Until You

"Shit." I barely made it to the bathroom before dropping to my knees in front of the toilet. The sour taste of bile burned the back of my throat as I emptied what little remained in my stomach. My dark brown hair fell forward over my shoulders, and I quickly gathered it into one hand before it could dip into the toilet water. The moment it was over, I flushed and rested my forehead against the cool porcelain seat. A knock sounded at the door. "Mari?" Blair. I groaned. The door creaked open a second later. "Mari!" Blair rushed in. "Again?" "Very observant." I lifted my head just enough to glare at her. She ignored my sarcasm and crouched beside me, concern written all over her face. "This is the second time you've thrown up in three hours." "I know." "That's not normal." "I know." "You look awful." "Thank you." "You know what I mean." I sighed and pulled my knees to my chest. The bathroom light felt too bright. My stomach still churned uneasily, and every muscle in my body felt weak. Blair rubbed circles against my back. "Are you sure you should be working today?" she asked gently. "You can barely sit upright." "No." She blinked. "No?" "No, I shouldn't." For one glorious second, Blair's face lit up with hope. Then I ruined it. "But I'm going anyway." Her expression immediately flattened. "Marigold." "I have to." "You don't." "I do." Blair stood and crossed her arms. I knew that look. The You're Being Stubborn Again look. Unfortunately, she used it a lot. "You realize normal people stay home when they're sick?" "I can't." "Why?" "Because normal people don't have an event tonight that could bring in enough money to keep a flower shop alive." The irritation in my voice surprised even me. Blair's expression softened immediately. The shop. Everything always came back to the shop. The tiny flower shop tucked between a bakery and a dry cleaner wasn't much to most people. To me, it was everything. It was my parents. The last thing they had left behind. And lately, keeping it alive felt like trying to hold water in my hands. "I haven't even arranged the bouquets yet," I continued. "The flowers still need trimming. I have to spray them, wrap them, transport them—" "Mari." "I don't have time to be sick." Blair let out a long sigh. "You know one day your body is going to file a formal complaint." Despite myself, I laughed. "There she is," Blair said. "I was wondering where the real Marigold went." I pushed myself upright. The room spun immediately. I grabbed the sink. "See?" "I'm fine." "You nearly fell over." "I didn't." "You absolutely did." "Allegedly." Blair groaned. I managed to stand fully and shuffled back toward my bedroom. Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, painting soft golden streaks across the room. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror. Dark circles, pale skin, messy hair. I looked less like a florist and more like someone who had recently survived a shipwreck. Fantastic. After tying my dark hair into a ponytail, I dabbed concealer beneath my eyes and stepped back. Better. I pulled on a floral sundress, slipped my feet into sandals, grabbed my purse, and headed for the door. Behind me, Blair called out, "If you pass out today, I'm telling everyone I tried to stop you." "You wouldn't." "I absolutely would." "You love me too much." "I do," she admitted. "Which is why I'm worried." My smile softened. "I'll be okay." I hoped I wasn't lying. Outside, the cool morning air brushed against my skin and my stomach growled immediately. Not now. The flower shop sat only a few blocks away, but by the time I reached it, I was already exhausted. The familiar sign hanging above the storefront swayed gently in the breeze. HENKEL FLOWER SHOP. My chest tightened. No matter how difficult things became, seeing those words always felt like coming home, but the moment I stepped into the flower shop, I stopped dead in my tracks. Petals littered the floor, empty boxes were stacked crookedly near the storage room, a bucket sat overturned beside the counter, leaves and stems seemed to have multiplied overnight and I stared at the disaster. "Aunt Faith." The words came out somewhere between a groan and a prayer. The shop smelled wonderful, at least. Fresh roses, lilies, daffodils, and eucalyptus blended together into the familiar scent I'd grown up with. It smelled like home. It smelled like my parents. Unfortunately, it also smelled like neglect. I grabbed a broom from the corner. Thirty minutes later, sweat clung to my forehead and my back ached, but the shop finally looked presentable. "Much better." My stomach growled in response. Loudly. I glanced down, "You've got some nerve." The growling continued. Rolling my eyes, I opened the counter drawer and pulled out a mint, the cool sweetness settled on my tongue instantly. It wasn't breakfast just something enough to stop my stomach from staging a protest. The bell above the door chimed. "Good morning, Marigold!" I looked up. Ryan, the mailman, stood in the doorway holding a small stack of envelopes. His bright smile somehow appeared every morning regardless of weather, mood, or world events. "Morning, Ryan." He handed over the mail. "Busy day?" "When is it not?" "Fair point." I laughed. After a quick wave goodbye, he disappeared down the sidewalk. I turned my attention back to the flowers. Buckets filled the workroom. White daffodils, yellow daffodils and cream-colored daffodils with delicate peach centers. My favorite type of daffodils. Carefully, I selected each stem. Floristry wasn't just arranging flowers. It was balance. Texture. Movement. A story. Every bouquet had to feel intentional, like it belonged to the person receiving it. I trimmed stems, removed damaged petals, adjusted spacing and carefully wrapped greenery around the outer edges. By the time I finished the first bouquet, I couldn't stop smiling. The yellow and white blooms sat together perfectly. Bright without being overwhelming. I lifted them toward my nose and a subtle fragrance drifted upward. Most people never noticed the scent of daffodils, they expected something immediate and dramatic like roses. Daffodils were different. You had to take your time with them. I inhaled again. Warm. Fresh. Sweet. Beautiful. Whoever would receive these was lucky. The bell above the door rang again. This time Blair walked in. Her attention was completely fixed on her phone. "Please tell me you're not working yourself to death." "Hello to you too." I smiled. She looked up immediately, her grey eyes softened. "Oh thank God. You're standing." "Barely." "That's not comforting." She tucked her phone into her pocket and approached the counter. "How are you feeling?" "Better." "Are you lying?" "A little." "Mari." "I said a little." Blair sighed dramatically. One thing about Blair—she could turn concern into a performance art. Then her gaze landed on the bouquet. Her eyes widened. "Oh." "What?" "Mari." "What?" She pointed at the flowers, "That is gorgeous." "You think so?" A smile tugged at my lips. "I think if someone gave me those I'd marry them on the spot." "That seems excessive." "No, I'm serious." She grabbed the bouquet. "If a man handed me this right now, I'd say yes before he even proposed." I laughed. "You need higher standards." "And you need to charge more money." The laughter faded slightly because that was always the problem, the flowers were beautiful. The shop wasn't failing because the flowers weren't good. It was failing despite them. Blair noticed my expression immediately. "You know I'm right." I looked away. She continued. "You're the reason people come here." "Blair—" "No. I'm serious." She set the bouquet down. "You're talented. Everyone knows it." "It's not that simple." "Then make it simple." I sighed. It wasn't simple. Not when the shop carried my parents' name. Not when every corner held memories. Not when walking away felt like losing them all over again. The afternoon quickly passsed and by evening, I made my way to Sandler Auditorium. Rows of luxury cars lined the entrance like a private showroom. Men in tailored suits and women draped in designer gowns drifted through the glass doors, their laughter mixing with the soft music spilling from inside. I tightened my grip on the flower cart. This was easily the biggest event I'd ever supplied flowers for and the realization sent equal parts excitement and terror through my chest. "Flowers from Henkel Flower Shop." The event coordinator glanced at the clipboard in her hands. "Perfect. Right this way." I followed her backstage, carefully maneuvering the arrangements through a maze of staff members and equipment. The moment the flowers were placed around the stage, several people stopped to admire them. My shoulders relaxed slightly. "Actually," the coordinator said as she checked something on her tablet, "why don't you stay for the event?" My brows lifted. "Stay?" "Your flowers are one of the featured decorative pieces tonight. You should see them being used." A smile spread across my face. "Really?" "Absolutely." For the first time all day, I felt proud, maybe today wasn't going to be so bad after all. Then my stomach growled. Violently. My smile disappeared. Oh no. Not now. I pressed a hand against my abdomen. Behave. My stomach responded with another threatening rumble. Traitor. I shifted in my seat. Maybe it would pass. It didn't. Five minutes later, another sharp cramp twisted through my stomach. My eyes widened. Definitely not passing. The host was halfway through introducing an award recipient when panic flooded my system. I stood so fast my chair nearly tipped over. "Excuse me." Nobody heard me. Good. I practically sprinted toward the restroom. At this point, dignity was no longer the goal. Survival was. I pushed through the nearest restroom door and rushed into the first empty stall I could find. The door slammed shut behind me. And finally— Relief. Sweet, glorious relief. I nearly cried. Whoever invented toilets deserved an award. I sat there for a moment, breathing heavily as i dropped my load. "Okay." Everything was fine. Everything was— Another load dropped and a loud sound echoed through the stall. My eyes squeezed shut. Never mind. Everything was not fine. I buried my face in my hands. Please let nobody come in. Please. Please. Please— The restroom door opened. My soul left my body. Footsteps echoed across the marble floor. Slow. Steady. Getting closer. I stared at the stall door in horror. Maybe they'll leave. Maybe— Another unfortunate sound escaped. Louder than before. I wanted to evaporate. The footsteps stopped. Oh God. They're standing there. They're definitely standing there. They're definitely judging me. I considered simply living in this stall forever. It seemed like the easiest solution. A minute passed. Then another. Eventually, I reached for the toilet paper. My hand touched empty air. I froze. No. Slowly, I looked up. The holder was empty. Completely. Entirely. Devastatingly. Empty. I stared at it for several seconds. Surely this was a joke. Surely the universe couldn't hate me this much. Apparently it could. I swallowed hard. The mysterious person outside was still there. This was already the worst day of my life. What was one more humiliation? I cleared my throat., "Is someone there?"