The Guy Who Became My Grumpy Boss (Curvy Girl Crew #7)

Chapter 26

-Peter-

The rest of the company retreat had gone by in a hazy blur. I’d gotten home late the night before and had to sit and think for a good five minutes in order to remember that I’d stayed to help with the take down and make sure the food donations were delivered.

The fire department had been kind enough not to make us move our miniature golf holes, and in the end, some of the fire fighters had come back after their shifts to play our course.

Dan’s team had borrowed some crime scene tape and put it around the remains of the fire, making it a part of their hole decor.

Amelia had offered to pay the hotel for the damage, which they had gladly taken her up on. However, considering their sprinklers had jammed because of faulty lines that hadn’t been inspected in far too long, they didn’t give us any further trouble.

Jessica had been there the whole time, but the two of us had hardly interacted. I was ashamed to say that I’d avoided her. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to act. I didn’t know anything anymore.

Marissa’s accusations were like spears stabbed deep into my heart and mind.

Had I really driven her to do all the things she’d blamed me for?

Logic told me that she was a human being and therefore capable of making decisions as well as working out the consequences, but the fact that she’d chosen to abuse her body so much because she was trying to please me still hurt in a way I couldn’t describe. My emotions hadn’t been this tumultuous since my mother had died, and a part of me was sitting on the floor of a closet at the funeral home with my knees pulled up to my chest and my head buried in my arms.

That’s why I was on my way to Mrs. Santos’ flower shop, where she’d agreed I could spend as much time as I wanted to this week.

In an outer reflection of my inner turmoil, an approaching thunderstorm churned over the city. The scent of incoming rain floated in the air alongside all of the blossoms on the trees. The first drops of moisture hit the pavement just as I jogged up the stairs from the subway a few blocks from Mrs. Santos’ shop.

Even though I was dressed casually, I still carried my messenger bag, and I pulled out an umbrella so I wouldn’t be soaked before I reached my destination.

Someone let out a cry of dismay as the drizzle turned into a downpour, and I was reminded of the sprinklers from the hotel.

Everything brought me back to yesterday. It was almost as if nothing had existed before it, and nothing would blossom afterward until something changed. Something inside me.

As usual, I approached from the other side of the block, going through a laundry mat and waving at the owner, who knew Mrs. Santos.

I had no idea when the tunnels had been built or if the city planners knew about them, but there was a series of them under many of the buildings in this area, and I quickly traversed the damp-smelling walkways until I climbed the stairs into Mrs. Santos’ shop.

The sharp and sweet scent of flowers filled my nostrils, and I took a deep, grounding breath.

The owner of the dry cleaners must call ahead to warn Mrs. Santos of my imminent arrival, because she was never surprised when I walked out of the door that sat mostly hidden by boxes of vases and other supplies.

Mrs. Santos wore her typical long-sleeved striped shirt with polyester pants. Her eyes narrowed when she saw me, and I felt her studying me.

I knew the sensation well because Aunt Mei did the same thing.

The Filipino woman didn’t say a word. Instead, she pointed to my corner. “Go. You can use anything over there.”

To my surprise, she or her husband had surrounded my little spot with buckets of beautiful flowers. “Do you need anything in particular?” I asked.

“Pretty bouquets. Medium-sized.” Mrs. Santos waved me away.

I gladly obeyed, and after gathering a handful of vases, I settled in to work.

Many people enjoyed repetition in their tasks and found comfort in doing the exact same thing over and over without having to think about it.

Arranging flowers wasn’t like that for me. There were no rules. There were no gatekeepers. There were only colors and shapes that needed to be put together.

I reached for a pink flower, but my fingers stopped inches from it.

This was the same type as one of the specimens that had been in the quiet room.

I closed my eyes as the now familiar emotions from yesterday threatened to overwhelm me. Breathing helped, and the floral aroma surrounding me kept me from complete despair.

I wasn’t here to relive my shame and horror. No, I hoped to move past it, or at least sort it into categories that I could grasp.

The pink blossom didn’t appeal to me as much as it had a moment before, so I shifted to a purple one and got started.

Tall. Short. Dark colors. Light colors. Smaller. Bigger. My hands flew as my brain processed each addition and either accepted or rejected it.

As trivial things cleared out of my mind, I found I could breathe easier.

Except, thoughts of two people remained, no matter how many times I tried to push them aside.

Marissa and Jessica.

I cared for each of them, but not in the same way.

Most people had siblings. I did not, but if I had to guess, I would say that Marissa was like a sister to me. She knew me well, and we’d supported each other through the years.

There had never been a romantic attachment on my part. Apparently, there had always been one for her.

I couldn’t deny the fact that I had noticed it, but I’d always hoped that with my continued disinterest she would move on.

In fact, she’d dated several men over the years, which had given me hope that her feelings for me had shifted into a more platonic arena.

But that wasn’t the case.

Then there was Jessica. A buzzing started in my skull as a picture of her formed in my mind. I licked my lips and noticed I was holding my breath staring at an orange flower.

Obviously, my feelings for her were very different from those I experienced for Marissa. I still didn’t know if it was love, but I was willing to explore it.

Unless Marissa was right and all women had to change themselves for me.

I never wanted that for Jessica. She was amazing just the way she was.

And yet, I knew she had adjusted her behavior for me. She often walked on eggshells when she knew I was upset, and she rarely complained, but I knew she didn’t like certain things about the office and me.

Was that normal in a relationship, or was it too one-sided when I was involved?

“You’re moving slow.” I jumped at the sound of Mrs. Santos’ voice from my right.

I blinked. “Sorry.”

Mrs. Santos walked to me. Even with me sitting on the stool while she was standing, she had to look up to meet my gaze. “Lady trouble?”

My mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“Thought so.” She snorted. “Men are easy to read.”

“Are we?” I murmured.

“Yes.”

I shrugged and put the flower into place.

The bouquet, which I had barely been paying attention to, was beautiful.

“You must really like her,” Mrs. Santos said.

I grunted. I wasn’t in the mood to share my feelings or my troubles.

The older woman held out her hands, and I placed the vase into them. She gave me a shrewd look with her dark eyes before saying, “Call your aunt.”

Before I could ask her how she knew my aunt, she turned and walked away.

Aunt Mei and I had been sending photos since we’d made our agreement, and I’d thought briefly about calling her, but I didn’t reach out to people to divulge my problems. I worked through them logically, then tackled them as needed.

However, after almost a day of spinning, my brain was tired, and I hadn’t come to any solid conclusions.

Maybe it was time to call in reinforcements.

My phone buzzed.

Was that Auntie Mei?

Not my aunt, but my friend.

Tyrell: It’s movie week. Are you actually out of town?

I sighed. Tyrell had been very kind to me at the activity, and I owed him. I had no desire to be with more people, but I would make an exception for him.

Peter: I’m here. When and where?

Instead of a destination, Tyrell sent something unexpected.

Tyrell: You could bring a friend if you wanted to.

I frowned and swiped the message away. I refused to think about that right now.

Muscle memory kicked in, and I went to drop my phone in my pocket, then I remembered Mrs. Santos’ directive.

Hopefully Aunt Mei was on the road, and I’d be able to leave a message. Then I could say I tried. I grabbed my earbuds and dialed her number.

She answered on the first ring. “Peter?”

“Yes, Auntie.”

She growled. “Watch it, kid.” Then she laughed.

I couldn’t even chuckle. A band around my middle was constricting the air in my lungs, and I barely had enough oxygen to breathe.

“What’s up?” she asked.

I steeled myself—I’d actually had a version of this conversation in my head last night—and spoke. “Are you somewhere we can talk?”

“What happened?” The concern in her voice was palpable.

“Can you talk?”

“Yes. We’re driving, but it’s a nice, flat, straight road with no one but Harold around.”

The cowardly, shamed part of my brain wanted to tell her I’d call her back, but the truthful part knew I wouldn’t and that then she’d keep calling me until I spilled my guts to her. So I took a breath and told her more or less what had happened. I censored the more intimate details of the interactions between Jessica and me, but I did share how I thought I felt about her. Then Marissa.

As I spoke, I finished one bouquet and started another.

When my tale came to an end, Aunt Mei took a moment to process before she answered.

To some this might be a nail-biting moment, but I understood and gave her as much time as she needed.

“Marissa really accused you of causing her issues?”

“Many of them.”

“I bet that didn’t make you feel good,” she said.

“It did not.”

Aunt Mei asked an unexpected question. “How much do you remember about your mother’s funeral?”

I sat up straighter. “How is that connected?”

“How much do you remember?” she asked again.

This was a topic I rarely brought to the surface of my mind. I’d been ten years old and had already lost my dad. I’d been devastated and had had no idea how to deal with the emotions.

“I remember the venue and my mom laying in the coffin. They used enough cosmetics and fillers that mom looked pretty, and I thought that was odd, because two days before she’d been gaunt to the point of being skeletal.”

Aunt Mei didn’t say anything, so I went on.

I studied the white rose in my hand. “There were three big bouquets, all of them filled with white roses.” I swallowed. “I got through the funeral service, mostly because you talked to everyone for me, but as soon as the brunch started, I couldn’t handle it.”

That was the first time I’d felt shame on an order of magnitude that I thought would rip me apart. “People at my table kept asking me how I was doing. Some told me what I should do to cope. One woman handed me the card for a counselor.”

“What?” Aunt Mei blurted out. “Sorry. Go on.”

A faint smile tugged my lips at her outrage. “I didn’t know what to say or how to act. Because dad had died when I was so young, I’d never been through it before. A small crowd kept surrounding me, even as I was sitting at a table. I ended up being rude to a few people, and they told me I should act better. I became overwhelmed and ran and hid in a closet.”

“Where I found you.”

I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me.

“Peter, you’ve always had a hard time in social situations. You’re no good at reading people, and that’s okay.”

Her words may have sounded harsh, but they warmed me.

“Marissa never quite got that about you. She probably thought she could fix you, but there’s nothing broken. Being different doesn’t mean you’re broken. You know that, right?”

Another nod.

Aunt Mei grunted. “Tell me what you’ve decided about Marissa and her accusations.”

I took a breath. “I accept that I may have been a catalyst for what she’s been through, but she took most of what she’s been carrying on herself. I never asked her or even insinuated that she should do any of it.”

“That’s right,” Aunt Mei said. “And that can be the end of it if you want it to be.”

Hearing her agreement flooded me with relief.

“You can decide to reconcile with Marissa, or not.” Aunt Mei paused. “The bigger question is, what are you going to do about Jessica?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You like her. But…” she trailed off.

She knew what I’d been thinking, so I said it out loud. “But I’m afraid she’s bending over backward to accommodate me, and I don’t want that.” I put a pink rose next to the white one.

“There’s a simple way to tackle this, you know.”

“Is there?”

“Talk to her about it.”

I swallowed hard. “It’s that simple?”

“It is. However, and here’s the hard part, don’t plan the conversation. At least not all of it. If you can talk to her about this without it being totally rehearsed, then I think you’ll be able to tell if she’s right for you.”

“But am I right for her?” I asked as I added a red rose.

“Only she can tell you that. Are you going to give her the chance?”