“You’re sure you don’t want roses? Your mom said pink roses.” The florist frowns at me suspiciously, like I’ve come into her shop with the intention of ruining my grandma’s birthday party. I press the call button on my phone and put Grandma on speaker. She picks up right away. “Hello?” “Grandma. Opinion on pink roses?” “Tell your mother I will vomit on her pink roses.” I raise my eyebrows at the florist. She purses her thin, red lips, like she’s very insulted on behalf of pink roses everywhere.
