27
Emma
The flowers arrive Thursday afternoon, just as my boss is telling me all about his new diet. The vase is so big that the delivery guy strains to lift it onto the counter, and when he finally succeeds, the enormous bouquet of pink, yellow, and red tulips nearly blocks the register.
“Is it your birthday today?” Mr. Smithson asks, eyeing the flowers in confusion as I hunt for a card in the forest of stems and leaves. “I could’ve sworn it was in September.”
“Um… it’s definitely in September.” My face turns bright red as I find the card and read the one-word message. My boss is still looking at me quizzically, so I lie, “This is just something from my grandparents. I love tulips, and they do this once in a while, to let me know they’re thinking of me.”
“Oh.” Mr. Smithson blinks. “O
