If you told me a week ago that Jack and I would be here now, standing together in the pouring rain, I wouldn't have believed it.

Pink paint streamed off us. Swirled around out feet, then drained into the ground. Jack had the look of an angry wet puppy as he glared at me. If he could talk, he'd probably be telling me off for having read his journal. And honestly? I had no regrets.

I ran my hands through my hair to rinse the paint. It probably had a million and one carcinogens, but I could live with it if the bill to clean it from our new shop came from Grace's bank account. Raindrops spattered on my face. Who would've thought "mute boi" could be the top entertainment of the week. I hadn't laughed with someone—at someone—this much since juvie.

"Are you two clean?" Danielle called out from the driver seat of her car. "Jack, get the blankets from the trunk."

The woman had literally made us stand in the pouring rain so we wouldn't make pink masterpieces of her car seats. If I knew I'd get soaked anyway, I really would've rather taken the bus.

Wrapped in blankets, Jack and I climbed into Danielle's car. Jack in the passenger seat, staring out the window, arms crossed tight over his chest. And me in the back, paint still streaked over my clothes, very much looking forward to what Danielle would make of this mess.

The rain slowed. Night fell and blanketed the surrounding buildings in shadows as she drove.

"Thanks for the ride," I said to break the silence. "Where's Talia?"

"Her car broke down," Danielle admitted. Then she went as quiet as her son. But what if she secretly saw this as a good thing? What if a pink monster Jack wrestling his equally pink co-worker on the flower shop floor could be interpreted as a lesson in him developing his nonexistent social skills? Either way, Jack's sheer embarrassment radiated so intensely it almost made me think something was wrong with me for thinking the whole situation was hilarious. Something told me he wasn't one to rebel against mommy's orders.

"Romy, about your mother."

I froze at Danielle's words. Was she trying to break the tension by asking about Grace? Really?

"I know how difficult it must be for you," she continued, turning to give me a gentle smile. "You can talk to me anytime. I understand that times like these can be difficult for—"

"Is there a reason you're telling me this?"

"I... well." She paused. Glanced at Jack. "Jack's dad and I are also divorced. It was hard for a time. Sometimes it still is. Especially when he lives abroad."

"Better living abroad than rotting in prison."

Danielle's posture tensed. "I don't mean to offend you. I just thought... I'd offer some support."

"I see a psychologist every week. Pretty sure I'm good."

Not that I ever talked about Grace with Psychologist #4. The sessions mostly consisted of me twisting and exaggerating the events of my life, saying the most contradictory, outlandish shit imaginable, taking Mr. Know It All doctor for a spin as he tried to give a narrative to my story. A medical, neatly diagnosed explanation for the shoplifting, the school suspensions years back, the incidents where I "violently lashed out" at my dad. I'd actually been ditching the appointments for weeks. He'd call my parents soon enough, and we'd move onto Psychologist #5. Rinse and repeat.

"Jack also sees a psychologist," Danielle said. "It's been very helpful."

I tugged on my blanket. "Wild."

"I know what you're probably thinking about my son. I know how much of a challenge it can be. But all I ask... please give him a chance."

"You don't need to speak for him," I said as Jack sunk into the seat, probably ten times more mortified than he already was. "If he wanted a chance, he would've asked for one."

Silence. Silence all the way home. What were my friends doing at Seth's party right now? I imagined Eli, drunk and wandering through the crowd like the lost soul he was. He'd once admitted he hated parties but always came if they were Seth's, lingering behind him like a shadow, trying to play along. Megan the social butterfly talked to everyone while still maintaining that yeah, if this was a cliche high school movie I'd so be the queen bee vibe to her—at least until she got tipsy and ended up puking into some potted plant. Interestingly, I'd never witnessed Seth get wasted. He focused more on making sure everyone else was having fun, managing the drinks and food and games. And considering he already acted like a dumbass 24/7 anyway, he didn't need alcohol to let loose.

"Tell your family I said hello," Danielle said once she stopped in front of my house.

I didn't bother to tell them bye as I stepped out. Mostly because something else caught my attention—yelling from inside. I shoved my key in and swung the door open.

"Don't you dare try!" Talia yelled at Grace. I caught Dad's gaze. He sat on the couch, knees to his chest, watching the argument unfold.

Grace tilted her head. "It was just a comment. I don't understand why you have to be—"

"That's the point," Talia laughed. "It was just a comment, so casual like you have the right to come here and say it. Romy doesn't need this. She really, really doesn't."

"I don't know what that's supposed to mean."

"It means you're temporary. You're here for little while to help us with the shop, but it's not yours, okay? I appreciate it, don't get me wrong, but I also think it's up to you to start at least trying to solve your problems with your daughter. Because money's not enough."

Grace stared at the ground.

Talia stuck her chin up. "My point exactly."

"Talia," I said.

She smiled at me like nothing happened at all. "Oh, glad you made it back safe. Come on, I have some flower techniques I need to show you."

I followed her up to her room. "Why is Grace downstairs?"

Talia sighed. "She invited herself in. I don't know what she wants."

"And you were defending me even though you've been avoiding me all week?"

"I'm sorry," she said as she slumped onto her bed. "I don't like this situation, either. It makes me uncomfortable."

"But you knew about Grace before I did."

Even if I had known, it wasn't like it'd make a difference. Talia was the boss. College grad, a young put-together professional. Me? I was the delinquent with the 10 o' clock curfew, I couldn't have boys over, and if my grades dropped below a 4.0 this year, my parents would immediately think I'd been shoplifting again.

Talia stared at her hands, scratching the polish off her nails. "Are you trying to turn against me now, too?"

"That's the last thing I want," I said. "You're actually my only ally in this house."

Sure, we had little in common. Talia with her always-cheerful smile, her anger less a simmering flame of resentment and more a spark that came and went. Talia whose parents had also divorced when she was young, but unlike me, she had a great relationship with them and missed her dad all the time.

When she didn't respond, I said, "If you want to make it up to me, you'll do me a favor and fire Jack."

She let out a small laugh. "He doesn't like you either. Whenever I mention you to him and scrunches up his nose like he's allergic to your name."

"Whatever. He's not coming to work on Monday. Or any other day, actually."

"Come look." She stood and went to her laptop. Pictures of a small Talia with her dad and baby brother in Chile filled the cork board above the desk. Along with pictures of her and her college friends here.

A website loaded onto the screen.

"What is that?" I asked.

"That," she said, "is our website. New and improved, all thanks to Jack."

Our shop name—Greta's Flores—was displayed in pretty, pink font at the top of the page. The buttons, taking the shape of little roses, had been moved and arranged neatly on the bright, floral theme. Everything in order. Everything in place. Thirty times better than our old one, and my breathing got quicker once I realized that somehow, Jack hadn't been so useless after all.

"This actually looks pretty good," I admitted. "I didn't think he would have an eye for aesthetics."

"He's talented. I told him exactly how I wanted it, and he came up with something better."

"Cool. I'm leaving."

"You don't want to learn my new arrangement tricks?" She pouted, motioning to the various vases she'd probably been working on before her argument with Grace, but I wasn't in the mood to be in this house while Grace was here. While her presence lingered.

"Maybe tomorrow," I said. When I got to my room, I pulled out my phone. Stared at the screen for a long time. Scrolled through all the texts from Jack. My thumb hovered over the keyboard, but I closed out of the thread and pulled up Seth's name instead.

To Seth:

I've changed my mind about the party. Pick me up if the storm didn't make you cancel. 

❀     ❀     ❀

A/N: Song for this chapter is "Pocket Change" by DeathbyRomy (yes, I was excited when I saw that this artist had the same name as my character Romy, and I listened to all her songs until I found one that fit haha)

You'll notice that several characters have experience with divorce in this story. Romy, Talia, and Jack. My parents are divorced as well, and I've always wondered how other families deal with it. 

This chapter is dedicated to sandydragon1 for the lovely comments and thought-provoking insights into these messy ass characters 💜 Their book "Quit Bugging Me" may also be one of the best I've read on this site!!