Page 35 of Down Bad

He adjusts the strap of his backpack and peers past me into the shop. “Need help today?”

I frown. “You work Saturdays.”

“I know.”

“It’s Thursday.”

“Also know.”

I nod as though I understand (I do not) and unlock the door, letting us in.

Cash drops his backpack behind the front counter like it’s his bedroom. Been doing that for years. First as a kid who wandered in after school one day to look at plants and avoid some teenage drama that awaited him elsewhere, and then finally as a Saturday employee when I gave in last spring and put him on payroll.

“I can’t pay you for twice a week,” I remind him.

“Didn’t ask.”

“Cash …”

“I’m bored.” He looks around. Gently flicks a leaf. Pokes at one of the ferns. “Nico’s being a dick, Tice is useless, and Savannah just thinks the whole thing’s hot.”

“I know none of these people.”

He points at the roses in the front bucket. “Those need to be, like, misted or something?”

I’ve learned the guy likes keeping busy. Especially when he’s about to turn my store into his therapy couch. “You can pull the bruised petals, if you want. Gently.”

“How do I know which ones are bruised?”

“If they look tired, sad, or like they had a complicated night.”

He looks at me.

I look at him.

“The rose petals,” I say, frowning. “Not me.”

“If you say so.”

He pulls over a short stool and situates himself by the roses. That seems to quiet him. I pull from under the counter a box of delivery cards to stamp.

Each card looks like Diego’s face.

Each time I stamp, a kiss.

I shut my eyes. Maybe I’m the one who needs a therapy couch. “So, um … this Nico guy. He’s being a dick ... how?”

Cash sounds grateful for me initiating the chat. “Keeps acting like I’m embarrassing him in front of Savannah.”

“Are you?”

“Obviously. But that isn’t the point.”

“Of course it isn’t,” I mutter, trying to follow along.

“The guy’s cool when it’s just us. Then other people show up, and he becomes this … this whole other weird person.” He plucks a bruised petal and lets it drop into the trash bin, fluttering in the air for a second like it’s about to take flight. “Like, okay, congrats, bro, you got yourself an audience. But why be such a clown?”

My mind wanders inexplicably to Diego last night.