The Truth about Us (13 page)

“Wow!” Stella says when I walk into her office on Monday. She's at her desk, piles of paper spread in front of her. “You look extra pretty today.” She narrows her eyes. “Any special reason?”

“No.” I glance down at my favorite jeans. Maybe I took time to curl my hair and apply makeup, and maybe I'm wearing a turquoise top because people say the color makes my eyes pop. It's not a crime.

She stares at me. “What's up, Jess?”

“What?” I say and blink innocently.

“You look like you're going to an audition for a Miss Teen Beauty Pageant.”

“Stella, I do not.” I want to be offended, but a teeny part of me is flattered.

“Mm-hmm.” She looks down at the paper work in front of her.

“Stella?” I ask.

She looks up.

“You called me in here,” I remind her.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” She takes off her reading glasses, puts them down, opens a drawer, and reaches inside. “This was left for you. On my desk.” She pulls it out.

I step forward. It's a thick book. An old, well-worn one. There's a yellow Post-it note on the cover. My name's written on it. JESS.

She nods at it, so I pick it up.
The Book of Plants
, the title says. I know the book, but this obviously is an old and well-loved copy. I open to the first page.

For the Flower Expert.

Just in case.

Flynn.

I smile and trace my fingers over his name. I flip forward and look over a few pages. Notes are jotted in pen at the side in old-fashioned scrawl. I close it and hug the book to my chest, grinning. He is officially forgiven for not kissing me.

Stella clears her throat, puts her eyeglasses back on, and looks down at a paper. A disapproving vibe pulses around the room. I'm about to slink out when she pushes her glasses up on her nose and leans back in her chair, her gaze thoughtful.

“So, Jess,” she says. “Only a few more weeks left of summer and then you're back to school. Your dad only committed you to work here for the summer.”

“I want to keep coming,” I blurt out. “Keep volunteering.”

“Senior year is a busy one,” she interrupts. “Does your dad know your plans?”

“Not yet.” I pull the book closer to my chest.

She presses her lips tight.

“He's not going to stop me from volunteering if I want to.”

She leans forward, her hands in a steeple, and stares at me long and hard. Finally she nods. “Fair enough,” she says. “But remember you're living in his house under his rules.”

“I know that.”

She glances at me, her eyebrows raised, apparently done with our conversation. Her eyes go back to her paper.

“Stella?”

She glances up.

“I was thinking about bringing in some plants for the greenhouse. I used to have a garden of herbs at home. I thought about starting an indoor herb garden here.”

She glances up at me over the top of her reading glasses. “Herbs?”

“Rosemary. Mint. Oregano. Easy to grow and take care of. Maybe we could sell some of the herbs to a local grocer and the money could come back to the shelter? Or use the herbs in the kitchen?”

“I don't know about selling anything.” She tilts her head. “I like the idea of using them in the kitchen though. Of course, you know the greenhouse is Wilf's baby. He funds the whole thing. You'll need to talk to him about it.”

“Yeah. I kind of thought so, but I wanted to check with you first. I don't want to do things to upset you.” She stares at me. I think we both know we're talking about more than plants here.

“I know,” she says softly, and her eyes lose their angry glare. “You'll have to supply everything you need for the herbs on your own. I mean financially. That's not up to Wilf.”

I nod again.

“God knows your family can afford it,” she mumbles, trying to sound grouchy.

“I know,” I tell her. “They can.”

Her expression changes then, and her face looks almost sad. “Wilf isn't going to be around forever, you know. It'll be hard to keep the greenhouse going. After.”

I frown.

“Just talk to him about the herbs,” she says quickly. “And only if you really plan on sticking around after the summer.”

“I do.” I frown. “I said I would.”

She flashes a quick smile. “Thanks, Jess. I hope you do stick around. You're a good kid.” The unexpected compliment from her feels nicer than my comfy jeans. Stoked by her words, I leave her office, grab a lock, and tuck my new book safely away. Smiling as I close the locker door, I hurry to the kitchen. Wilf's already working, training a new volunteer, so I don't get a chance to chat with him about my idea for an herb garden.

I set up my tables on my own and keep my eye on the clock, watching the door for Flynn and Kyle. Before long, the guests arrive and I'm seating them and starting to serve soup, but Flynn and Kyle haven't shown up. Disappointment makes me ache more than usual from the running around. I keep looking up, checking for them, but they don't arrive. When the lunch service is almost over, an Asian woman walks into the dining area, holding hands with Kyle. She's tiny and a little stooped in the shoulders. Her hair is the color of midnight with no signs of gray. There are hardly any lines on her face. She's quite beautiful but somehow looks older and wearier than she should.

When Kyle sees me, his face lights up and he drops the woman's hand and tries running to me. She grabs him and holds him back, a frown lifting her eyebrows.

“Kyle,” she scolds. “You don't run in the dining room like that.”

The security guard at the door waves at me to tell me to take them to my table, so I walk forward, nerves pecking at my skin from the inside.

“This is Jess, Mommy,” Kyle tells her when he reaches me.

He wraps his arms around my legs and I pat him on the head.

“Hey, buddy!”

He grins at me and takes my hand as he turns to his mom. “This is the girl I told you about. The one who lost me.”

I almost groan, but she walks toward us and nods her head and smiles. It's quick to disappear and doesn't reach her eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Jess,” she says. Her voice is soft.

“You too.”

I want to ask where Flynn is today, why she's here, but my tongue feels too big for my mouth. “Have a seat,” I tell her, and we walk a few more steps to an empty table. There's only one clean place setting at the table, but I pull out the chair and hold it for her to sit. “I'll go get you a clean plate and cutlery,” I tell Kyle.

She sinks down into the chair while Kyle lets go of me and I ruffle his hair.

“I see Wilf over there,” he says to his mom. Then he asks me, “Can I help? Can I go get the plate?”

I look at his mom, and she nods.

“Sure,” I tell him. “Ask him for a place setting.”

After he scrambles off, she looks right in my eyes. “My son is quite taken with you,” she says softly.

“He's a good kid,” I say, watching him run away. “I like him too.”

“Jess?”

I turn back to her. “Yes?”

She blinks slowly. “That isn't the son I was speaking of,” she says in her muted voice.

I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Warmth rushes to my cheeks, but when I see the flash of disapproval shining in her eyes, I struggle for the right thing to say. She blinks again and it's gone—her face is blank, with no emotion at all.

We both watch Kyle run back without a place setting. “Can I go say hello to Miss Stella?” he shouts at his mom.

When she nods, he runs straight toward Stella, and she bends down for a hug and folds him into her embrace like a big mama bear.

“I'll go get another place setting,” I tell Flynn's mom. “Would you like a tea or something to start your lunch?”

She nods and lowers her eyes. “That would be nice,” she says.

I head toward the kitchen, my ears as hot as my face. It feels like I've done something wrong. Wilf walks by with the new volunteer right behind him, an older white-haired woman with twinkling eyes and funky clothes.

“Cat got your tongue?” he asks me.

If Flynn's mom is a cat, the answer is yes. I fake-smile and pick up a new place setting for Kyle and deliver it to the table. His mom smiles at me when I lay it down, but there's no warmth between us.

It worries me.

• • •

Kyle and his mom are my last guests, and Kyle's cute banter helps make things less awkward. When they leave and I'm cleaned up, I head outside to the greenhouse. Wilf slipped me a key and told me he was taking off to the doctor. I remember I still haven't had a chance to ask Wilf about bringing in herbs.

I'm relieved to breathe the air in the greenhouse, and the leafy creatures inside don't dislike me like Flynn's mom seems to. I start dusting leaves and then take scissors from the cupboard to prune the browned leaf tips, careful to keep the cut natural, following the contour of the leaves.

I fritter around the room, losing myself in the simplicity of green life, and smile at a pot of geraniums, my favorite houseplant in the greenhouse. Soon there's a rush of outside air as the door opens and I turn, expecting to see Wilf back from his doctor's appointment early. My heart pitter-patters when Flynn walks inside.

“Hey!” I say, and a smile takes over my entire face. He's so lovely to look at. I want to be mad at him, for not kissing me last night, for having a mom who doesn't like me, but all I do is smile wider. “Thank you for the book. It's the best gift I've ever gotten,” I say and then focus on the plant in front of me, suddenly shy with him. Have I given away too much with my enthusiasm? The quiet air of the greenhouse hums in my burning ears.

“It was my grandma's,” he says simply. “I brought it by yesterday so you'd get it this morning.” He tucks his hands in his jeans and leans back on his heels, smiling.

“It was your grandma's?” The plants seem to be listening as happily as I am.

“Yeah.”

“So that's her writing in the book?”

“Yeah. Weird? Is that a weird thing to give you?”

“No,” I tell him. “It's amazing. I love it. A lot. Are you sure it's okay to give it to me?”

“She left if for me. I chose to give it to you. It's okay.” He takes his hands out of his pockets and walks closer.

“Thank you.” I shift back and forth on my heels and glance down at the ivy. “So where were you at lunch today?” I ask. “I missed you.”

“My mom asked me to pick up some things up for her. She wanted to bring Kyle for lunch today.”

“Yeah. I met her,” I tell him, and my cheeks burn.

“I heard,” he says.

I wait for him to say more. Hoping he'll say she liked me. Something. But he doesn't.

“She didn't like me.” I hear the hurt in my voice.

He reaches out to touch my arm. “It's not that. My mom just worries.” He pulls away and picks up a spray bottle and mists a nearby plant.

I shiver, but it has nothing to do with cold. “Oh.”

“It's not about you.” He sprays the plant again, watching the water bubbles dance on the leaves. “It's more about me.”

“Why?” I ask.

He leans against the counter, watching me, and puts the bottle down. Then he gestures around him. “You work here. I come for free food.”

“So?” I put the scissors back in the tool drawer and stare down at them.

“It bothers her.”

“Does it bother you?” I ask and look up.

“I don't want it to,” he says softly.

“It doesn't matter to me,” I tell him. I don't say it, but it would make me feel much better if his mom liked me. I want her to like me.

“We come from different places,” he says and stares down at his feet.

“Well.” I clear my throat. “I mean, maybe we have different stuff. Maybe our families are in different places right now, but it doesn't mean one is right and one is wrong.”

He bites his lip and refuses to meet my gaze.

“We're not that different,” I say softly. “You and I.”

He doesn't look up.

“Don't give up on me,” I tell him and swallow an enormous lump that popped up in my throat. “Flynn, we're not different. Not here.” I point at my heart. “Inside.” I can't believe the sappy stuff coming out of my mouth. But I mean it. It's true. I can say this to him. Because it's true.

“Maybe,” he says. “I want to believe it.” Finally he looks at me, and then he grins, and the yucky feelings start to fade a little. “Hey, don't look so bummed. My mom doesn't pick my friends.” He picks up the bottle and walks closer and sprays me.

“No, you did not!” I scream and laugh, trying to get the bottle away from him. He sprays me again so I run, and he chases me up the aisle, trying to get me wet. When he catches me, he grabs me by the waist and pulls me in close.