Looking back over the years, it appears not much has changed. A lifetime of believing love means waiting for the moment when someone finally decides you aren’t worth staying for. I’m a grown woman now. At twenty-four, is this what my current nervousness is about? Always waiting for the other shoe to fall? I rub concentric circles over my chest. When did I decide it was okay to give everything without accepting the same? All of this in the hope they won’t have a reason to walk away.
Admittedly this feels different. More like someone’s watching me. But I’m too busy keeping my life afloat to go in search of more problems.
This menacing unease only seemed to begin about a year ago. A pervasive apprehension, like coarse wool rubbing against soft flesh, that appears every few weeks without an obvious cause. At least not one I can seem to put my finger on. Once it begins, suspicion thrashes heavily within my veins. Is it purely the worry that anyone I care about will abandon me? Is that all this is?
Or is what I’m feeling something else entirely?
1
BEN
Six Months Earlier
“Cygnature Blooms,Hanover Square. This is Tuesday. How can I help you today?”
“Hi, Tuesday.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, staring at the polished wood surface of my desk like it might give me answers. “I hope you can. I need an apology bouquet. Do you think you can help me with that?”
“Certainly,” she says warmly. “I’d be happy to assist you. Can I ask a few questions so I can put together the perfect arrangement?”
I tap my pen against my lower lip, mind racing. The perfect arrangement? My head falls forward, already feeling defeated and this conversation has barely begun. How exactly do you say,Sorry I gave you an STD but please don’t leave me because I love you? Fuck my life. “Can I be blunt, Tuesday?”
“Yes, of course. I’m here to help.”
“I royally screwed up,” I say quietly. “And I need to make a grand gesture if I stand a chance in hell of getting my girlfriend to forgive me.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure we can find something worthy of the occasion.”
“I doubt that,” I mutter. “It might take enough flowers to supply the Rose Bowl Parade.”
“Thatisa lot of flowers,” she mutters. “Is your girlfriend located in the Hanover delivery area?”
“Yes. We live together. Or we did. I think we still do.” Oh, I don’t even know anymore.
There’s the faintest little squeak on the other end of the line. Isshe trying to gather her professionalism so she doesn’t lose a sale? “May I get your name and number in case we get disconnected?”
“Ben. Ben Banks.” I give her my address and number, trying not to sound like I’m hanging onto the call for emotional life support.
“Well, Ben,” she says, “there are flowers that symbolize regret and sorrow. Purple hyacinth, asphodel, white poppy, scarlet geranium… each expresses consolation.”
“I’ll probably need all of them.” I push aside a stack of papers, suddenly suffocated by the office that normally feels like home. My entire life has been quietly orbiting Chanel’s for the last year. I’d grown up in the UK after my mother remarried. Had lived there since I was seven. But after meeting Chanel online, we’d hit it off and developed a completely unexpected relationship. It was time for me to grow up and settle down. So I moved across an ocean for this girl. Decided to start my business in the United States with her in mind. “Tuesday?”
“Yes?”
“They sound beautiful. But I needover the top.” My voice drops. “She means the world to me. I didn’t realize how much until she left.”
There’s a pause. “She left you?” she asks gently.
“She decided she didn’t want a committed relationship anymore. Said she needed to focus on her career. Didn’t want distractions.” I swallow. “So I let her go. Pride and all that. Even though it damn near broke me.”
She’s quiet, letting me speak.
“She came back,” I continue. “But only after I made a mistake.”
Another pause. “I was hurt. And drank.A lot.Then I slept with someone else,” I say. “And now my girlfriend has an infection and thinks I gave it to her. She stormed into my office this morning after she left her doctor’s office like she was ready to kill me.”
“Oh, Ben.”
“Yeah.” This is demoralizing. I feel so defeated. How had I let my life implode? Not to sound like Ross and Rachel fromFriends, but wewereon a break. I look down at my lap, dread curling through my stomach.
