Him by Carey Heywood, Yesenia Vargas Page B

them. For each one, we take three pale blue irises, one spray of baby's breath and two green leaves. The irises go in the back, then the leaves and the baby's breath in front. We secure the bundle with a rubber band before twisting pale blue and white ribbons around the stems. Just below the flowers goes a big white ribbon bow. At the church, there are silver rings mounted to the end of each row. The sprays will rest perfectly in the rings.
    "Who's making the other floral arrangements?" I ask, picturing Christine and Brian arranging flowers in their apartment.
    "They hired a florist for the bouquets, boutonnieres, table toppers , and a couple decorative arrangements for the front of the church. The florist was going to do these sprays too with fresh flowers, but the price was crazy. I told Christine you and I could do it."
    "They look great ," I say quietly, admiring the finished pile.
    "Christine found something on the internet on how to make them."
    "Well, if you are ever thinking of a new career," I joke.
    My mother has always been crafty . I still have many things she had made over the years, from scarves to jewelry and pottery. For a long time, I tried to talk my mom into selling her stuff at craft fairs or in boutiques. She had zero interest. She just made stuff because it was fun for her, not with any thought of turning a profit. I get that about her but still like to tease her. We are over halfway done when we stop for lunch.
    My mom ma kes a big chef salad with some pita chips on the side. She’s trying to keep it light because we have the rehearsal dinner that night. Apparently, it’s going to be a hell of a spread, or just hell, considering Will will be there. While I eat my lunch, I blush, thinking of my behavior the day before. I feel so guilty for bailing on the slideshow, especially since Brian had asked me for my help. Lord knows what Will thought of me. Why do I even care what he thought? That internal question may have been the silliest I have ever asked myself. I will always care what Will thinks of me. It is almost part of my DNA at this point.
    My mom ha s a couple of errands she has to run after lunch so I take over the rest of the spray making. Chip hangs out with me. I try, unsuccessfully, to show him how to make one when he offers to help. Flower arranging is not one of his skill sets. Instead, he passes me the next piece I need while I make them. I have loved Chip for as long as I can remember. He seemed larger than life when I was little. He is still tall, but I had caught up to him years ago back in high school. His once dark wavy hair is starting to sport some grey, but it suits him. That is one cruelty in life. Men seem to look distinguished with age. I can only hope I will age as gracefully as my mom and Chip.
    He ke eps me entertained with all of his exploits in Florida. He has always been a bit of a player. When he speaks, though, I notice something I hadn’t before. As happy as he seems to be, part of me wonders if some of that is more for show. Could he be lonely? That isn’t something you just come out and ask someone, but the thought troubles me. When I first moved to New Jersey, my uncle Chip had become my hope that I could live alone and be happy, never settling down. If that had changed for him, what would it mean for me?
    I am so distracted making the iris sprays I almost forget I still need to get a gift. I borrow my dad's car and go to Crate & Barrel. I’m able to get a list of what Brian and Christine had registered for and what is in stock. Waiting until the last minute means most of the cool things they want have already been purchased. I settle with getting them a side table, assuming it is still on their list because no one wants to pay for shipping. When I look back at the list, I notice they had actually registered for two tables, and someone had already bought one. The table is heavy, though, so I need help getting it to my dad's car. I make my way over to the customer