Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Orange Blossoms

Orange Blossoms


“Yes,” Martha said, her fist closed tight around her cellphone.

“No, I understand. Thank you.”

Martha hit the red X button and refrained from flinging the device at the wall. She couldn’t afford another one. Money, money, money. It was always about money. She wanted to fling herself at the wall. Martha looked down at the papers strewn on the kitchen table, angry red letters glaring back at her, and for one crazy moment she imagined throwing the table and its contents across the floor and setting the whole thing on fire; watch it all burn to ashes until nothing was left.

The bank won’t let her take another mortgage on the house, and they won’t give her another loan; her credit cards were maxed out and she was behind on bills; and she had lost the line of credit when her husband walked out two years ago. Martha had had to pay back the money that had gone missing from that account a few days before the divorce was finalized. That’s when it all started to go downhill. Because Martha had refused to sell the house, and the mortgage was too high for a single parent who also happened to be a woman. Because Martha was a sentimentalist and put too much stock on symbolism that her five year-old daughter would not understand for another few years at least, instead of the realities of life. She had wanted to keep the beautiful colonial home with too much yard because of the memories she had made here with her daughter, and she had wanted little Amy to grow up in a house full of memories. Martha hadn’t wanted to sell the house, and the bills kept piling up. First the TV went, then the phone, then electricity for close to a month – thank God they had a gas stove.

Martha had struggled through all of it, taking up a second job and cutting time she spent with Amy just so she could put food on the table and keep the house from going dark again – Amy had freaked out the first time the electricity was cut. Friends had started bringing ready-cooked meals because she barely had the time to cook dinner anymore. And still the bills kept coming. Oh, and she ended up having to pay for both lawyers because of a shoddy “misunderstanding” her ex-husband had managed to cook up when she wasn’t looking. All perfectly legal of course.

To top it all off, the company Martha worked for as a legal receptionist was downsizing and instead of three receptionists will only keep one. Also, the first real relationship she had had the balls to invest in since the divorce was also going down the drain. She was swimming in quicksand and didn’t know how to pull herself out of it.

The worst part was that Amy was starting to catch onto the fact that something was wrong, and that just broke Martha’s heart. Just a few days ago that sweet child had announced at dinner, all serious and determined, that she was going to get a job through her friend Danielle who helped in the garden with her mother. It was all Martha could do not to cry at the table and tried to assure her five year-old daughter that everything was going to be okay and she didn’t need to work. When a child says something like that, it’s as low as it could be.

“Mommy?”

Martha brought her head up to see her daughter standing by her chair in that pretty orange summer dress that she got for her birthday three months ago. It had been a gift from Martha’s parents, and it offset Amy’s brown curls beautifully. Martha said a silent thank-you to God that it was spring and she wouldn’t have to worry about heating the huge house or buying warmer clothes for Amy for a few more months.

“Yes, sweetie?” Her little face was so serious, Martha dreaded another I’m-getting-a-job-so-you-can-have-money discussion.

Instead, the child smiled broadly and held out a few stems of orange tulips haphazardly plucked from the flower bed by the deck. Her little hands were flecked
with moist dirt from the recent rains, but it was the smile that caught Martha’s breath.

“These are for you, mommy.” Amy gave her a quick hug and went back outside to play.

Martha remained seated watching Amy run giggling into the sun-bathed yard and the many wonders it held for a five year-old. Then she looked at the half-opened tulips, innocent and hopeful of the future. The orange petals matched Amy’s dress exactly, youthful elegance, childish confidence. One of the stems still had the bulb attached, and that made Martha laugh tearfully. Where would she be without her daughter? Who did she have if she didn’t have her daughter, with her bouncy curls and easy laughter? What else mattered?

Nothing else mattered, that’s what. Not the bills, not the car, not her boyfriend, not even the house. Because at the end of the day, it was just her and Amy. Her sweet, sweet Amy. She needed happy memories of childhood, not ones of blackouts, cereal for supper, and her mom crying all the time or never being home because she worked two jobs. All Martha had ever wanted was for her baby to have the best, and the best right now needed to be a mom who spent time with her, warm clothes for the winter, and plenty of food in her belly. If Martha had to sell the house she would, because her baby was more important than her colonial dream too big for either of them to enjoy.


“Don’t worry baby girl,” Martha whispered, “mommy’s going to make it right. Mommy’s going to make it right.”

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