Flower Girl

Chapter One

Chapter One

    A soft melody lulled the busy buzz of the late afternoon rush in the coffee shop. I closed  my eyes, inhaling the strong aroma of ground coffee beans with a splash of vanilla swirling around in the air. Taylor Swift sang about seeing daylight somewhere in the background beneath all of the bustling chatter of over-caffeinated customers who were most likely on their third cup of the day.      

      "How does every model get their upper lip to look so good? I look like a freaking walrus." Melanie opens up her compact mirror that I saw her throw into her purse before we left the house. "Ugh, I'm even growing a freaking mustache like a walrus. Can you believe this? I just saw my waxing lady on Tuesday. It's not even Saturday. Tuesday, Taylor."

     I pop my eyes open, focusing on my best friend snapping her mirror shut and rolling her eyes at how incredulous she's being. She knows it, and I do too. Suddenly, all of the noise fades and assumes it's position in the background as I answer, "You should see my fucking legs."

      Melanie throws her head back with a laugh. "See them? Girl, that leg hair is poking out of your leggings!"

     I subconsciously rub my free hand down my leg, feeling for any noticeable stubble. As I expected, there's a telltale roughness that my cotton leggings didn't have two weeks ago. I clear my throat and remove my hand from my leg.

      Trying to distract my best friend, I nonchalantly  flip to the next page of the wedding magazine which draws her attention. I pick up my pencil for the fifth time. I cross off trumpet and write next to it reminds her of a walrus. Picking my eyes up from my pad of paper, I catch a french tipped finger pointing at a model adorning a beautiful ballgown with a cathedral train, completed with a bling bodice. 

      "How about this one?" I asked, twirling my pencil in my hand. Melanie pulls her lip into her mouth and moves her head side to side as she plays around with the image of herself in this Romona Kevea twenty-nineteen collection dress. I'd have to call in a favor to pry it off the runway, but what does it matter when your best friend has an unlimited wedding budget?

     "I don't think Brooklyn will like it. He says he likes sexy." She leans on the small coffee table and peers at the model in a flirty, romantic pose, "I don't think that's sexy."

     My heart dips at the mention of Brooklyn. The hand holding the pencil wobbles as my hand starts to shake, but I take control and use my shaking hand it to flip to the next page. 

     "That's settled then, no ballgown. Got it." I tap the side of my head, "No ballgowns, no walruses." I say to myself, more than Melanie. She's too busy looking at the next set of models on the printed magazine to pay attention my heart practically pounding of my chest. If I didn't know any better, my own heart was running circles around me, mocking me and calling me a fool for being so naive. 

       Before I can turn the page again, my cell phone vibrates insistently on the table next to the magazine. I take a peak at the illuminated screen and find one of my clients calling me. I hold up a finger to Melanie, who has taken the liberty to browse the wedding dress magazine without me. She doesn't even notice as I press the green call button, putting my phone up to my ear. 

     "Taylor Abraham speaking. Hi Rebecca, how are you?" 

      "Ms. Abraham," Rebecca's melodious voice sighs on the other end. Her hint of Southern coming out, "I'm so glad I caught you, I know y'all must have such a busy schedule with this being wedding season and all." She pauses, and I hear her click her tongue while she gives me time to form a response.