Paper Flowers

Chapter One

Before I left for school this morning, the snow began to fall. A front had moved in, actually including a smidgen of the good ol' Bible Belt in its dizzying swirl of hydrogen and oxygen atoms combined into beautiful crystalline structures.

It's still falling, collecting like powdered sugar in the lifeless limbs of the trees, when I pull into the florist's parking lot. The easiness of the weather - well, easy to me - makes the last minute Valentine's Day wait bearable, if not enjoyable.

I get to enjoy my two favorite things at once - flowers and snow.

The florist, Mr. Anderson, is efficient, though, making my wait short despite the long line. He smiles when I get to the counter.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Miss Esposito," he says, chipper. "A dozen white daisies, correct?"

"Yes, sir." I smile back at him before digging my card out of my wallet. "It's a shame you don't have any ox-eye daisies, but I suppose white Gerbers will just have to do."

"For your grandfather, right? I wish I could get them to grow." Mr. Anderson glances up at me while cradling the stems in silver tissue paper. "That'll be seven dollars, Miss Esposito."

"Mr. Anderson, you don't need to discount them for me. I can afford it," I insist.

"Let an old man do something nice for another old man and his grandbaby, please. It's not as if I don't make a profit on those roses, especially today." Mr. Anderson sets the flowers on the counter before crossing his arms over his chest.

"There's no way I'm going to get out of here paying full price, is there?" I ask, and he shakes his head. "You're just as stubborn as Gramps is. No wonder you're friends."

The florist chuckles. "Did that boyfriend of yours give you your rose this morning? Or is he waiting until tonight and I just ruined the surprise?"

"First thing this morning. Thank you, Mr. Anderson!" I say as he hands me my receipt. The line has grown behind me again, making me anxious to get out of their way.

"No problem, Carolina. Tell Will I said hello, alright?" He calls after me as I turn to leave and his next customer approaches.

"I'll be sure to do that."

I get home later than I want to, between my tradition of getting Grampa daisies on Valentine's and the nontraditional snow causing everyone to drive like scaredy cats. It wouldn't matter if I just had my usual plans of red velvet cupcakes and bad romantic comedies. But this year I have a Valentine in addition to my grandfather, and he's taking me out to dinner in a few hours.

I hum to myself, content, as I make my way up the steps and into the bungalow I've shared with my grandfather since Mom died. In the foyer, I shed my cocoon of red wool and my snow covered boots, embracing the sudden warmth.

"Gramps! Where are you?" I shout down the hallway. "I have a gift for you!"

I listen for a moment, waiting for a response. I don't get one.

That's... odd. Maybe he's napping. Or on the phone. Or maybe I just didn't hear him.

I take my chances and slide down the hallway in my cashmere socks, flowers in hand, hoping to get a chuckle. He's been a little blue ever since we lost Momma, and even more since he got his cancer diagnosis, so it couldn't hurt.

Well, it could. I've gotten injured doing this too many times to count, especially in my ballerina phase.

There was one time when Momma and I came to Grampa's after ballet class. I must have been five or six years old, if that. But I was old enough to know.