Elly in Bloom. Colleen Oakes

for me.” Quickly, Elly assembled the bridesmaid bouquet: bright-pink tea roses stood out against pale-green hydrangea, yellow minicallas, and creamy sweet peas. Once the perfect loose dome was assembled, Elly carefully folded tropical leaves beneath the floating petals, pinning them with pearls. She grabbed a pear-colored satin ribbon and wrapped the bouquet, winding around and around until everything was taut and contained. Plopping the bouquet into a vase, she whirled around in time to see her volatile young worker texting in the corner.

      “Start loading the van!” she snapped. Snarky Teenager sauntered out the door.

      Elly sighed. Wedding deliveries, no matter how planned and organized, were always stressful. God help me, she thought. She grabbed her directions from the table, along with two flower girl baskets, and jogged out to the van. Once there, she ran through her contract verbally with her hormonal worker.

      “One bridal bouquet?”

      “Check”

      “Four bridesmaids’ … plus the new one you forgot?” Elly arched her eyebrows.

      “Check.”

      “Personal flowers?”

      “Check”

      “Twenty centerpieces?”

      “Check.”

      “So we are good to go?”

      Snarky Teenager nodded. She peered at Elly. “Why are you so sweaty?”

      Because I’m a heifer, Elly thought. She ignored the question, but wiped her hand against her drenched forehead. Geez, I haven’t even left the parking lot yet and I’m soaked. Can it really only be the first weekend in May? Elly climbed in the car, slamming the door shut behind her.

      “Make sure you don’t forget the Meske pickup at four,” she instructed. “I’ll call you on my way back.”

      Snarky Teenager nodded and walked back into the shop, butt cheeks hanging out of her underwear that Elly believed were masquerading as shorts. I have got to talk to her about those. She knew she wouldn’t.

      Elly pulled her van onto the street, heading for Interstate 40. The air-conditioning blew on her freckled skin. The wedding today was at the Missouri Botanical Garden. While beautiful and romantic, Elly loathed delivering there. Not only did the ceremony site feel like it was approximately a hundred miles from the entrance—Elly snorted—but it was hot as Hades in the African Garden and she was going to have to truck it all out there on her little cart. Elly turned up the radio, trying to ignore the oncoming trauma.

      When she arrived at the gate, she was first waved through to the wrong entrance, where caterers’ unloaded white pushcarts and frozen shrimp platters. She drove around until she found a suitable entrance, which was still quite a distance from the ceremony site. Lifting the first box of flowers holding the bouquets, she carried it across the parking lot and into the bride’s room. The bride was not there yet, thankfully, so she unloaded the vases, taking a minute to admire their simple loveliness. The bride’s bouquet was white orchids, Queen Anne’s lace, white minicallas, and white roses with green berry accents. Next to the bright pinks, greens, and yellows, the whites looked even more radiant in their crystal vases.

      Huffing back out to the van, Elly threw the box in the back and proceeded to grab the men’s flowers. The handsome young men dressed in khaki suits were actually nearby in the garden lobby, much to Elly’s relief.

      “Um, excuse me. Excuse me?”

      The men ignored her.

      “You!” she pointed at the groom, who was taking a swig from a small bottle of liquor.

      They looked up, annoyed.

      “I need to pin you.”

      The boys snickered. Elly suddenly felt small.

      “Please put on your jacket and come over here.”

      The groom sauntered over, sizing up Elly with red bloodshot eyes. She grabbed his tea rose boutonniere and held it up against the jacket.

      “Don’t stick me,” he joked, leaning backwards.

      Elly looked up at him with wide eyes. “You know, that is the first time I have EVER heard that. You’re so hilarious!” She tilted her head sideways. Elly hated guys like these, the same type of guys who had picked on her for her weight in high school, the kind of guys who didn’t take their wedding day seriously, the kind of guys who thought affairs were a given. She arched her eyebrow. “Also, you shouldn’t drink before your wedding. Your bride has spent a year planning for this day and you shouldn’t be drunk for it. The ceremony is sacred.”

      The groom’s smile faded. His groomsmen stared at her, openmouthed.

      “Okay then!” she said nervously and bounced back to the car. Sometimes her mouth was a problem.

      Elly took a second to drink some water, and then started loading her centerpieces onto a small cart. The large glass trumpet vases went first, followed by small fishbowls, filled with delicately wrapped lily grass and pink lotus flowers. This was the first load. She pushed the cart and its delicate passengers over bumpy gravel, across the Japanese and Victorian Gardens. Twenty sweaty minutes later, she returned to get the second part of the centerpieces. The back of the van held clear glass dishes dripping with amaranthus, fuchsia tea roses, green goddess callas, yellow dahlias, and pink gerbera daisies. Flowers covering the cart, carrying two arrangements against her hip, Elly proceeded out to the garden. In the middle of the African garden, a gorgeous white tent billowed in the wind. Elly set down the centerpieces and took a moment to catch her breath. Then she started setting up. Fishbowls and lotus flowers were set lining the bar, the buffet, and the head table. She then interspersed delicate white votives between them. The trumpet vases went up after that, set onto the bright fuchsia tablecloths, and surrounded by loose green orchids.

      Elly was finally starting to relax, to enjoy decorating for this beautiful event, when she heard a familiar shrill voice echo across the garden, “Why are mah strawberries dipped in PINK sprinkles? We wanted yellow! We sent that over in a contract YESTERDAY!”

      Oh God, thought Elly. The wedding coordinator is here. Striding across the lawn in neon pink leopard heels was Lizette Kobul, the owner of Kobul Creations, one of the larger wedding coordinating companies in St. Louis. Lizette was beloved by brides for her eye for details, her elite connections, and her military approach to planning. She was universally hated by most vendors for the way she treated them: barking orders, belittling, and muttering comments dripping with classism. She relentlessly pursued Elly to recommend her to Posies’ brides, but Elly had a deep desire NOT to network with a crazy lady.

      Give me strength, Lord, Elly thought, please give me the strength to not murder this woman.

      “Ellllleeee Jordan, is that you??” she shrieked, shielding her eyes, “I should have known by that beautiful round behind!”

      The hint of a Southern twang got her every time. She had heard from her wedding cake friend that Lizette was actually from Rhode Island. No one really knew where the accent had come from. Elly turned around and dusted her hands off.

      “Hello Lizette. How are you?”

      “Oh, I’m fine, I’m fine. These people are all idiots and my bride is freaking out, but I’m fine. How are you? The flowers are beautiful, as always.” She fingered one of the green orchids. “I had told Leslie that she should have a clover green, but she insisted on lime … after meeting with you. Oh well, I guess it looks pretty. Clover would have been really nice though, don’t you think?”

      She smirked at Elly. “These centerpieces are marvelous. We had some from Clayton Flowers at the wedding last week. They were incredible. Just incredible.”

      Elly felt anger rising up inside of her, but she forced it down and told herself that she would ignore the backhanded insults.

      “I’m sure they were lovely. They do a nice job.”