First Bloom

From behind a large display of fake flower arrangements I see Jack return, slightly sweaty with the Bangkok summer heat on full blast. He comes in with a rejected order in hand, pulls a bouquet from a box and sighs. Jack doesn’t see me, so I take the opportunity to sneak up on him so he’s unprepared for the lecture he’s about to receive. “What the hell is this?” I enunciate every word calmly. 

He gasps and spins around quickly, trying to hide the flowers behind him, puffing out his chest. “It was for a regular client,” he says with a smile on his face, trying to sound sweet, hoping the fact that he’s charming will save him.

“If it’s for a regular client, why are you unboxing it?” I asked sarcastically.

“He canceled.” Jack hesitates. “His girlfriend cheated on him. It isn’t his fault. He’s usually a really good customer.”

I cross my arms and glare at him. “And let me guess he bought this abomination of a color combination before?” I look at the bouquet, lavender roses with bright orange ones. This is probably the ugliest thing that has ever left my store, it should be a crime to pick something so garish.

“He’s a regular I can’t say no.” He tries to sound sad when he says it, pouting a bit, trying to win sympathy. He’s been working here a long time, so he knows I’m a little soft. I put my fingers on my temple. He is giving me a headache already. This kid is infuriating sometimes. He’s a good worker, but he is a complete idiot. If my mother hadn’t hired him, I would have never given him a chance.

Still close to him I watch a bead of sweat form on his temple not from the heat, but from me this time. I noticed his hair today. He usually wears a hat, so I haven’t seen it in a while. “What does your girlfriend think of this hair?” I flip a few sweaty strands on his forehead. He looks like shit today.

“Her favorite celebrity bleached his hair, so I did it too.”

His black roots mixed with about four inches of bleached-out hair, and paired with his tall, scrawny body makes him look like a wilted sunflower. “Tell your girlfriend your boss made you change it. Let her be mad at me for once instead. Go back to brown or black. You’re representing the shop. You should look nice.” I flick the collar of the shirt I bought him. He didn’t own any nice clothes before he started working here, and I couldn’t stand seeing another bright yellow Rivers Team or whatever basketball jersey in front of my face.

“Yes, Sir!” he says again. “I’m sure she’ll think it looks nice too.” He flashes me a wide smile, his breath stinks of a recent cigarette.

“And stop smoking. Your teeth are getting more yellow.” My shoes click mirroring my annoyance on the tiles as I walk to my office.

“I’m trying!” he yells at my back. Laying back on the leather sofa, I tilt my glasses up and pinch the bridge of my nose, I can tell a headache is already forming.

A knock on the door tears me from my brief moment of rest. “Kulap, the interviewer is here,” Chompoo says shyly. Then she grins and mouths, “He’s cute.” She smiles brightly, straightening the ribbons on her blouse. She may be 25, but to me, she will always be a little kid. She is the closest thing I have to a sibling, she was always around because we were neighbors and she became so bonded with my mother. I love her dearly but she will be the death of me one day. She’s so boy-crazy. I was worried at first about having Jack work here being her age but once she knew he was an idiot, she gave up pretty quickly, thank goodness. I do not want that kid as my brother-in-law.

I don’t mind doing interviews but, it’s always the same questions. Smiling politely, I talk slowly about how I’m inspired by new locations or by each couple’s unique story, or how I find new ways to showcase wedding floral arrangements. I have just completed my largest order yet and my work will be featured in a popular wedding magazine. I put my hands in the air as if I can still feel the soft petals of the flowers.

My fingers still ache. Is this arthritis? I used to be happy in this industry. Selling to children buying flowers for their mothers and grandmothers, watching people choose what they thought would suit someone best. Now most of what I do is for luxury weddings, I feel like I’m just competing against other florists for media attention.

Down the street I get lunch at “Clover” . It’s Suda’s bakery named after her cat. Suda saved a sandwich for me as always. I see my mother as she stops by to visit Suda before she goes to work. Even though she is “retired,” she still drifts into the shop several times a week. The customers adore her, and I don’t mind. She possesses a gentle patience that puts people at ease in a way I’ve never quite understood.

Krit is here interviewing someone over police matters, he said it’s because he can stop by and see me at the shop he always meets people here, but I think he is here because Suda’s cakes are good. Pulling out an old book I started to read. “Kulap?” My body relaxes hearing her voice. She sits down and puts her beige purse on the table that matches her soft colored hair, and ice latte in her hand. She gravitates toward soft natural colored things, ironic since she has a raging temper when crossed. She must be here to meet Krit after his police business.

“Hi, Prim I am having a late lunch,” I tell her as I lean back in the wooden bakery chair causing it to creak. “but I’m going to go straight home now to take a bath, and order something in.” Suda comes to clean the table next to us for a long time and tries to discover if we are talking about the neighbors, but I know better than to say anything with her around. Krit is still working on police matters so Prim and I walk back to the shop, and I am relieved to see the ugly flower arrangement gone.

“Honestly, you deserve it.” She gives me a small, sad smile. “You haven’t slept much since the last big wedding, have you? You need to rest.”

She’s right. I roll my shoulders a little, trying to shake off the fatigue that clings to me. I’m not sure what hurts more, my body or my brain these days. “How’s Krit doing?” I ask.

“Good. His case seems to be wrapping up soon. It’s our second anniversary next month. I promise not to marry too soon, you clearly need a break,” she says playfully. Prim and I have been divorced for three years now. We both never felt connected like most couples, so we ended it together on good terms. We have been friends since college and as I got older, I thought it was time to get married. Krit had always been there as a mutual friend. I regret I didn’t push them together back then instead of giving Prim false hope with me. She touches the silver floral lapel pin on my jacket she bought me. “Have you thought about taking some personal time for a while?” I know exactly what she means, start dating again.

“You know I haven’t.” I pause, gathering myself. “I’m happy. Being alone isn’t so bad when you’re busy.” My world is the shop or my condo that is speckled with decaying flower arrangements too old to sell, and too depressing to throw away knowing no one but me will ever appreciate them. At thirty-five I feel the same wear settling into myself. In college men and women flocked to me, and I was more than eager to give anyone my attention. But tomorrow will be just another day when a petal falls and another wrinkle forms.

***

I grab my daily coffee from the 7-11 and pay the cashier who’s always asleep at this hour, her hair falling over her face and blocking out the fluorescent lights above. I leave the extra 1+1 free coffee on the counter with the money. This silent transaction is a recent addition to my morning with the consistently sleeping cashier. But this time her sleep is deep I can tell by her heavy breathing. Always the same cashier at this hour. I have no idea if she drinks the coffee, but I leave it regardless.

Looking out over the Chao Phraya River, and getting to watch the sun rise alone with my coffee is my favorite part of my day. A ferry drifts by in the distance, its lights flickering subtly as the sunrise melts into gold and pink across the water. The streets are quiet, the early morning deliveries are done on the next block and the commercial side is still sleeping. I’m the only one here, already mentally sorting through the day’s orders in my head. The river moves slowly, deceptively calm for how much it’s rained recently. A faint scent of cigarette smoke drifts on the breeze though I can’t see its source. My stomach tightens. Something feels...off.

A sharp squeal of tires cuts through the morning air. My head snaps toward the shop. A distant crunch follows, echoing against the empty street. I sprint toward it, my heartbeats increasing in speed as the delivery vehicle lies on its side, wedged into the bakery smoke unfurls like grey ribbons from the hood steadily rising. “Jack!” I scream. I run faster, pounding on the shattered glass window. He’s slumped forward, motionless blood streaking his temple.

No. No, No, No.

I scramble on the roof of the van, pulling at the locked door handle with all my strength stomping at the windows with my boot heal that is not even making a crack in the window. I can’t just jump on it, I will fall on him.

I can’t get to him. What do I do?

I reach for my phone in my pocket when I hear the familiar sound of a fire igniting. Flames curl like a wave around from the hood to the tire catching it on fire, the black smoke emanating from it like a scene from hell. “Help! Help!” I scream from atop the van.

I see a fallen brick from the half-collapsed wall and use it to try to break the passenger’s-side window. Heat blasts my face. I inhale the dust from the collapsed wall and the smoke billowing under the bakery awning. The fire is spreading faster than I can process. I scramble to the back using the brick, smashing the glass again and again until it finally gives. “Jack! Jack!” I scream, my voice cracking barely audible over the blaze.

I reach inside and haul him from the seat. I climb out of the van door dragging him out pulling him by one arm, and watch in horror as his foot is pointed in the completely wrong direction, leaves a trail of blood on the pavement. His blood is warm on my hands. My grip slips. I don’t realize I’m saying his name over and over until I can hear my own screaming ringing in my ears like a gun shot.

A violent roar splits the air. The force throws me to the ground. Smoke fills my lungs, and my glasses are covered in black soot. My back slams against the pavement and for a moment, total darkness hits me before the pain does.

***

The sounds around me are loud and unfamiliar machines humming, footsteps, distant voices and my head throbs. A sharp, splitting pain makes me wince. My lungs burn. I try to inhale and the air smells wrong. Not smoke. Something sterile. Chemical.

A familiar shape drifts into focus above me. A nurse. The Hospital.

“Jack,” I croak. My throat feels raw. “Where’s Jack?”

The nurse turns toward me. “Your friend with a broken ankle?” she asks calmly.

“Yes,” I said panic pushing me upright before my body can argue. The room spins. “The one who was in the van.”

She presses a hand to my shoulder urging me back down. “He’s fine. He’s in surgery right now. The break was bad but we fixed it. Don’t worry.”

“He’s alive?” I try to sit up again, but the pain in my head explodes forcing me back against the pillow.

“Yes,” she says firmly. “He’s going to be fine. He’ll need a cast for a long time, but he’s going to recover. You however need to lie down.”

Relief floods through me. I sink back into the bed staring at the ceiling. Then a thought occurs to me.

Why am I here? I lift my hands, turning them over slowly. Scraped in some spots with minor cuts. I touch my face. Nothing feels wrong. I must have passed out...hit my head, I can’t remember. Shock, maybe.

I wait for Jack to get out of surgery. I don’t have his girlfriend’s number but I have his mother’s, and I let her know. I told her he broke his ankle on a delivery and told her no additional details.

I didn’t want her to worry if Jack was going to be fine. She didn’t seem surprised since Jack always had trouble following him like a slug’s trail. I sit in the waiting area, glancing at my phone trying to make sense of how this even happened. Did he fall asleep? Was he playing mobile games all night again? My mind races through possibilities while the minutes crawl by.

The nurse I saw earlier walks past me, then stops. “Oh you’re still here, good,” she says. “Stay right there.” She disappears for a few minutes and returns with a small plastic bag holding a ring and my silver floral lapel pin heavily bent, the one Prim gave me.

“The pin is mine,” I say, “but not the ring.”

“That’s strange. Maybe it belongs to your friend. The ambulance crew said you came in holding it, so I assumed it was yours.” She says.

I turn the ring over in my fingers. There’s soot caught in the ring showing an engraving of a moon and sun. It looks like something a child would treasure. I don’t remember picking it up. The thought barely settles before they let me into the recovery room. Jack is propped up in bed, already awake, already himself eyeing the young nurse hovering beside him.

“Hey,” he says, smiling, clearly still half-sedated.

“Are you okay?” I ask, leaning closer.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” His hand lifts sloppily, reaching for the nurse’s hand charting on the clipboard. I roll my eyes, if by fine he means looking at every girl in the room. “Jack, what happened?”

“I have no idea. They told me I broke my ankle and that’s all I remember.” He rubs at his temple, blinking slowly.

“No, before that you crashed the van. Do you remember?”

“A little bit. I was swerving because somebody was on the road.” He shrugs.

I press my lips together. “I don’t think you hit anyone the police would’ve been here if you did.”

He nods slowly. “I screwed up, didn’t I?”

“No,” I tell him firmly. “It’s fine. I’d rather you hit the wall than somebody else. It’s just a van. But...you don’t remember anything else after hitting the wall?” I ask. He shakes his head, voice small. I decide not to tell him the rest, at least not yet. I let out a quiet sigh of relief. “I called your mother, call her back later. I didn’t call your girlfriend, I don’t have her number,” I said, handing him my phone. This kid causes me nothing but problems, but at least he’s alive. His eyes have already drifted back to the nurse, even though he’s supposed to be calling his girlfriend. He looks at me and smiles.

“No, I’m perfectly fine here alone,” he says, handing my phone back without sending a single text.

By the time I get back to the shop, the van is already being towed. The police are on the scene taking notes and asking questions, and I tell them exactly what happened. My mother arrives in the middle of it, completely shocked. I have to calm her down before I can finish with the police. I straighten my jacket and pull my cuffs down as she turns away, trying to look presentable despite the obvious singe on one sleeve. “Jack’s fine,” I tell her, keeping my voice steady. “He just broke an ankle.”

I leave out the part about the fire. I told her he was already out of the van by then. The less she knows, the better I don’t want to make a big deal of this.

I ask the police if anybody else was hurt, they told me a bakery employee was arriving for work and saw the accident. He only saw the two of us on the road, pulled me from the van a bit, and called for help.

I made a mental note to thank him later. How do you even thank someone for saving your life? Hydrangeas and pink roses don’t seem like enough. I went around and checked the neighbors CCTV’s Suda’s was covered by a plant and Yot’s was cracked so badly you couldn’t make anything out. I told him with owning a gold shop he should really get it fixed. Nothing I saw was helpful or could make sense with Jack’s story.

My mother and Chompoo spend some of the morning in the partially damaged bakery, letting all the neighbors know exactly what happened. Information spreads fast here especially once Suda the bakery owner, finds out. That woman is a relentless gossip, I decided to lie a little and say that Suda’s calico cat Clover popped out onto the road. She didn’t seem to mind the terrible damage to the bakery much after hearing that. Better they think that than that Jack was drunk it would ruin both his reputation and more importantly mine. Suda now has to remodel and Chompoo is in no need of ideas to make it more Gen Z, whatever that means.

I spent the rest of the day calling insurance companies and ordering a new van, I try to get back into my daily rhythm. With Jack’s ankle broken I take on his deliveries myself. I load the van with the day’s arrangements, double-checking addresses and matching box numbers. Every step out the door feels heavier than the last, but I force myself forward. The heat presses down, traffic crawls and my back hurts from handling boxes.

By midday, I’m exhausted, my arms shaking from carrying deliveries. Chompoo waves at me from across the street, juggling a bouquet and a clipboard. She hands it to me, and I glance at the list one last time before heading back. Everyday I work longer hours than normal.

Jack surprises me by showing up three days later. “What are you doing here?” I ask, watching him hobble on one foot and crutches.

“My girlfriend’s driving me crazy. I can’t stay at the house anymore. Please...let me work. I can still handle orders and arrangements,” he says.

“Of course you can,” I replied, exhausted from doing all the deliveries myself and relying on different companies that sometimes show up and sometimes don’t. I post a help-wanted sign on the door for a temporary delivery person with a car license and no accidents on their record. I have no idea how long it’ll take to find someone, but I’m losing momentum fast doing it all on my own. I decided to go home, giving up for the day.

“If anybody comes in looking for a delivery job, check their credentials and hire them immediately,” I said. “You know the code to the safe, right?” Even he could hire somebody half decent.

I grab my bag and groggily walk to the door. My eyes sting from keeping them open. I’ll order food. Take a bubble bath. Sleep for the next twenty-four hours. Everyone else can depend on themselves for a while. As long as Jack doesn’t burn down the shop while I’m gone.

***

My phone goes off on the table beside me over and over, vibrating so hard it knocks itself off the edge. “What the hell?” I mutter as my eyes open, realizing the sunrise has come and gone without me today. I bend down and pick it up. “Hello?”

“Are you okay?” Chompoo asks on the other end. “You didn’t come in. I was so worried.”

“I slept in. I’m fine,” I say, rubbing my face, suddenly aware of how much worse the exhaustion feels. “The deliveries, ” I mumble.

“It’s okay,” she says. “Jack already found someone to deliver. Like you said no accidents on his record. You’ll be happy with that.”

There’s a pause. “I don’t know if you’re going to like him,” she adds carefully.

“He’s a temporary delivery driver. Why would I care?”

“Well…” she says, lowering her voice. “He’s really tall and hot. He might become your brother‑in‑law.”

“Stay away from him. I’ll be there ” I check the time. “ in about thirty minutes.” I say sternly. I lean up in bed and catch my reflection in the mirror across from me. I look like I’ve been drinking all night, the bags under my eyes giving me away. Grunting and stepping into the shower, I give up on the cold water immediately. Trying to force myself awake is a game I’m not willing to play and lose today. I can step back, I can relax, I don’t have to worry about anything for at least one day. I lather up with soap, not paying attention to how much I squeeze out. I feel more like a bubble than a person waiting patiently for the moment I get to pop. I release my frustration on the washcloth, scrubbing until my skin is striped red, until it hurts just enough to feel something. No big weddings coming up, no massive orders just the usual. So why do I feel more stressed?

The bell above the shop door rings. Chompoo and Jack greet me with smiles suspiciously like little children. “You just missed him,” Chompoo says. “He’ll be back, he’s slow, but accurate. Careful with delivery addresses.”

“That’s all that matters to me. Is my mother here?” I ask.

“She’s in the back office,” Chompoo says, nodding toward the direction.

I sit at my desk, pulling up an Excel file of inventory and sales.

“You’re working too much,” she says softly.

“I have to,” I mutter.

“You deserve a little break too,” she says. “Maybe...even someone new. A friend, a date…”

I stiffen. “I’m fine. And the shop needs me.”

“You can care for the shop and still care for yourself,” she says gently. “You don’t have to give up one to have both.”

I look down caught between my need for predictability and my need for something more fulfilling. But what would that even look like?

“How’s the repairs going down at Suda’s bakery?” I ask my mother, trying to get her distracted. Suda’s her best friend so it’s easy to pull her into a conversation.

“Well,” she says, “she’s had everything tarped up, and the insurance company has been very quick with the payment. She already has paint samples, new ideas...even some plans for the layout.”

“So she’s changing everything?” I ask.

“Why not? Sometimes big changes pay off. Even old ladies like us enjoy new things once in a while.” She smiles as she sees Jack lurking in the doorway. “Jack, come over here and talk to me,” she says. “Kulap won’t get in our way.” He hesitates, then wobbles in. He’s mostly given up on his crutches now. “What’s going on?” my mother asks. “Is your leg bothering you too much? You’ve been moping all morning.” Has he? I didn’t notice.

“One of my friends is having a problem, and I don’t know how to help him.” Jack says.

“What kind of problem?” she asks.

“Trouble with women like you?” I ask.

“No,” Jack says quickly. “I don’t think it’s that. Every time I see him, he looks exhausted. His hands are all beat up.” Fighting probably, knowing the friends Jack used to have. “He looks miserable,” Jack continues, voice quieter now. “But he won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“You can’t force someone to tell you what’s wrong,” I say plainly and immediately my mother gives me the look.

“Jack, you’re already doing what you can,” my mother tells him. “All he needs is someone to listen. If you’re a good friend, he’ll come to you when he’s ready.”

“I’ve known him a long time,” Jack says. “He’s the kind of person who keeps everything to himself, no matter how bad it gets.” He hesitates, brow furrowing. “But this time...it feels different.”

“Let’s do this,” I say. “If your friend needs help, and it is something you can do I will help you do it.” Jack sniffs and nods his head. That seems to have satisfied him enough to forgive me. Jack is usually too dense to notice other people’s business, so whatever his friend is going through must be serious if even Jack can pick up on it. I roll the last of my iced coffee around in my hand, letting the ice rattle for the final time as I set it back down on the desk. Jack’s worry makes my stomach feel heavy. If Jack cares so much about this friend he must be really special.