"So, tell me more about you. How is it that you became so interested in flowers and design?" Jason asks, sliding his cup to the edge of the table since he finished.
As I open up to Jason. He listens with a steady and warm gaze. It's such a contrast to the cold judgment I'm used to on dates. Like, guys are just wanting this perfect person to step out of a movie or book. Sorry, fellas, life is messy sometimes. But Jason doesn't flinch when I mention the pain of my mother's absence. I talk about the flower garden that was once behind our house. I know I mentioned some of this to him before, but it's nice that he wants to hear it again. I dig a little deeper into her absence and what that meant for me and my father. How it created a wedge between us.
Jason reaches across the table and brushes his fingers against mine. A jolt travels up my arm, right to my chest cavity. "Your," he clears his throat, "your mom sounds incredible. I wish I could have met her." He tells me softly. "And Ben, you sound incredible too for everything you've navigated since your father abandoned you."
I don't see pity in his eyes. Just understanding and warmth.
"Thank you," I tell him softly.
My hot chocolate, now on the side of cool chocolate, sits forgotten between us. We talk about everything and nothing, the conversation flowing like the wildflowers from my childhood memories. The entire time, Jason's hand never leaves mine.
As the cafe empties and the late-night chill seeps in, a new warmth settles within me, one that has nothing to do with the sugary drink. It is the tentative bloom of connection, a fragileflower pushing through the cracks of a past I'd carried like a heavy stone. Looking at Jason, really looking at him, I feel a flicker of something I had a hard time acknowledging before––hope.
Chapter Twelve
__________
Jason
I lean against my desk surveying my glittering, candy-strewn classroom with a weary but fond smile. Little hands, sticky with glue and dusted with a rainbow of fine particles, are diligently attempting to adorn cardboard boxes with construction paper, candy hearts, and a truly excessive amount of glitter.
The air hums with the concentration of my kindergarteners, punctuated by the occasional frustrated puff of air when a candy heart decides to make a daring escape from its adhesive grip. Brianna, bless her enthusiastic soul, has managed to glue a candy heart directly onto her own nose, a tiny, sweet constellation shimmering in the classroom light.
Across the room, Liam, usually a whirlwind of energy, is painstakingly arranging a single, perfectly placed sticker on his mailbox, his brow furrowed in concentration. Beside him, Markeisha is attempting to create a glittering wonderland, her mailbox already resembling a purple disco ball under construction.
I kick off my desk and chuckle softly as I carefully navigate the minefield of rogue glitter and candy hearts, my own hands already dusted with the remnants of my students' creative fervor.
Beautiful chaos.
Valentine's Day in kindergarten, a symphony of sticky fingers, sugary declarations, and the sheer, unadulterated joy of making something special.
I kneel next to Sam, whose mailbox is leaning precariously to one side, a testament to his boundless, if unrefined, artistic vision. "That's a very…unique structure, Sam," I tell him with a gentle voice.
Sam looks up at me and beams with a wide grin, holding up his mailbox that is adorned with slightly squashed candy hearts. "I'm gonna make a card for my mommy next. One with extra glitter because she likes sparkly things."
I ruffle Sam's hair, a fine mist of gold glitter puffing into the air. "That's fantastic! She's going to love it." I pull out the seat next to him and sit, my knees folded against my chest in the tiny chair. "I know I would," I lean over and whisper to him.
"C-can I-I join you?"
I look up from Sam's project at the shy voice I barely heard from the noisy classroom.
I feel my eyes crinkle at the corners when I smile.
Standing beside me, holding a slightly crumpled piece of red construction paper, is Abi with her bright eyes and shy smile. She often observes the class more than she participates in it. For her to seek me out like this, my heart flutters with fondness.
"Of course, Abi," I reply, keeping my voice warm and inviting while I pull out the chair next to me. "There's plenty of glitter and candy hearts for everyone. What kind of card are you thinking of making?" I gesture to the overflowing supply bin in the middle of our work table. "We have red and pink paper, heart-shaped stickers, and even some sparkly markers if you want to add a little bling bling," I finished telling her with a wink.
Abi's face lights up, and she carefully places her construction paper on the edge of the desk before trying to smooth it out with her little hands. "I want to make a rainbow heart," she whispers, her voice barely audible above the excitement buzzing around us. Her small fingers are already reaching for the glitter markers.
I enjoy a few more minutes with this particular group before I give my final words of encouragement to continue their excellent work. I stand to check on the progress of the other students. While admiring the creative mailboxes that will soon hold cards and candy from their classmates, a warm wave washes over me.
Amidst the delightful chaos, Ben pops into my head. Littles love glitter and messes. I make a mental note to pack away some of these supplies to take home tonight for my Valentine's Day playdate with Ben. Since we are a relatively new couple, we decided to have a playdate instead of a big romantic gesture.
A wistful smile touches my lips.
I continue to weave my way around while my six-year-olds showcase their creations. As excited as I am about tonight with Ben, this vibrant, glitter-dusted scene of pure creation and friendships is the very heartbeat of my world. A symphony of little triumphs and whispered secrets that I wouldn't trade for anything.
Ben
