Page 1 of Sing Your Secrets
one
Reese
It’s 9:09 in the morning. Thank God.
I’m relieved when nine o’clock comes and goes and I’m not rushing to my front door to stop the relentless rapid knocking. Luxy Floral has a guaranteed delivery time of nine o’clock and most of the time that little delivery punk, who knocks like a woodpecker on speed, is early. The flowers are beautiful. The reminder of my ex-boyfriend, however, is a very unpleasant way to start my morning.
Somehow the word boyfriend seems like an understatement. It’s not heavy enough to convey the magnitude of what we had…what we lost. Walking away and recovering from our breakup took strength I didn’t think I had, years of tears, and countless pounds lost—and not in a revenge-body, make-him-jealous kind of way. For a while there, I looked sickly. Without my best friends, I wouldn’t have made it through. Peter Mills, better known by his stage name—Petey—didn’t just break my heart. He broke my spirit. I don’t need a reminder of all that shit in the form of apology flowers before nine o’clock in the morning.
On this pleasant Thursday morning, I take my time getting ready. I wash my hair instead of going through my usual dry shampoo regimen. I put on my makeup carefully, and even play around with some of the fancy blush and highlighter samples my influencer friend Amani sent me from L.A. My paralegal paycheck is meager but I get a little taste of the finer things from my far more successful best friends. I pull out all the stops this morning, even opting to wear my most seductive red-lace matching bra and panties under my modest legal office attire. I don’t know why today feels so important. There’s something in the air. Or maybe, I’m just going out of my way to prove I’m okay.
Petey resurfacing hasn’t rattled me.
I’m still okay.
Better than okay. Thriving.
When I can delay no longer, I head to my front door without my travel mug, intent on treating myself to a ten-dollar latte from my favorite coffee shop downtown before work.
My tranquil morning is immediately upended when I open my front door and see a splotchy-faced, sweaty, delivery boy carrying a massive bouquet of red, pink, and white roses.
“Oh, come on!” I gripe. “Seriously?”
“Sorry…I’m…late…” he says between noisy pants.
Stepping aside, I let him pass me to place the giant bouquet of flowers on my kitchen table. It may seem odd to let a flower delivery boy into my apartment, but Harry is no stranger. We’ve been doing this for a full week now. The first bouquet, I kept. The second and third, I threw away. The following, I brought to work and surprised Rona, our office secretary. The pretty bouquet with the hibiscuses I dropped off to my friend Noa at the art gallery she works for, Annisen. The tropical flowers reminded me of her and I figured they’d look better on her desk than in my trashcan.
Then there was the bouquet filled with pink wildflowers which reminded me of my friend, Addie—or my preferred nickname for her, Baby Bear. She went through hell while she and her now fiancé were briefly broken up. She cried…a lot. Ugly cried. Hyperventilating, snot bubbles, the whole nine, but at least she really let herself feel it. She wrote a freaking book about it. She used her heartbreak to channel all her creativity into her breakout novel, Pretend With Me. It’s an absolute masterpiece, and I’m convinced she and Joel got their happily ever after because she embraced her heartbreak.
Me? Not so much. I didn’t write a story about the first time I fell in love and had my heart ripped out. I didn’t embrace jack shit. Even after I left Atlanta, I let him string me on for years long-distance. I had to cut him out completely—I blocked his numbers and socials; I don’t even let Spotify or Pandora play his music.
The only way to truly move on was to emancipate my entire identity. No more Petey. No more music. No more tours, shows, or falling asleep in the studio. It all had to stop…
Cold turkey.
Petey was a drug. Music was an addiction. I had to stop.
I don’t have the strength to turn around and reminisce about the past. So, I took Petey’s stupid apology flowers, wrote a new card, and used them as a way to tell Addie she’s the most amazing, badass, Baby Bear friend I’ve ever had.
I couldn’t save a bouquet for Amani or Quinn, the other two of my friends who round out our tight-knit sisterhood. Amani is too far away, still stuck in L.A. for a few more weeks. Quinn would have serious questions about why I’m waltzing around with luxury floral bouquets, and I have a hard time lying to her. If I tell her what Petey’s been up to, she might actually commit a felony to rip him apart, and now that Dad’s out, I’m over jail visits. I’m not going back, so better not to provoke the mama bear of our group.
“Harry,” I ask, staring at the boy with chocolate-colored curls and scant freckles. “What happens if I refuse these?”
He looks startled as he holds out the pen and delivery slip for my signature. “Uh… I actually don’t know… I guess I bring them back to the shop?”
I squint one eye. “Would you get in trouble?”
“Uh…”
His forehead wrinkles as he grimaces, so I stop with the questions, take the damn pen, and sign. I snatch the note addressed to “Reese” with a little heart out of the cardholder and toss it in the trash. I don’t need any temptation.
Raising my eyebrows, I ask, “Do you have a girlfriend?”
He immediately looks bashful and rubs the side of his arm. “Um, not really… I’m single.”
It takes me a moment to realize what he thinks I’m suggesting. “Oh, stop. What are you—sixteen?”
“Eighteen,” he says too eagerly, his eyes filling with hope.