Aurora 2024

Sara Allard

me feel 45 again. That is, until the pungent smell of motor oil reminds me I’m still stuck with Layla Finn. I can hear the rumblin’ of the junky scooter she rides to work every weekend across the county line, and the haphazard way she has our dress boxes propped up on top of its taillight is startin’ up my heart palpitations. For the longest time, Layla was just a common snoop-- takin’ some half-hours to adoringly gaze into my tearoom windows after her shifts at the dollar store. If it hadn’t been for that unkempt blonde hair and that corny tie dye backpack she lets eat her like a turtle shell, she would’ve completely disappeared into the background. Miss Finn isn’t some local darlin’ that can get by on her last name, just some clumsy fawn of a girl that somehow appeared in Pine Haven without anyone battin’ an eye. But where the town saw nobody, potential. I hired her as a flower hand and tearoom waitress, an offer she hugged me for when I proposed it. Under my elegant wing, I thought Layla could rise above the riffraff of her generation and become a shinin’ golden flower-- just like my precious dandelions. Sad to say, she’s wound up bein’ a migraine. After one more ambiance-killin’ backfire, Layla turns her scooter off, wrestles both white boxes into her toothpick arms and smudges my pristine front door with her muddy combat boots. “I finally got the dresses from the sew shop, Mrs. A” she says while tryin’ to dodge dandelions in those ridiculous shoes. Her voice drops to a whisper before addin’, “Cheryl also wants me to tell you that if you ask for another redo, she’s goin’ to change her

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