The Baby Plan by Kate Rorick

Author:Kate Rorick
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-01-29T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

“MAISEY! THANK GOODNESS YOU’RE EARLY!”

Maisey’s head whipped up as she shuffled into the chaos that was the Favorite Flower. Her new boss, Lyndi, was neck deep in roses, as was everyone else. Red roses, pink roses, white roses, yellow roses, and for some reason, a small pocket of blue roses that didn’t seem to be getting as much play as the others.

Maisey’s eyes went wide, awake for the first time that morning. “Holy crap,” she said.

“Holy crap is right,” Lyndi said, on a small disbelieving laugh. “We got thirty percent more last-minute orders overnight than we were expecting. We had to beg our suppliers for emergency stock.”

“Wow.” They knew there might be a last-minute rush . . . but thirty percent more orders than they had planned for?

“Never underestimate the ability of guys to completely forget that it’s Valentine’s Day. Can you join the line? Throw some bouquets together?”

Maisey nodded. She’d only been on the job for a week—and granted, only as a delivery girl—but she had the basics of arranging down. She joined the assembly line right behind the head arranger, Judy, who showed her the order and sketch for the day’s arrangement, and led her through her first bouquet.

And she worked like that, intensely, mindlessly, focused, for a solid forty minutes assembling bouquets. And to be honest, it was a complete relief to have that time without having to think about . . . anything.

Without having to think about her mom, or her college applications, or how she just wanted to go to the library and read for the next four to six months. Lose herself in story after story so she wouldn’t have to focus on her own.

Her mother had been so . . . earnest lately. The week of night shoots—usually a really dull time for Maisey where she used the quiet time at home to either read a couple of manga she got from the library or watch the latest cool sci-fi show with hot midtwenties “teenagers” staring longingly at each other—were suddenly fraught with tension. She was wary at all times that her mom would come home from work unexpectedly, and want to talk more. That she would want an explanation for why Maisey hadn’t done her college applications yet.

The problem was, Maisey didn’t have a reason. Not a good one anyway.

Her intentions had been strong. The second she read the rejection email she got from Stanford, she immediately printed it out, reread it, set it on fire along with her Stanford T-shirt (if they were gonna crush her dreams they weren’t gonna get free advertising out of her) and set about downloading and printing out the application forms for all the other schools they visited.

But as she began the tedious task of going through all those applications—filling out the same information over and over again—her name, her birthdate, her unending desire to attend [INSERT SCHOOL NAME HERE]—she began to feel tired.

Physically, emotionally. Her body felt like it was seventy-one, and not seventeen. She just didn’t want to look at the papers anymore after a while.

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