Love? Maybe. Read Free

won’t be horrible. I pause and check out my appearance in one of the big windows on the front of the store. I can half see myself, with my cutoffs and rainbow checked Vans and my T-shirt from last year’s regional meet. But I can also half see through the window into my mom’s flower shop, so that on top of my usual stick-straight brown hair, I have a vase of purple tulips coming out of my head. It’s weird for sure, but a definite improvement over the usual Piper. The door opens and my mother pokes her head out.
    “There you are! You’re right on time—” The rest of whatever she says disappears into the shop with her. I walk over,catch the door before it closes, and follow her in. With a bang, my little brother, Dominic, tears out of the workroom with my little sister, Lucy, close behind. She chases him around the shop with a leftover sprig of mistletoe held out in front of her. She’s making kissing noises as she runs. Each time she starts to close in on Dominic, he screams and bolts away again. They careen past, bouncing off me and into a low table full of African violets, knocking several pots onto their sides. As soon as they see me, they’re on me, or rather on the bag I’m carrying.
     
    “Candy!” They both shriek.
     
    “No screaming please,” my mother says. She relieves them of the bag with promises that they can each have
one
after dinner if they are good.
Fat chance.
“Piper’s here to take you home!” She says it in her bouncy, happy voice. It’s the same voice she uses for everything she thinks might get an argument: cleaning the litter box, getting shots at the doctor, eating Brussels sprouts. It only takes a few minutes to get Dom and Lucy rounded up and out the door. My mother is taking an order on the phone as we leave, but she offers me a grateful smile and mouths thank you.
     
    I follow Lucy and Dom down the sidewalk toward Commerce Avenue. We’ve been spending a lot of time together over the last couple weeks. With Valentine’s Day roses, Easter lilies, and then the march of the June weddings, this is the start of a busy time of year for florists. Mostly I don’t mind helping out, but occasionally I miss the days when Iwas an only child. The peace and quiet and first dibs on the bathroom were nice.
     
    We are home exactly four minutes (I know this because that’s the amount of time necessary to microwave two bowls of Easy Mac) when the kitchen sink explodes. No—really. Suddenly there is water everywhere. I try to turn off the miniature geyser that is erupting from the faucet, but twisting the knobs doesn’t help. I start digging cleaning supplies out from under the sink and find the water valves below. Living in an old building has made me pretty handy. I manage to shut off the water, but not before I am thoroughly drenched and there is a good inch of water on the kitchen floor.
     
    “Whoa,” Dominic says from the doorway. He begins jumping up and down in the puddle, sending streams of water everywhere.
     
    “Stop,” I yell, running for the hall closet. I pull out a stack of beach towels and head back to the kitchen. My wet socks leave a trail across the living room floor. I notice that Lucy has left her spot in front of the television and joined Dom in the kitchen. Sighing in defeat, I watch them splash for a while, grateful that it’s just water spraying the cabinets and not ketchup like last time.
     
    Once they’ve worn themselves out, I hand them each a towel and make them help me clean up the mess. Of course, this is a mixed bag because soon Dom is snapping his wet towel at Lucy and she’s screaming at him to stop. I finally get them settledin front of cartoons with a bowl each of pasta covered in a sauce so orange that I’m pretty sure it glows in the dark.
     
    Just half an hour until bedtime
. I keep repeating this to myself.
     
    I take our recycling bin out to the curb for pickup. I take a deep breath of the night air, savoring the quiet. Mr. Wishman,