The Wallflower

Chapter 1

Lily

It was midway through June. Saturday had just ticked into the afternoon.

A warm breeze danced across the living room of the small, open-plan Brooklyn apartment, the leaves of numerous house plants rustling inside. I sat cross-legged on the floor beneath the large window of the living space, forgoing the couch so my back could be fully in the sun. I ate a slice of leftover cold pizza as I looked for work opportunities for the summer.

Or, ideally, as soon as possible.

I was a secretary for my mom's real estate agency in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn— a job I had since graduating high school four years ago. It was a stable job with promising career growth and a generous wage, which made my search for a new job seem ridiculous. But I had my reasons for wanting to leave. My mom's micromanaging was one.

My parents, specifically my mom, had my future planned to a tee, a blueprint that started the second I was born. The past 22 years of my life had been a whirlwind of expensive schools, private tutors, getting nothing but straight As, and violin lessons as an effort to curb my obsession with drawing— which failed miserably. After high school, I began working for Mom immediately while studying finance in college to understand how the business worked.

I left college with a degree and no passion for anything I studied, other than realizing I didn't mind doing taxes.

Mom and Dad have always had high expectations for me, and therefore I had high expectations for myself. My high-functioning anxiety and debilitating inability to use the word 'no' was why I was still working at the agency. It was also why I was a qualified barista, of all things. My housemate had talked me into going to a two-hour class with her for fun, so I went and excelled. The only time I ever used that qualification was at the agency, where now I made everyone's coffee.

After reaching the bottom of the job search website with five applications sent off and a notepad full of sketches of flowers I had doodled out of boredom as I scrolled, I finally closed my laptop lid. Stretching out my back and arms as I hoped at least one application was successful.

I had to get out of that office.

I combed my golden-brown, shoulder-length hair into a bun and got to my feet. Well staggered to my feet as pins and needles shot down the lower half of my left leg. I gripped the back of the pastel blue couch, a hand-me-down from my grandmother that coincidently matched the shabby chic boho style of the apartment. As I hobbled into the kitchen, I added my empty plate to the sink, craving something sweet.

Macarons it is, I thought, already turning for the small pantry in the corner of the square kitchen. As I plucked the half-full plastic container of strawberry macarons from the shelf, I heard the front door click open, followed by a happy 'hello' from my housemate as she came down the hall.

"Hey," I replied through a mouthful, moving over to the kitchen counter, container still in hand.

Kira Scott, my best friend and confidante, stepped into view. Her wild, red hair was like an extension of her personality. She radiated joy even as she attempted to balance shopping bags, a bubble tea, her hessian shoulder bag, and a brand-new houseplant. In an oversized pair of overalls, faux leather sandals, and a light green cheesecloth blouse, she resembled a boho farmer just having returned from the weekly Bay Ridge Greenmarket. She slid the plant onto the counter with a grin that crinkled the corner of her eyes.

"Meet the newest member of the family— a Boston fern."

"It's gorgeous," I replied, tracing a finger over one of the soft fronds before folding my arms on the counter. "You don't think we have enough plants though?"