Page 9 of For My Finale

B lossom sat at her tiny kitchen table, staring at the scattered pile of bills like they might catch fire if she glared hard enough. Evening was creeping in, and the light was smooth and orange, casting a warm, golden glow over everything.

She should be sipping tea, relaxing, unwinding. Instead, her stomach was twisted into a knot tighter than the apron strings she wore every day at work. Well, maybe not for much longer. She wondered what she’d do with her apron when… when the inevitable happened.

She was keeping her head above water. For now. There was just enough money coming in to cover the bills and to treat herself to a bar of chocolate every now and again. And that was fine. She hadn’t grown up in luxury, didn’t expect it, and was happy to work hard for what she had.

The problem was, she might not have any of it for much longer. The second that Coffee-To-Go opened, she’d be sunk. She just wouldn’t be able to take the competition. And the thought of losing The Bankton Bean, the heart of her little world, sent a sharp pang through her chest.

She needed a miracle. Or, failing that, some sort of genius business plan.

A loyalty scheme? Free biscuits with every coffee?

Themed latte art? She sighed, none of those were going to rake in the cash.

Maybe she should start an Insta account, post pictures of the coffee and stuff. People seemed to like that, right?

She picked up her phone and was debating downloading the app when a blood-curdling scream split the air.

Blossom’s heart stopped. She froze. She must have imagined it. Must have. But then it came again, loud and raw and filled with utter despair. She shot upright, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. Someone was dying. No, someone was being murdered.

Another scream echoed through the evening.

Her hands were sweating. She had to do something.

Glancing around, she picked up the big cast-iron frying pan from on top of the stove, took a deep, solid breath, and bolted for the door.

She yanked it open so hard it almost flew off its hinges as another ragged scream sounded.

She sprinted around the corner of the cottage, steeling herself for the worst, thinking she was going to see true awfulness, real atrocity.

Instead, she rounded the corner and skidded to a halt.

Lilah was sprawled out on the grass, arms wide, staring up at the darkening sky.

Screaming.

Blossom felt her heart settle back into a more normal rhythm as she took in the scene.

Lilah’s red hair was splayed around her head, fanning around her like she was a fallen angel.

A designer sweater was covered in grass, her tight jeans loose around her ankles and bare feet.

She looked like some kind of Victorian widow overcome with grief.

Blossom cleared her throat.

Lilah sighed heavily and opened one eye. “You weren’t supposed to be home.”

Blossom blinked. “I live here.”

“I figured you were out. No lights on.”

“It’s still light outside,” Blossom pointed out.

Lilah opened her other eye now. “What’s the pan for?”

Blossom looked down at the skillet in her hand. “Beating murderers around the head with.”

“Oh,” said Lilah. “That’s alright then.” She closed her eyes again.

Blossom hesitated, looking back toward her house.

She could go. Probably she should go. She could pretend that she hadn’t even seen this.

Like Lilah said, she wasn’t even supposed to be at home.

Lilah had thought she wasn’t around. That would avoid the clearly Lilah-sized headache that was about to come her way if she stuck around.

Then Lilah groaned, and despite everything, despite all logic, Blossom found herself stepping forward and dropping onto the grass beside her.

“So… are we summoning demons, or is this more of an existential crisis sort of situation?” she asked.

Lilah made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and another groan. “Crisis. Definitely.”

Blossom nodded solemnly. “Just as well. I don’t have enough salt for protective circles, and it’s unwise to do a demon summoning without them.”

Lilah huffed something that might have been a laugh this time, but didn’t move.

“Wanna talk about it?” Blossom asked, picking at the grass beside her.

There was the sound of a deep intake of breath and then Lilah opened her mouth and screamed again, fully projecting her voice out into the evening air.

Blossom wondered if she should ring someone.

The police, perhaps. Or an ambulance? Maybe Lilah was having some sort of fit, or breakdown, or… something.

Then Lilah slammed her mouth shut, cutting off her scream. She sighed and opened her eyes.

“Do you know why I left Hollywood?”

“Nope,” Blossom said, crossing her legs and leaning in. “I told you, it’s none of my business.”

“It’s relevant to the situation at hand,” Lilah said tartly.

“I left because it’s all fake. It’s supposed to be fake, that’s its role, no one thinks movies are real.

But it was all so false and I’d spent so long living in it that I was worried that I might forget who I was.

Forget the real me, the one that I was when I wasn’t pretending to be someone else. ”

Blossom considered this. “Makes sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” Lilah said. “And I thought I’d walk away from it all and be myself and find meaning in my life and…

And now this. I came all this way, had all these intentions, but honestly, it’s all so boring.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Do English days have more hours in them?

Because that’s honestly what it feels like.

I haven’t found anything, I’m just… Just as lost as I was before. ”

Still picking at the grass, Blossom tilted her head. Then she said, “So, you’re just sitting around waiting for meaning to find you?”

Lilah finally moved properly, propping herself up on her elbows in order to glare at Blossom. “Excuse me?”

“That’s…” Blossom shrugged. “That’s really stupid.”

Lilah sat up properly. “Wow. Just, wow. I open my heart to you and you call me stupid. The English aren’t a sympathetic people, are they?”

“Not generally,” Blossom agreed. “We’re more practical. Unless you’re a dog. We’re very sympathetic to animals.”

“Woof,” Lilah said dismally.

“Listen,” said Blossom. “If you want to find meaning, then you have to, well, find it. Find is an active verb, not a stative one. You have to act. You have to do something. Get a job, volunteer, meet people, live a life.”

Lilah made a face. “Get a job? I’ve never worked a day in my life.”

Blossom laughed. “Seriously? So you haven’t learned lines and acted and done press junkets and all the rest of it. Being an actress is easy, is it? Not work at all?”

“No!” Lilah said, looking stung. “It’s actually really hard. It’s not all getting awards and…”

“And kissing Chris Hemsworth?” Blossom put in.

“No,” Lilah agreed. “It’s actually tough. A lot of long days, a lot of early mornings, a lot of pretending to be happy when you’re not. A lot of pretending full stop. ”

“There you go then,” Blossom said. She could smell the grass, could smell the damp earth and the crisping leaves.

“You know how to work. Filling your day is the first step, isn’t it?

Find yourself something to do. Whatever it is, I can practically guarantee that it’ll be easier than being an actress.

I mean, most people don’t have pictures taken of them when they’re trying to do their jobs, and as a general rule, the public is not allowed to comment on whether or not you’re any good at it. ”

“True,” Lilah said. “You make a point.” She looked down at her hands. “So where do I start?”

Blossom thought about this for a few seconds. It was the quiet time of the evening when all the world seemed perfectly at home with itself. “Try things,” she said finally. “Try… three different jobs. See what sticks. Get some experience, and a better idea of what you like and don’t like.”

“That is a ridiculous idea,” said Lilah, eyeing her.

“More or less ridiculous than lying on your lawn screaming at the sky?” asked Blossom. She leaned in and grinned. “I dare you to get three different jobs.”

Lilah narrowed her green eyes. “And what do I get if I do?”

For a terrifying second, the only thing that Blossom could think of was a kiss.

Get the jobs, I’ll kiss you. How tempting an offer was that?

Her stomach flipped over. She was being stupid, just as stupid as Lilah was being.

She reached out and grabbed the first other thought that she could find. “Do it and I’ll… clean your sink.”

Lilah stared at her. “My sink.”

“Fine, fine,” said Blossom, holding up her hands. “Your cottage.”

“Try three different jobs and you’ll clean my whole cottage?” Lilah said. She nodded. “Yeah, alright, Sunshine, you’re on.”

She reached out and without thinking, Blossom took her hand to shake.

And… whoa.

Blossom’s breath caught. Her skin tingled where their hands met.

Lilah’s fingers were warm and long, her skin was soft and smooth, her handshake was far too firm for someone going through a crisis.

Blossom couldn’t help looking into her eyes, and for a second there, she saw Lilah’s expression flicker. Like maybe she’d felt something too.

Then, in a flash, Lilah snatched her hand away.

Blossom wiped her hands on her jeans and stood up, unsure of herself now, feeling a little chill in the evening air. “Um, okay, I’ll, um, I’ll ask around and see if there are any jobs or volunteer positions going.”

Lilah nodded once, then scrambled to her feet, brushing grass off her jeans. “Good.”

“Okay, well, goodnight, I suppose.” Blossom had a sudden need to flee.

Lilah opened her mouth and bellowed one last scream to the sky so that Blossom’s ears rang. “Just for good measure,” she said. “’Night.”

Blossom practically ran back to her cottage. Once inside, she pressed her back against the door, heart hammering in her chest.

What was that?

She had no idea.

What she did know, is that whatever had just happened, there was no way in hell that she was over that little teenage crush.