“Oh, wow! Is Ama short for Amaryllis?” Jackie asks. I smile and nod, like a disembodied head. “That’s so unusual. I love it. Did your parents love the flower?” “Um, my mom. And other connotations,” I mumble, pushing my hair over my ear. “In mythology, Amaryllis fell in love with a—with a man who loved flowers…” I think this is where I’ll die.
