The One Without Words

❀ chapter twenty-three | rose quartz ❀

Jack stood frozen in the doorway. Wide-eyed at the sight of Grace and I mid-argument in the flower shop, surrounded by roses.

"Good morning," Grace said to him, already cheery. "You... what was your name again?"

Silence.

"Jack," I said. "What are you doing here?"

He stared at the ground, looking like he regretted even stepping in. His shoulders slumped in on themselves. I remembered reading that selective mutism—what he had—was caused by severe social anxiety. I couldn't imagine a more awkward, anxiety-inducing situation than this.

Still, he pulled out his phone.

From Jackass:

you said i could work here again if i went with you to the race.

I had completely forgotten about my promise.

"Um, shouldn't you be in school right now?" I asked.

From Jackass:

i didn't see you there.

Had he skipped school to come here? To look for me? Something in my chest lurched, unfamiliar. Except here was Grace beside me, basically breathing down my neck. 

"Romy here spent the night in jail," Grace said. I noticed she was looking over my shoulder to see his text. I moved my phone away.

Jack finally met my eyes. He looked as worried as I was last night, going after him in the grass field, frantically asking what was wrong.

Grace continued: "Anyway, Jack, I'm glad you're back. I've been needing a hand, and Romy is no longer welcome here. Can you start by sweeping the floor while I finish these bouquets?"

She'd taken my place. And now thought she had the right to give him orders. 

"You're okay with him being here but not me?" I asked. "He's a terrible worker. Comes in late, hates flowers, even broke Talia's radio one time, he—"

Jack was now scowling at me.

"No offense," I said.

Which only made the real reason I'd wanted him to work here again very obvious.

"I can be the judge of how good of a worker he is," Grace said. "I believe in second chances."

The heat drained from my face. "Second chances?" I repeated, too shaky for my liking. "But not for me?"

"You haven't earned it."

I felt like puking over her precious bouquets. "I can't believe you're still playing the same mind games."

Had part of me hoped she would be different? Say sorry? Do better like she promised? I'd pushed her away, dismissed her, knowing for a fact she hadn't changed. For the first time, nausea outweighed my chronic, grating emptiness. Like I was seasick. Swaying back and forth in the middle of the ocean. Lost.

I couldn't take it. I stepped away from Grace. Stepped past Jack and out the door. Noise overwhelmed me from all sides—cars, birds, and the soft autumn rain.

How had I let myself become a carbon copy of my mother? Cold, manipulative, workaholic Grace. Chasing the next thrill, detaching herself from everyone. An empty shell of a person. I didn't know her beyond that. Didn't know her beyond my own contempt.

I looked toward the flower shop. Our perfect new location. Everything about it tainted.

And then Jack walked out the door.