Highland Plaza: a Collection of Short Stories

Misdelivery

Misdelivery

There was a package on the porch. Hattie's Flowers never got packages on Wednesdays, Parrish knew that for a fact. The schedule was always the same: Mondays and Tuesdays at around eleven, and again at two forty-five if they had any large packages. Parrish was in the middle of piecing together the last bits of a cascade wedding bouquet when his manager's voice called him. He sighed, rose from his chair, and entered the main floor.

The flowers tried to grab his attention, tried to feed him new bouquet ideas, but he ignored them and continued on his way to the store's owner.

Eleanor was a very interesting woman. Wrinkles made themselves comfortable around her eyes and on her forehead. She loved the shop, but she couldn't handle all the orders and bouquets herself. So she hired extra help, and Parrish was one of the lucky few who got to stay after the summer rush. She looked up from her spot on the counter and smiled at him when she noticed his approach.

"You rang, Eleanor?" Parrish asked with a small smile. Eleanor's smile widened and she gestured for him to come closer to the counter.

"Mijo, would you go fetch the package outside for me? The person who dropped it off looked like she was having a tough time getting it to the front door," Eleanor's voice reminded him of Ibarra Mexican Hot Chocolate—warm and comforting, but with a spice behind it that meant business.

Parrish nodded and exited the store. He wondered what the package was as he continued walking toward the entrance. Last time they got a package that didn't come on any of the scheduled days, Parrish had received a large Edible Arrangement from a newlywed couple. He had helped design a majority of the arrangements as well as the wedding bouquet for their wedding himself, and they had loved his work so much that the basket of fruit along with their final payment was the only way they knew how to thank him.

Parrish looked at the brown box sitting next to the glass door. It looked unassuming, but where was a distinct weight to it when he picked it up. That didn't seem quite right. Most of the packages that Hattie's received were filled with nothing but cellophane or ribbon, and Eleanor hadn't ordered anything the week before. That's when Parrish looked at the address sticker on the box.

Nightingale Tattoos. It had to be Nightingale Tattoos. The tattoo parlor wasn't intimidating, and the receptionist seemed pretty friendly, but she wasn't the reason Parrish did his best to avoid the place. There was someone else who had him shaking in his boots who worked at the place. She never smiled when he passed by on his way to work—she just kind of followed him with her eyes, her face stoic. From what he could see of her, she had tattoo sleeves, a nose and a lip ring, and lavender hair. Parrish had heard from people at the wholesale market across the street that she was one of the best tattoo artists in the city. They also said she was the reason that there was so much foot traffic into Highland Plaza.

 Parrish wanted to go into Nightingale's and talk to the artist about what kind of style she works with, and whether or not she could do white ink on his dark skin. Then he heard what others around the plaza had to say. Sara Jenkins from Echols' Books said she punched a guy in the dick for looking at her funny. Andy Birkholtz from Thanks a Latte told Parrish that she got kicked out of her house because she wanted to open a tattoo parlor. Keisha Bradstein from Escape Massage said that she saw the tattoo artist chew a guy out for what looked like no reason. And Grace Tillman from Tiers of Joy said that her glare alone could set buildings on fire. Parrish took all the talk and the rumors with a grain of salt. Rumors like these have a chance to be blown out of proportion. He did avoid the shop as often as he could, so as not to run into her.