The nickname slips out. I’ve heard Sue call him that, and Nance one time, too. It embarrasses me to have said it. Maybe I don’t have the right. But the flush that goes over Nicholas’s features makes it worth it.
“Can I send you upstairs with flowers?” Nicholas asks. “I keep all my friends stocked with fresh bouquets.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
It’s funny that he called me his friend. There’s something nice about it, like we can acknowledge each other. But it feels wrong, too. Like it’s not enough, not right.
He returns with a small vase of flowers, dark purple, white, and inky blue.
“Still on for tomorrow night?” he asks as he hands the flowers off.
I take them, my stomach twisting like the last time he gave me a bouquet.
“Sure, Nicholas,” I manage. “Tomorrow.”
