“Open up, or else I quit!” I open the door to a red-faced Willow. “What the hell, Lorenzo?!” she shouts. I shut the door before any of my neighbors can hear us. “I can explain.” She barrels into my home like a hellhound, banging into the entryway table and nearly tipping over the vase with one of Lily’s bouquets. The pink clashes with all the earthy tones in my house, but it reminds me of my mom and all the fond memories I have of my father surprising her with weekly bouquets.
