I sniff them again because I’m sure they smell better now than they did fourteen seconds ago. Everyone knows flowers smell better with age.
There’s a card tucked in on the side of the flowers, held together by a clear plastic trident, my name written in fancy cursive across the front. Since I’m the only Amanda on this floor, these are definitely for me. The fancy script, however, is concerning. I’m pretty sure Hudson doesn’t write my name with swirls. Maybe he called them in over the phone and someone in the flower shop wrote it out.
I’m ninety percent sure men do not assign colors to roses like women do, but they definitely don’t buy a huge stack of flowers for someone they don’t at least like. Men don’t buy a bad kisser a hundred dollars in red flowers. Excitement floods my heart and mind with happiness over Hudson’s meaning with these flowers. He has to feel something for me.
“Amanda, I want you to sit in on today’s marketing meeting. We still haven’t found a footing for the granola dog food and I’m hoping your market research will help us find a better target audience,” my immediate boss says leaning across the top of my cubicle. A nose hair blows in the wind with each word, forcing me to focus my attention anywhere but at him. “Nice flowers.”
“Thanks,” I tuck the top of the envelope back inside and lay it on the desk next to the flowers. We’ve been researching granola-based dog food. It was a huge craze in the nineties but my boss thinks there’s a position in the market for it with today’s health-conscious millennials. He’s wrong.
None of the research I’ve done with actual dogs in my study show they want the food. Most of them would rather not eat. Dogs walk up to the bowl, sniff, give me “a what the hell is this shit” expression, and then walk away. It’s totally ruined my doggy street cred. I had to give out extra sausage snaps last month just to get them to look at me again. There’s nothing worse than the cold shoulder of a dog.
“I’ll be right there,” I say pretending to shuffle through my filing cabinet and search for the research reports I typed up last month. I hate speaking in front of a group, especially if I’m to give bad news. Sadly, there’s no way to lie.
“Amanda,next time be more forceful. If I have to spend any more of my time talking about freakin’ granola dog food I’m going to pass out on the floor and fake a seizure. Cross your fingers for a hot EMT to pick me up in the ambulance.”
I laugh and shake my head at Donna’s antics. She’s the intern who moved into Aspen’s position when she left at the end of last year. Donna’s nice, but a bit over the top. In a way she reminds me of Aspen and Marissa squished together into one person. A little fun and a little scary. But she has a point. I tried to give them the horrible news nicely, but no one wanted to hear it. I’m starting to think there’s a warehouse full of granola they’re trying to get rid of somewhere.
“Do you want to do lunch?” Donna asks giving me a set of big brown puppy dog eyes. I don’t think she’s had a chance to make many friends. When you’re an intern, you hang out with the interns and it can be difficult to break into the full-timer ranks.
I sigh, my eyes falling back to the roses perched on my desk and dreaming of the cute guy I left in the car outside the building waiting for me. “No, I have plans. Sorry. Next time?”
“Definitely.” Donna walks away as I fiddle with the flower card, dragging it across the ends of my fingernails.
Without giving it a second thought, I grab my cell phone from my back pocket and call Hudson.
He answers on the first ring. “Everything okay?” A car door slams somewhere behind him.
“I’m fine,” I rush out before he dies from a panic attack or, worse, races up here. “Slow your roll, buttercup.
Hudson laughs. “No one in their right mind has ever called me buttercup.”
“What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”
“You definitely are. What’s up?”
I open the envelope and pull out the tiny rectangular card. “I wanted to see if you want to get lunch with me and also thank you for the flowers.”
There’s silence on the phone and I use the time to read the message written in an equally nice font as my name on the outside of the card.
“Your problems are solved. We’ll talk soon. ~D”
My breath stalls, and my eyes search the room, as if he’s here watching me read the message.
“Amanda, what are you talking about? I didn’t send you flowers. I can if that’s something you’re looking for in a relationship.” There’s a beep and Hudson stops talking but I no longer rush to assure him everything is okay. “I’m coming to you. Stay where you are.”
Dread the size and weight of a heavy bowling ball settles in the pit of my stomach. My happy ending where I push all my problems under the rug may not end so well for me after all.
I read the card again. And then one more time. My heart races, knowing Hudson will be here any minute.
I can’t let him see. He’d ask too many questions and my hastily built house of cards will crumble.
9
“Amanda, are you okay?”
Hudson’s voice startles me and I drop the tiny card. It flutters to the desk and lands face down. Without looking I slide open my middle desk drawer and push the card in, closing the drawer as Hudson turns the corner to my cubicle.
“You know where my desk is?” I ask my heart beating in triple time, but not missing the fact he didn’t waste a second looking for where I sat and walked right to my location.
