Why Two Electric Hair Clippers Appeared on the Dance Floor at Our Reception
I met Mason at the Maplewood Florist shop on Broad Street at three. The air inside smelled of cut stems and cold water, and the linoleum floor was wet with green trimmings. A metal bucket of yellow carnations sat near the counter, their heads heavy with moisture.
“We are here to confirm the centerpieces for the head table,” Mason told the young woman behind the counter, a name tag reading Chloe pinned to her green apron.
Chloe flipped through a thick black binder of invoices. “Clara and Mason, right? Yes, your mother called about two hours ago to adjust the order.”
“Evelyn called?” I asked.
“She wanted to scale back the garland for the head table,” Chloe said, pointing to a pencil line through our original order. “She said we should use the smaller carnation bud vases instead of the full eucalyptus runner.”
“That runner was thirty-six inches wide,” I said. “It was meant to frame the entire table.”
“She told us the head table was going to be smaller now,” Chloe said, looking between Mason and me with a small, puzzled frown. “She said we only needed three small arrangements for that section.”
