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Maxine

Navigating the NYC flower district in peak season was something akin to plunging head-first into battle.

Contrary to the serene scenes of bouquets and buckets filled with floral arrangements that you might see in magazines, the actual reality of my little escapade was pure pandemonium, complete with troops of influencers armed with cellphones and sunglasses and overpriced iced coffees.

She didn’t even glance back, lost in a loud conversation on her phone while I narrowly avoided taking a tumble into a bucket of daffodils. Her words were a garbled mix of hashtags and brunch plans, jarring against the calm I had anticipated on my flower quest.

I scowled at her retreating back. Really, the nerve of some people.

And complete lack of fashion sense to boot…

But today was not the day to let someone else's rudeness dampen my spirits.

I took a deep breath, inhaling the mingled scents of jasmine and roses, and fluffed out my curls.

I was here on a mission of joy , and I would not be derailed by a tourist with poor manners and terrible taste in footwear.

Turning away from the chaos my assailant had left in her wake, I delved deeper down a deserted aisle to the left. Here, the flowers were piled high on either side of me, a colorful maze that stretched onward and ended in a cluster of ferns.

I ran my fingers over the petals of a bundle of lilies, the velvety texture and delicate fragrance like a whisper of peace amidst the noise.

I needed something vibrant but also… classy.

Something that screamed congratulations Hunter on finally telling us about your mating bond with Addison even though I knew it all along! – or something to that extent.

Two days ago, Hunter had strutted into High Stakes headquarters looking rather pleased with herself, and announced what I had already known for months.

She and Addison were mated and Hunter was finally ready to share the good news with the rest of us – and I was finally able to jump for joy without the rest of the Leyore woman questioning my sanity.

That nobody had clocked it until then was beyond me.

In my eyes, it was clear as day that Hunter had found her mate the moment she started slinking off to some random nightclub she’d never shown interest in before.

But perhaps the rest of my companions were not as tapped-in to the goings on of each other's lives as I was.

Some would call my inquisitive tendencies nosey. I called it useful. In my opinion, it was good to know the ins and outs of just about everything that happened in the bustling streets of New York.

And bustling they were. The deserted isle I’d found refuge in was not deserted for long, and I had to duck out of the way of yet another twittering tourist before I ended up with a black eye and a coffee stain, from the way she was wielding her Stanley cup.

After successfully avoiding a gaggle of social media snappers taking selfies amongst the petunias, I eventually found what I was looking for – a sophisticated arrangement of deep red roses, interwoven with sprigs of eucalyptus and tiny twigs of baby’s-breath.

Romantic, sensual, and certainly better than the dehydrated half-dead cactus Hunter kept on her desk for reasons I could not begin to fathom.

With the bouquet securely in my grasp and brandishing my Birkin bag like a weapon, I made my way to the cashier. The line was mercifully short and I shuffled forward, already mentally preparing my congratulatory speech for Hunter, when a streak of red blinked past my peripheral.

I turned, credit card hovering over the terminal, and stared out of the storefront window. There, just beyond the glass, a frowning woman pushed through a swarm of pedestrians, fiery hair vibrant in the sunlight. A familiar face.

Memories surged, unbidden – a different time, a different place, walking hand in hand with a red-headed girl down the misty streets of San Francisco.

“Miss? Excuse me, Miss?”

The cashier’s voice snapped me back to the present and I blinked, disoriented, the remains of a foggy reminiscence still clinging to my thoughts.

“I... I’ll be right back. I just have to – ” I stammered, not bothering to finish my sentence as I rushed out the door, bouquet still clutched tightly in my fist.

Outside, I scanned the heaving street, heart pounding, eyes searching for that familiar flash of red. But she was gone, dissolved into the crowd as if she had never been there to begin with. Had I imagined her? Was my mind playing cruel tricks, weaving ghosts from the frayed threads of my past?

Realizing I was still holding the as yet unpaid bouquet, I turned to head back to the shop, only to see the cashier standing in the doorway, a look of confusion and mild accusation on his face. Clearly, he thought I was attempting to make off with the flowers.

Flushing with embarrassment I walked back inside, sheepishly adjusting my iron grip on the roses.

I handed over my card, kicking myself for getting caught up in old memories and wishful thinking.

It wasn’t her, it couldn’t be. Leah was long gone, left behind when I packed my bags and hightailed it out of the Golden City all those years ago.

With the transaction complete and the bouquet now rightfully mine, I stepped back onto the street. It was time to focus on the present, on Hunter and Addison, and the celebration that awaited – not the past and the ten thousand sentiments left unsaid.

But somewhere in the back of my mind, a wise voice whispered that the past is never just the past; it’s a part of who we are, persisting in unexpected glimpses of red on a busy New York street.

And sometimes, it comes back to haunt us.

With the emotional whirlwind of the flower shop behind me, I made my way to High Stakes headquarters, bursting into Hunter’s office and waving the bouquet like a baton.

“Look what I braved the urban jungle for!” I announced, setting the roses on her cluttered desk with a flourish. “Congratulations on finally opening up to your friends. God knows it took you long enough.”

Hunter was buried in paperwork, her brow furrowed like it always was when she was attempting to decipher Jordan’s terrible handwriting.

She glanced up after a pointedly long beat, her expression shifting from intense focus to dry disinterest as she took in the flowers. “Ah, just what I wanted – hay fever.”

“Oh, stop it. You love them and you know it,” I chided, perching on her desk. “Now you can throw out that piddling excuse for a cactus plant.”

Hunter eyed the lone plant standing sentinel in its pot. “But I like my cactus.”

“Hunter, look at it. That poor plant is getting by on bone-dry soil and a dream,” I tutted, arranging my skirt over my knees. “It’s all prickly and sad – like you before your morning coffee.”

Hunter scoffed but the corners of her lips twitched in amusement. “Or you after a few drinks.”

“We don’t talk about that! Honestly, I spend all morning picking out the perfect arrangement and this is the thanks I get.” I popped an exaggerated pout, crossing my legs and flicking a stray petal in her direction. “Remove the prickly pear from your ass and accept the flowers, for god’s sake.”

“Thank you, Maxine,” was her sing-song response, delivered with a devious glint of humor in her eye.

“Whatever. Addison will appreciate them.” I huffed, tossing a curl over my shoulder. “Speaking of, how have things been now that your secret’s out in the open?”

Hunter, however, had no time to respond before the rest of the entourage burst through the door, spearheaded by Jordan who was already outlining the plans for the evening.

“So, we're taking the new lovebirds out on the town tonight. No objections allowed," she declared, pointing at Hunter who groaned over her pile of paperwork.

"Oh my god!” Sky, ever the appreciator of fine things, leaned in to admire the roses. “These are lovely."

" Why thank you, Sky. ” I directed my triumphant smirk at Hunter. “At least someone in our sorry group has taste."

Laughter bubbled up as Dylan and Amara squeezed their way through the door, followed by River, making the office decidedly overcrowded but no less merry.

“Jesus, this place is cramped,” River mumbled, edging her way over. “By the way, how the hell did you fit Addison under that desk?”

Hunter buried her face in her arms, but not before shooting me an accusatory glare.

I shrugged, batting my lashes in response. “I had to tell them. It was too funny not to.”

Amara, her eyes twinkling, watched everyone’s reactions before signing a story of her own. “Dylan once pulled me into a wardrobe to avoid having to talk to Maxine, so maybe all the Leyore women are just odd like that.”

Dylan rounded on Amara, hand over her heart at the betrayal.

"Excuse me?!” I proclaimed, feigning indignation. “I am nothing if not a delight to deal with."

River nudged Amara, signing back with a wry smile, “Delightfully obnoxious, maybe.”

And so it continued, the jabs and chides and lighthearted banter that grounded our growing family. I listened, nodding, smiling, but my eyes kept returning to the roses. My mind kept catching on that brief streak of red.

I stared at the red petals. Red like her hair. Red like the bridge I used to cross every morning just to see her. And I wondered then if I would ever see her again.

It was late afternoon when I finally excused myself from the celebrations, slipping out of High Stakes with a promise to catch up with everyone when they hit the first bar.

It was plain impulse that carried me back to the flower district, back to 7th street where the storefronts were closing and the streetlamps were flickering to life.

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting to find, chasing ghosts across the city, but my feet propelled me onward. Until I was standing outside the window of that flower shop, right where I’d first caught that brief streak of red.

The place was empty, the lights shut off, and I stared at my reflection in the glass, trying and failing to catch hold of that loose thread dangling from my heart. It was a thread that had once connected me to someone, a thread I had severed myself a long time ago.

A thread that had suddenly pulled taut again.

I sensed her before I saw her. Some intrinsic part of my soul felt her presence long before I turned – slowly – dragging my gaze from the window to the sidewalk where she stood. Red hair, red coat. Red brows furrowed over a lightly freckled face.

Leah.

Her hair was a little longer now, draped over the shoulder pads of her burgundy coat, and the fringe was new but she wore it well. Her face had narrowed with age, but her eyes were the same, that deep vivid green of the sea. She was just as breathtaking as she had always been, even more so.

And from the fierce look in her eyes, roiling like an ocean storm, I could tell immediately that she was very, very angry.