behind the counter, George was spending his night with Ben and Jerry -- two of his best friends, come to think of it.
He sat at the kitchen's island and scrolled through his phone, hoping that John Lennon wouldn't personally skin him alive after seeing the picture of the two of them that Colette had posted on Instagram.
George figured that if it was his last night alive, he was spending it how he wanted.
Then, suddenly, the telephone that was connected to the shoppe began ringing. In the middle of a big helping, George swallowed quickly and put the spoon down. Sure, he knew it was probably his mother just calling to 'check in,' but George didn't want her to think that he was slacking off.
He didn't want her to know the truth -- oh hell no.
"Hello, Morning Glory flower shoppe." he tried to sound perky but right at that very moment, George got a brain freeze. Despite his best efforts, he let out a hiss at the end of his sentence.
It's alright, hopefully mom didn't hear.
George's eyebrows shot up as the person on the other end began speaking. It certainly wasn't his mother, because the voice was masculine and heavily accented.
"Hello, I would like to place an order for a funeral arrangement." the man began.
The teenager's face fell. Funerals were always his least favorite because he knew deep in his heart of hearts that grief wasn't something that could magically be fixed by a pretty arrangement of flowers.
George hated it because just like flowers, people died.
Finishing up his conversation with the man and scribbling down the information on a blue sticky note (his mother had a very distinct way of organizing information: color-coordinated sticky notes), George offered the man his condolences.
He had a sinking feeling that it wouldn't help the pain, but it couldn't hurt either.
As soon as he got off of the phone, George stuck the note on the door that led down to the shoppe. He then shuffled back to his now half-melted meal and simply sighed.
Suddenly, he was no longer in the mood for ice cream.
As he made his way to the sink, thoughts of past funerals he'd attended swirled around him. There was something almost impersonal about funerals. George remembered his grandfather's like it was yesterday.
Adding insult to injury, the beautician that was supposed to make Jack Harrison look like he had in his prime didn't do their job correctly. Instead of George's beloved Gramps, there lay a man he didn't know.
He hoped that wouldn't happen to the Ortega family -- the man on the phone seemed like he was going through enough. He deserved to recognize the person he was about to bury.
Making eye contact with the calendar on the fridge, George pulled out a pen and scribbled the words Ortega Funeral on June 10th. Alongside the Ortega funeral was a baby shower for George's Aunt Lois (an event that he hadn't yet finished the arrangement for).
It was all good, though, he had time. Sure, he had lots of time!
With his forefinger, he went to begin counting the days between now and the 10th but stopped when he realized something completely detrimental.
The 10th was tomorrow.
To make matters worse, he was all alone and had to make grandeur arrangements for two distinct events. If they looked like shit (and, let's be honest, they would if he did this alone), his mother's reputation would be ruined and, worse yet, she'd never forgive him.
George didn't want to risk that, so he picked up the phone and called the only person that he knew without a doubt that he could trust.
He called the person who he was closest to.
He called the person who he knew, deep down, could be completely selfless when she wanted to be.
He called Colette.
Hoppla! Dieses Bild entspricht nicht unseren inhaltlichen Richtlinien. Um mit dem Veröffentlichen fortfahren zu können, entferne es bitte oder lade ein anderes Bild hoch.
im so happy and thankful for all the feedback that this story has gotten!!! tbh i didnt know what i was expecting when i started this but trust meee i didnt think all of you would enjoy it like you have!!!
