Best Buds (5 page)

“Yes?” said Aunt Lily.

“We have a party in July!” he told her.

“Oh,” said Aunt Lily, leaning forward. “Whose party? The Edwards girl?”

Wow. Aunt Lily
does
know everybody’s business,
I thought. Even Ashley’s bash was on her radar!

“No, Mr. and Mrs. McGillicuddy’s golden anniversary,” Mom provided.

Aunt Lily sat up stiffly. “Oh, the McGillicuddys,” she said dismissively. “So, did you hear that the town hall is getting a new roof? Well, I’ll tell you, it’s about time….”

Why does Aunt Lily not like the McGillicuddys?
I wondered. I debated bringing the party up again, just to see what she would say. But then I chickened out.

After dinner, Poppy was so tired Dad slung her over his shoulder as we made our way to the car. Luckily, we had a minivan so we could fit everyone. We dropped Aunt Lily off, waited until Dad had walked her to her door, and headed for home.

“I have a surprise,” said Mom when we walked inside. It turned out to be an iChat with Gran and Gramps! Poppy, who had been dozing on Dad’s shoulder, perked right up. We rushed to Dad’s office and huddled around the computer.

When they appeared on the screen we all burst into
laughter. Gran and Gramps were sitting there, graduation caps on their heads!

“Happy graduation, girls!” they chorused.

“Where did you get those?” asked Mom, wiping tears from her eyes from laughing so hard.

“We borrowed them from our neighbors,” said Gran. “Glad you enjoyed our surprise!”

The connection was pretty good, with only a tiny time delay and minimal freezing. We filled them in on the day’s events, including our fancy dinner. We left out the zebra thing, though we did tell them all about Aster’s poem and Rose’s cartwheels. Gran and Gramps got a good laugh out of that one.

Then I thought of something. “Hey,” I said. “Why doesn’t Aunt Lily like the McGillicuddys?” I asked.

“Geraldine and Jerome?” Gramps said. “They’re so nice. Why wouldn’t Lily like them?”

But Gran knew exactly what I was talking about. “It’s so sad,” she said. “Lily and Geraldine were the very best of friends in high school, and they were always close after. Then something happened. I’m not sure what it was,
but it couldn’t have been good. They haven’t spoken in fifteen years.”

“Hmmm,” I said. “Well, the McGillicuddys are having an anniversary party and we’re doing the flowers.”

“Oh, how lovely!” said Gran. “I’ll have to send them a card!”

But then her face turned serious. “Girls,” she said, “I’m sorry we missed your graduations. But we just couldn’t get away. The Isaacs are coming back in two weeks and we still haven’t found a new place to live.”

I could feel a lump forming in my throat. I knew Gran and Gramps had decided to retire to Florida, but some part of me kept thinking they would return home. That they’d miss the store — and us — so much that they’d have to come back.

But, apparently, Key West was treating them just fine. They had worked hard in the store their whole lives and now they were kicking back and having fun. I couldn’t begrudge them that. But it didn’t make things any easier.

That night as I lay in bed, I had a terrible thought. Maybe Gran and Gramps were having so much fun in Florida they didn’t miss us as much as we missed them.

Would Gran and Gramps ever come back — even just for a visit? I certainly hoped so.

I picked up my phone from my bedside table to check it before I turned out the light. No new messages. Sheesh. What was Hamilton waiting for? Then a smile stole across my face. Who said I had to wait for him to call me? I had his number. I could send him a text. Easy, right?

Forty-five minutes later, I had composed a text that combined the right amounts of interested, cool, and casual:

HEY, IT’S DEL. WANNA HANG OUT THIS WEEK?

It didn’t take him as long to compose his reply:

SORRY, GOT PLANS. MAYBE ANOTHER TIME.

I stared at the text in disbelief. Was Hamilton Baldwin
blowing me off
?

I frowned and shut off the light. Between my messed-up birthday plans, my thoughts about Gran and Gramps, and Hamilton’s dismissive text, there was only one word to describe how I felt.

Blazonky
with a capital
B
.

On Saturday, Mom and I left early to go to the store, leaving Dad at home with Aster, Rose, and Poppy. He had big plans — he was going to take them on a hike in the woods that morning. From the unhappy looks on my sisters’ faces, I was pretty glad I wasn’t attending Camp Dad that summer.

At Petal Pushers, I swept and Mom checked for messages. As the morning sunlight shone through the store windows, I could see how dirty they were. I crumpled up some newspaper, grabbed some of the new “green” cleaner we now used, and went to work on the inside. Scrubbing helped improve my bad mood from the night before.

Mom went through the flower cooler, discarding any flowers that were past their prime. We had two arrangements to make that day — an “It’s a Girl!” bouquet and a
belated high school graduation arrangement from someone’s out-of-town relative.

Mom emerged from the cooler, her hands filled with wilted blooms. She tossed them in the trash can. She looked glum.

“I still feel really bad about the anniversary party on your birthday,” she said.

“Mom, it is what it is.” I sighed. “Plus, if Mrs. McGillicuddy doesn’t go to us, you know where she’ll end up.”

Mom sighed. “Fleur,” she said. (Hamilton’s mom’s shop, in case you haven’t been paying attention.)

So far, Petal Pushers had not been feeling the competition from Fleur that much. We had scored the biggest wedding our town had ever seen, and had gotten most of the prom business. But customers can be fickle. We’d have to be on our toes to stay ahead. So I knew we couldn’t afford to turn down any parties, no matter whose birthday they might fall on.

But that still didn’t make me feel any better.

After we had restocked the ready-made bouquets, Mom started pulling out flowers from the cooler for the
arrangements. Lots of pinks and whites for the “It’s a Girl!” and some striking bright colors for the graduation arrangement. She selected two vases and put me to work on the graduation one. I felt the familiar surge of excitement as I began to assemble an arrangement in my head. I looked over at Mom, staring at her vase, her tongue sticking out in concentration. It was cozy working side by side at the worktable. I placed a red peony next to a double yellow freesia, changed my mind, and substituted a hot-pink zinnia.

Ring-a-ling-ling!
The bell above the door rang. It was Dad, Poppy, Rose, and Aster, all looking sweaty and disgruntled.

“Back so soon?” I asked. “What’s going on?”

Rose scowled. “The trail was all overgrown. We had to bail.” She bent over to scratch her shin. “I think I got poison ivy,” she complained. “Plus, Dad forgot to bring water.”

“It was an adventure!” Dad said.

“I’ll say,” said Aster drily, reaching for a peony lying on the worktable. She sniffed it.

Poppy was being unusually quiet.

“Hey, Poppy,” I said. “How was the hike?”

Poppy shrugged and leaned against the counter. Something was different about her. I squinted at my little sister. Normally, Poppy is not afraid of color and hasn’t met a print she doesn’t like. She often puts together some strange ensembles. But today she was in all black.
Odd choice for a hike,
I thought.

But before I could ask her what was up, the phone rang.

“Petal Pushers,” said Mom brightly. “Oh hello, Eleanor, how are you?” Mom listened for a moment, then frowned. “You’re calling about your
what
?” she said, sounding confused. She pressed the phone to her ear with her shoulder and used both hands to haul out the appointment book. She opened it and began flipping through the pages, looking puzzled.

“I’m dying!” said Rose dramatically as she fanned herself with a flower brochure.

“Shhhh!” I said, motioning to Mom. “I want to hear what’s going on.”

“Um, of course we’re still on,” Mom said, making a funny face at us. I stared at her. What in the world was
going on? “Okay, so we’ll see you this week. What day is good for you?” She scribbled something down in the appointment book. “Okay, good-bye,” she said, then hung up the phone, her shoulders sagging.

“What happened?” I asked. “Is everything okay?”

Mom bit her lip. “I … I don’t know what to say,” she said.

That got everyone’s attention. Five pairs of curious eyes were all focused on her.

“What?” I said. “Tell us!”

“That was Eleanor Edwards,” she said. “Ashley’s mom.”

“Go on …” I said warily. This couldn’t be good.

“And she called to ask about when she could come in to discuss the arrangements….”

My heart sank. “For Ashley’s birthday party?” I filled in.

Mom nodded, watching me carefully. “For Ashley’s birthday party,” she confirmed. “The same day as the anniversary party, and …”

She didn’t need to say it. My birthday. I was speechless.

Mom scanned the book one more time. “I didn’t know what else to do. I told her to come in this week.” She sighed. “But there’s nothing down in the appointment book. And she said she booked the date months in advance. But I don’t see it! I never would have booked two events in one day!”

Dad cleared his throat as if he were about to say something. He looked very uncomfortable. Quickly, I grabbed the appointment book. Mom looked over my shoulder as I flipped through the pages. Nothing on July 7 of this year. But then I realized it was a two-year calendar. I turned the pages until I was at July 7 of the next year. And there, in Dad’s loopy handwriting, one year in advance, it said,
Ashley Edwards’s Birthday Party.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I cried. “Dad!”

Dad grimaced. “I can’t imagine how I did that,” he said sheepishly.

Mom gave him a sympathetic look. “It could happen to anyone,” she said.

I didn’t say anything. But I thought,
Could it really?

Mom turned to me, about to speak.

“I know what you’re going to say,” I said. “And Mom, you can’t do two parties by yourself in one day. We have to stay.” I closed my eyes and swallowed hard. I was basically giving up my birthday to help my worst enemy!

“Del, I …” Dad started to say.

“You what?” I said. “You completely ruined my birthday? You’re right!”

His face fell. I felt completely awful. But I still felt overwhelmed with anger and disappointment. “I need to go for a walk,” I said. “I’ll be back.”

“Del, wait,” said Mom. “We’ll … we’ll … celebrate your birthday on Sunday instead. We’ll have an amazing day!”

But I just walked right out. I was officially fed up. Ashley Edwards’s birthday party was the straw that had broken the camel’s back.

“Oh, Del,” said Becky, shaking her head. “That’s terrible.”

I nodded, then put my head on my knees and closed my eyes. I had headed to Becky’s house as soon as I left the flower shop. We were sitting on her sunny front steps. But even Becky, the eternal optimist, couldn’t put a positive spin on this one. However, the gasp she had let out when I told her what had happened had been very satisfying.

I lifted my head. “My mother suggested we pretend that
Sunday
is my birthday instead,” I said bitterly.

Becky grimaced. “That’s lame,” she said.

“Totally,” I agreed.

Becky stretched her bare feet across the top step. “Okay, imagine that you didn’t have these two parties on your birthday. What would you do?”

“I’d also need to imagine that all my friends weren’t leaving for the summer,” I reminded her.

Becky grimaced again. “That, too,” she said.

I smiled as I pictured the perfect summer birthday party. “It would be at the lake,” I told her. “I’d set up picnic tables under a big tree and string the tree with white lights and paper lanterns.”

Becky nodded and smiled. “Go on, it sounds great!” she said.

“I’d have a real New England clambake — we’d dig a hole and line it with rocks and light a fire. Then we’d fill it with seaweed and lobsters and steamers and corn on the cob and potatoes and onions and even eggs.”

“Of course,” agreed Becky. She knew the tradition of hard-boiled eggs at a clambake — the lobstermen used to carry the eggs in their pockets because they retained heat for so long and kept their hands warm on cold mornings. When the eggs cooled off, they would eat them with their lunch.

“I’d serve homemade lemonade in those big jars with the spigots, and the tables would have old quilts on them
for tablecloths.” I sat up straight. I was really on a roll. “The flowers would be wildflowers in Mason jars, filled with smooth stones at the bottom, and tied with twine at the top. We’d play games on the beach while the food cooked — horseshoes and scavenger hunts and three-legged races. And after dinner, we’d put on music and dance in the sand as the moon rose up.”

“Wow, Del,” said Becky. “What a great party.” She smiled. “Maybe someday …”

“I know,” I said. I sighed. “Maybe someday.”

Becky touched my arm. “I know that your birthday plans are ruined, but you have to remember that your parents didn’t do this on purpose,” she said.

I pictured my dad’s stricken face. “I know. I just wish they understood how I feel.”

Becky giggled. “You ran out of the store. I think they get it now.”

I grinned. “I guess you’re right.”

Becky looked at her watch. “I wish you could hang out with me all day,” she said. “Especially since I’m leaving for camp tomorrow.” She thought for a moment. “Hey, want
to go shopping with me? I need to go to the sporting goods store and the drugstore for some last-minute things.”

I gulped. I didn’t know what would be more painful — shopping for tennis balls and dental floss or facing my family. “I think I should go back,” I said, standing up. “I guess this is good-bye?” I made a sad face.

Becky climbed to her feet and shrugged resignedly. “I guess so,” she said. She reached out and hugged me tight.

“Big Fat Friendship?” she said with a grin.