Page 2 of Truck Up
“Oh, Johanna.” Darlene waves her off with atsk. “You need to adapt. Times are changing.”
“I don’t like how the kids are doing things these days. It’s so impersonal.”
“I think it’s fun.” Darlene shrugs. “Remember that cake recipe I made last week? The one with the caramel drizzle?”
Mom furrows her brow, her lips pursed in confusion. “It was chocolate, wasn’t it?”
“That’s the one. Found that on the Gram.” Darlene turns to me and winks. “Isn’t that what you kids are calling it? The Gram?”
I chuckle. “Not exactly, but close enough.”
I learned a long time ago to never argue with or correct Darlene. She’ll never stop talking and the debate could drag out for weeks if not months. It can be fun sometimes and exhausting at others.
“Well, at any rate, I messaged the chef who posted it to let her know how much I enjoyed it. She responded. It was lovely. Not impersonal at all. Just … different.”
“I still don’t like it,” Mom grumbles.
“Regardless of how you feel, it’s working.” Darlene’s smile widens as she gathers some yellow roses for an arrangementshe’s working on. “Profits are up forty percent this month. Four months of consistent growth.”
Mom gasps, her eyes darting between me and Darlene. “I don’t believe it. How is that even possible?”
“All those online orders.” Darlene explains. “That FedEx shipping option was brilliant. We’re shipping arrangements all over the state. Even sent some to Kentucky last week.”
Mom stares in disbelief.
Me? I stifle a smile.
I haven’t shared the financial details with her since taking over. She made it clear she didn’t want any part of that anymore. She just wants to earn a paycheck like any other employee without the hassle of running the business. I wish her opinions were similarly detached.
“And it’s all thanks to the Gram,” Darlene sing-songs as she passes Mom. “Your daughter is a marketing genius.”
“Thanks, Darlene,” I whisper.
Mom opens her mouth to speak, but the bell above the door chimes, announcing a customer. Her face instantly brightens. Mom always puts on a show for customers. I wish she would get this excited over the online orders. Sometimes we could use her help getting those ready, but she refuses.
I frown when I see who it is.Vicki Lynn Baylor, mean girl extraordinaire.
Vicki Lynn beams at my mom, who immediately starts acting like royalty just walked into the shop. Vicki Lynn may think she’s royalty, but she’s nothing more than a spoiled brat from a wealthy family, married to the son of another wealthy family.
Most people in this county are poor and struggle to make ends meet. Some can barely do that. Yet, they’re happy. Unlike Vicki Lynn. I think her unhappiness is why she’s so mean to everyone. It distracts them from seeing who she really is.
Money doesn’t buy happiness. I’m sure there are probably kind, wealthy people in this world, but they don’t live around here. My family has money, and I can safely say my brothers are assholes. My parents can be assholes too. I love them, but …well, they’re still assholes.
Correction. My familyhadmoney.
And it’s now partly my job to recoup those losses, to prevent the town from learning about our financial struggles.
Oh, the horror and embarrassment if our financial woes were the source of town gossip.
Those were Mom’s exact words when Jason and I first discovered the extent of their financial mismanagement.
“I need roses. Lots and lots of white roses,” Vicki Lynn demands, wrinkling her nose at the rainbow wall of flowers. Then she turns and looks at me with a scowl on her face, as if something stinks. “There is entirely too much color in here. Don’t you know neutral colors are more elegant?”
I offer a polite smile. “Personal preference. We sell a lot of white arrangements, but purples, yellows, and reds are also popular.”
“Hmm.” She shrugs and turns back to my mom, who is all too happy to help her. “I need seven large arrangements for my anniversary on Saturday. White roses with dark green accents. Can you handle that?”
“Of course.” Mom assures her. “When you say large, how many dozen per arrangement?”