Kathy Jones placed her hands on her hips and tutted at her daughter. “You’ve been cooped up in this room all weekend. It’s almost one in the afternoon, April. I’m worried.” The ire on her mom’s face morphed into concern and April sighed.
“I’m sorry. Everything’s just … a lot.” The fallout from her abrupt departure was beginning to hit home, plus Tyler’s mother had begun to message April as well. The abundance of texts was making her phone lag, which wasn’t helpful while she was trying to write a letter of resignation. It was lucky that she’d left on a weekend, really. It gave her time to figure everything out, especially when the only thing she knew for sure was that she didn’t want to go back to the city.
“Why don’t we get out for a walk?”
April couldn’t dash the hope in her mom’s eyes, so she nodded and swung her legs out of bed. “Can I borrow some shoes?”
Ten minutes later, April was ready. In her borrowed shoes and hoodie, she felt a bit like a kid at a slumber party. Or maybe it was just an apt way of looking at her life of late: awkward, out of shape, like it didn’t really fit her anymore.
The fresh air was good, though. Cool, if a little heavy, like it might rain at any moment.
April’s only condition for the excursion was that they not walk into town. She wasn’t ready to see all the familiar faces—people she hadn’t seen since the funeral—and make small talk.
So instead, they turned the other way and headed up through the housing development toward a cut-through that led in the vague direction of the woodland area up by the Larkins’ orchard.
The trails were muddy, leaves sticking to their feet as they walked, but the open space and wide skies made a welcome contrast to New York’s claustrophobic streets and high-rises.
After a few minutes of walking in silence, Kathy coughed quietly, drawing April’s attention.
“I know it might feel difficult to talk about, given the bar was Martin’s baby, but don’t feel any pressure to reopen it if it doesn’t feel right for you.”
April shrugged, before tentatively replying. “I meant what I said when Noah brought it up. I don’t want to sell it. It would be nice to keep the space in the family, in Dad’s memory. I just don’t think I’d want to run a bar.”
Mud squelched as they passed a particularly deep puddle and her mom focused on her feet. “So don’t. Do your own thing. Well, you and your brother. He left the bar to the both of you.”
April shook her head, eyes lifting to take in the small buds on the trees above them as they walked. “I don’t know what I’d do with the space, to be honest.”
Kathy stopped and looked at her, squinting her eyes slightly. “Well, what do you like? What are your hobbies?”
April had let hobbies fall by the wayside when she’d been in New York. She’d been too busy working or playing the perfect girlfriend to consider things she might want to do forher. But …
“I do miss working in the garden.”
A faraway look came into her mom’s eyes as she smiled. “When you were a kid, you wanted to be a florist and open a little flower store.”
April straightened, the wind whipping her hair as she looked at her mom. “That actually sounds … kind of perfect.”
“Go for it, then. You’re young, single—this is the time to put yourself out there.”
She snorted. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine Noah wanting to open a flower shop.”
Kathy raised her brows. “I’m being serious, honey. Even if it’s not the little flower shop we dreamed of when you were growing up, you should follow your passion, whatever it is. And don’t discount Noah’s support before you ask him … He might surprise you.” Kathy gave a wry smile as she finished talking. It was probably the most aspirational speech her mom had ever given and April wasn’t sure what to make of it. Did she sometimes daydream about owning a little slice of heaven filled with color and ribbons and the scent of freesias? Sure. But not all dreams were meant to be followed. Right?
“I’ll think about it,” she settled on and her mom nodded, pleased.
They kept walking in companionable silence, April turning over the idea of the flower shop in her mind. The more she thought about it, the less ridiculous it seemed. She’d always had a green thumb, and she really did miss working in the garden, the joy that seeing her flowers coming into bloom brought her. In her chest, a small kernel of hope seemed to be taking root.
Then, without warning, heavy drops of rain began to thunder down on them, cold and unforgiving. April was soaked through within seconds, water trickling under her hood and down her back.
But, funnily enough, it was exactly what she’d needed. The wind pushed their hoods back and the rain plastered their hair to their skulls, making them laugh through their chattering teeth.
By the time they’d turned around and begun the watery trudge back home, April had to admit that her mood was lighter—even if her mom was still unperturbed by the mud they left on the porch.
“I think I have some in here …” Showered and dried, her mom rummaged through the cupboard above the sink as the kettle heated on the stove. “Ah. Here. Raspberry or lemon?”
April pulled her eyes up from the mismatched tiled floor and hummed in thought. “Raspberry, please.”
When her mom passed the filled mug over, April instinctively wrapped her hands around it. Steam curled out, the moisture bringing with it the sweetly biting scent of raspberry hibiscus, one of April’s favorites, as the sun brightened outside, the earlier shower already passing.