Corner Store

(CW: Mention of Death & Missing Person)

The slight sound of a bell ringing penetrated through the ambient tune of Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1, it was chirpy and brought with it a sudden gust of spring wind. The man at the counter looked up from the sixth page of a day-old newspaper just in time to see a woman that looked to be in her mid-twenties, fold her umbrella, and shake off her heeled shoes on the rain-stained Welcome carpet by the door. Her hair was dyed, the roots already having grown out enough for the bright red coloration of the bottom half to look out of place against the coffee-colored strands of her over-grown bangs. He looked up at the old hand clock on the wall and added an hour to the time by habit, according to the broken clock no one bothered to fix, it was 6:32 in the afternoon. Not an odd time for someone to be out and about, but half an hour till close.

The woman at the door, Helen, smoothed down her grey wool coat and patted her right pocket in search of her glasses. The uncomfortable feeling of frizzy hair playing at the nape of her neck sent chills down her spine as she tried her best to smooth it out with her other hand. When she finally found her glasses – in her left pocket apparently – she noticed they were smeared with water droplets and lint. Forgetful as ever, she’d again failed to take them off before making a desperate sprint to the bus stop. She silently cursed herself; it would have to be a problem for later, she could get by just fine for now.

To the man at the counter, the woman looked lost. He watched silently as she fiddled with her coat and struggled to keep hold of the umbrella she’d tucked under her armpit while she brushed back her hair. Normally he would’ve already yelled out a half-hearted Hello! from across the room but aside from feeling lethargic, he thought it would be better to let the woman sort herself out. It’s what a decent human being would do. At least that’s what he said to dampen the guilt-like feeling of wanting to take the extra few seconds to prolong another customer interaction. 

After stuffing her glasses into her purse – and checking to see if any of her things had gotten wet – Helen finally took a moment to breathe and look up at her surroundings. To be entirely honest, she’d only ducked into this store to escape from the rain and kill some time before her scheduled train time but now, having the chance to examine something other than the floor, it seemed that her feet knew her better than she’d thought. The aroma in the store was delicate and the air crisp, what looked to be an ordinary corner store with no appeal on the outside, was actually a flower shop teeming with a wide selection of spring flowers. Closest to her was a beautiful display of tulips and farthest to the right, an eye-catching bucket filled to the brim with pink carnations.

Now she definitely looked like she didn’t belong, not that he could blame her though, it was raining cats and dogs outside, and – as much as he was looking forward to the end of his shift – he wasn’t in the mood to be getting drenched either. Aside from that, this particular flower shop was something foreigners would call a hidden gem on their tourist vlogs. It wasn’t a secret among the locals, but the owner had intended for it to be as inconspicuous as an antique lamp shop: unappealing and unassuming to a person with a mission. He’d asked her about it once, said But isn’t bad for business? the old lady had laughed a tune straight out of a 60’s romcom and smiled, her wrinkled skin pulling up and folding over her dimpled cheeks, Sometimes the best things are the ones you have to look hard to find, nothing in life comes easy child: I should know that too well. Still, it’s nice – to have something splendid just fall into your lap on a Tuesday afternoon. As the type to always look up spoilers before committing to picking up a book or watching a movie, spontaneity didn’t have as much of an appeal to him as it might’ve to her. Still, he listened to her talk about flowers and feelings all afternoon as they put together bouquet orders and prepared to close up shop. He eyed the woman again, wide-eyed and still standing by the door. His gaze moved away from her lazily, resolved to let her come to her senses on her own. You know Theo, the small things are big too. His mother’s words sounded out in his head as he picked up a ball from the children’s prize box. Maybe it was the stark difference between Mrs. Hollis’ blinding optimism and the dreary sight of the inundated sidewalk through the front store window that trudged up long-gone memories. He felt a headache coming on and the damn clock on the wall only served to click the seconds by slower.

Fiddling with a rubber ball by the counter stood a tall man clad in a beige apron with an unfamiliar store logo splashed across the front pocket. The colors were faded but she could tell the letters were once a vibrant shade of blue – like the cerulean skies that had accompanied her afternoon coffee date at Anne’s Bagel Shop the day before. His hair was cropped short, a shock of unkept sandy blonde curls splayed over a freckled face with a few acne scars here and there. He was the epitome of boredom, the porcelain shade of his skin giving him a statuesque glamor by feigning to have the same qualities as marble. The motion of his hand rolling the ball across the glossy birch wood of the counter had obstructed her peripheral. The slow movements coincided with the ticking of the clock and the sound of cars kicking up rainwater. Pale pink embarrassment flushed her neck, traveling to her cheeks and growing hotter. She’d been standing at the entrance like a newborn lamb, ogling the flowers like an addict with a petal obsession. Helen cleared her throat, gathering her wits and taking a step away from the door.

“Afternoon! It’s a lovely shop you have here...”

Their eyes met, his lazy and rimmed with dark circles and hers, uncertain and shining under white LEDs.

“Hello, is there anything I can help you find today?”

His response was hard cut and lacked warmth, not that he wanted to be rude, but his mood had taken a turn for the worse as of a minute ago. She looked visibly uncomfortable, left hand playing at the hem of her coat and bottom lip tucked between her teeth. The same guilt-like feeling from earlier gnawed at him and he sighed, throwing the purple ball beneath the counter and standing up straight to offer her a jagged smile.

“Nasty weather outside, huh?”

He’d thrown her a bone.

Helen’s eyes sparkled at the opportunity to break the ice, a toothy smile breaking onto her face.

“Oh, it’s dreadful! I barely made it here after getting off at my stop. Would you mind if I just had a look around while I wait for it to let up?”

He leaned down – placing his elbows on the counter, linking his fingers, and placing his head on the back of his hands – offering her a slight tilt of his head in lieu of an invitation.

“Totally, you’re welcome to stay. Just letting you know though, I’m gonna be closing up soon – in about half an hour or so. If anything catches your eye bring it here so I can wrap it for you.”

“That’s alright, I have a train to catch so I won’t be too long.”

She hadn’t planned to buy anything; though a plant lover and appreciative of pastel-toned florets, bouquets were less her thing than potted plants. Yet, the stinging in her eyes and the flower in her hand made it hard to think of leaving the store without it. What about this one? It’s beautiful, isn’t it? When you get married make yourself a bouquet of these. What do you mean funeral flowers? Seriously? Well then, I guess you’ll have to use them for me instead! They’re even my favorite color! Alright, Helen? Don’t forget Mommy’s flowers. She’d been doing a project on the meaning of flowers when her mother had pointed out a picture of a purple calla lily. She’d taken the picture book out of her hands – excited as ever – and ranted on about weddings and flowers while lying next to her on the living room floor. The grin and airy attitude had never left her, even when Helen had snatched back her book and told her of their double purpose. It had now been six years since her mother had gone missing – six years of denial and dead-end searches. The flower in her hand was one of the many pinky promises she would fail to keep.

Fifteen minutes after their conversation, a cacophony of light taps made its way to the counter. Looking up from his sloppy, left-handed writing on the last page of the store’s logbook, he found the woman carrying over about a dozen purple calla lilies. Sliding out a precut sheet of brown parchment paper from underneath the countertop, he laid it flat next to the register and extended his hands out for the flowers just as the woman reached the counter. His movements were robotic, seasoned from years of experience yet slow-paced and elegant. He wasn't so well versed in the meanings of flowers, at least not as well as Granny - yet, it was ironic in a sense; this woman had picked up the same flowers he’d chosen to give his mother on her death bed. Feelings conveyed through flowers… how cliché.

"It's a beautiful choice."

Helen met his gaze, eyes glossed over.

"Thank you. I... wanted to start over."

She didn't know why, of all people, she chose a stranger from a flower shop to be the first person she let see her weak side but part of her knew; it was because he was a stranger.

He observed her - brow furrowed, expression darkened, corner eye teardrops, and a smile pulling at her lips. He supposed Granny was right, people would find this place when they needed to. With that Ben smiled at her, sincerely this time.

"It's on the house today. Enjoy your flowers."

Her toothy smile and crinkled eyes passed him a silent thank you. He watched silently as she headed for the door, shoulders relaxed and head held high. The lilies caught the peaking light of the sun just as the door closed behind her and he understood.

"I guess it really is the small things, huh mom?"