Petals and Ink
((Phantom of the Opera Flowershop/Tattoo Artist AU inspired by this post: post/160715846363/loudlewdlyricalmiracle-genuinehyperbole))
C-
"You want a what?" I asked, incredulous. Meg sat in front of me, shrugging but smiling at me innocently. She knew that didn't even sound like a word, didn't she? I gave her a look, one that I hoped read as 'explain now', and she giggled, tossing herself back on my couch.
"I want a tattoo of a bouquet of lilium lancifolium!" She repeated gleefully. "I want tiger lillies, you goof!"
"How am I supposed to know the scientific name? You're the goof, here." I tsked at her. "How do you know the name?"
"I looked it up to annoy you." She laughed as I rolled my eyes. She does so love to elicit my 'humorous reactions'. She's my favorite client, one that's grown to be something of a friend. She comes in every other month or so for a new tattoo or piercing, but she comes in every other day to visit and sometimes does so with coffee in hand.
"Well, I'm sorry to say I'm not really familiar with plants. I kind of have the complete opposite of a green thumb." I admitted, back to business. I'd hate to disappoint her with a terrible design, especially one forever on her body. I haven't had many complaints in my time here, but the few I have had.. Well, they convinced me I could never be too careful.
"Well, do some research! You always come up with my favorite designs, Chrissie! You're the best!" She pouted, waving her lashes all-too-effectively at me. I sighed and rubbed my head, but before I could answer out loud, she squealed. She knows when she has me pinned.
"Okay, but I'm charging you an inconvenience fee."
"Whaaaat?"
"Don't worry, it'll be counteracted by your 'frequent visitor' discount." I stuck my tongue out at her, and she laughed, reaching across the divide to give me a hug.
"That's why you're the beeeest! I gotta go, but really, Chris, thank you! I know you'll do a great job! See ya next weeeeeek!" And then she collected herself and her bags and swept out of the room with a happy wave of her hand. I never understand how she can have so much energy so late at night. Despite the nature of my work and the hours I normally pull, I always start to wind down around nine, but Meg always comes in close to midnight as perky as she might at noon.. She's a mystery to me, but she brings a spark to my life that I can't say I dislike.
I set myself to the fun task of cleaning up the shop for the night. It never takes long, but I always feel better if I finish that part before I get started on the next day's tasks. When I'm done with that, I sat back down on the lounge couch, phone in hand to start researching.
They're a lovely flower, and there's lots of neat variations. I learn that the specific variation Meg requested is native to Asia, but I'm otherwise un-intrigued by the science and technical and historical aspects of it all. It's not that it's not interesting, just that I'm not interested. So I decided to focus on the visuals, and let that drive what research I might need.
Now, hours later, at two-thirty in the morning, I am disappointed with all the sketches I've come up with. I'm sad to say that I've always shied away from floral designs for the exact reason I gave to Meg, and the ones I have done were all by someone else's design. I only had to keep the lines steady, not decided where they go to begin with. What I'm ended up with is nowhere near my usual level of life and artistry.. and it won't be good enough for Meg.
Exhausted but unwilling to go home on that defeated note, I decide that my early tomorrow will be spent somewhere observing them in person. They seem like a fairly common flower, so any shop should do.. Scrolling through lists of names in my immediate area, I spot one that's only a few blocks from my apartment. Called 'Roses in Ribbons', the shop caters to very specific needs in bouquets, including but not limited to flower messages, corsages, wreaths, and even flower crowns. They also sometimes have live plants for sale and start kits for city gardens. After a moment of thought, I decide the cute-sounding shop is the one for me to start with, and set my alarm before heading home.
I groan awake in the morning, my alarm blaring right in my ear. I tend to roll over to my phone in my sleep, to get closer to the music, and it usually ends just like this. I silence the awful screeching and consider rolling over and going back to bed, but I slowly remember the reason I set the alarm so goddamned early, and I perk up immediately.
Excitedly, I get dressed in a tank top and a skirt with leggings, my favorite ankle boots to tie it all together. Thankfully, I remembered to pack my bag with my sketchbook and pencils and erasers and even a snack last night, so I just grab it and head out, though I quickly turn around, realizing the sun hasn't even risen yet, and it's still cold out. I grab a red jacket that matches the flowers on my leggings, and head out a second time, this time fully prepared to take on the world.
It's a short jaunt down a couple streets to the shop, and I take in the early morning look at the city. It's not quite as dark as it is at, say, two or three in the morning, but the streetlights are starting to shut off, and all the neon lights of late-night businesses have long been out. It's just light enough that the whole world seems pale blue, and the quiet is peaceful. Even the crisp coldness of early spring adds to the sensation, rather than taking it away.
As I near the shop, the light turns kind of yellow, the sign that the sun is not far behind the horizon, and that the day is almost ready to really start. I think it'll be a good day.
I peer inside the shop, wondering if anyone's in already. I don't see anyone, but through the corner glass I can see the shop sign on the door with 'closed' pointed in. I smile and walk around to it, dipping inside. An old fashioned, actual real bell dings as I open the door and close it, instead of the electronic ones. It's cute.
The whole shop is cute, actually. The open floor, single room layout is all soft off-whites and muted, almost grayscale pastel colors, which makes the vibrant green of the room practically explode with contrast. Similarly, all the brighter colors pop, but the lighter ones, the whiter ones, are not lost on the walls or shelves, even when they hang from the ceiling. As the sun rises, the room floods with warm light, and I forget, for a second, that this is a shop in the inner city and not part of some magical forest somewhere far away. It's so bright and happy and alive and it makes me feel the same.
I let myself get lost in the feeling for a moment, until I remember what I came here for, exactly. Then my observation of the room turns pointed, searching the displays for Meg's flowers, the tiger lillies. There are lots of similar flowers, and lots of very different flowers, but I don't see those specific ones anywhere. I go back over sections, hoping I just missed them, but I don't see any the second time through, and I sigh.
Then I remember that this is a shop, not some botanical garden, and that there's probably someone here. I mean, they had to open up this morning, so they're here somewhere. I head to the counter, hoping to see them waiting there, but the shop is still empty besides me and all the plant life. There's a door behind the counter that I presumes goes to a back room, or maybe even leads to an upstairs apartment, as these old buildings sometimes do, and decide to wait out here. If there's an employee or attendant here, they're back there, and they'll have to come out sometime.
After ten minutes of waiting, I decide it's not worth it to linger at the counter anymore, and pull out my sketchbook to at least warm up my hand. I pick a bouquet that's romantically named 'there for you' that's comprised mostly of daffodils, and accented with lots of small greenery that I don't know the name of. It's cute! I start sketching, sitting on the floor with my face just inches from the flowers, losing myself in the drawing and the details.
I don't notice the passage of time until a ray of sunlight has stretched onto the corner of my paper, crawling over the top of a very loosely drawn flower. I blink, and take a look at my phone. It's been about forty minutes, and still no sign of the mystery employee who must be here.
"That's odd." I mumble out loud, and then I hear a crash, the broken singing of glass and water.
I jump to my feet, hurrying around the shelf to the counter, sketchbook forgotten. A tall man is standing behind it now, body tensed up with shock, hands up but curled. "Are you okay?" I ask, before noticing he's wearing a mask that covers his whole face, except his eyes and his mouth. I blink a couple times, as does he. "S-sir?" I say, after a moment of strange silence. That seems to shock him.
"O-oh, yes- I didn't realize someone was here and then you spoke and I- well, I'm sure you can guess." He says, finally putting his hands down, looking at the floor. "Pardon me, if I frightened you."
"No, no, I'm sorry I startled you!" I exclaim. "I was just- I was drawing and I didn't realize you were out here, I mean, I knew someone was here because the shop was open but I didn't know you were out here or I'd have said something sooner, ah.." I ramble. "Sorry."
"No, it's fine. Just, ah, pardon me a moment. I need to try to salvage this.." He points at the floor, and though I can't see it, I assume there lays a ruined bouquet at his feet, decorated with shattered glass and spreading water. He dips down, disappearing as well.
"Yes, of course! Can I help in anyway?" I ask as I lean over the counter, watching his long, thin hands delicately pluck flowers by their stems from the mess.
"No, just, just stay there." He says, focusing on the flowers. I nod and pull away, blushing fiercely. It's all my fault, after all, that I startled the poor guy and ruined a vase and a set of flowers. I return to my sketchbook and my bag, and try to pick up all my eraser shavings, trying to leave him and his store alone as dignantly as possible. But, in that way they often do, the shavings jump and writhe under my hands, making more of a mess than intended.
It's my turn to jump when I hear a footstep directly behind me. I squeak, but thankfully I keep hold of the shavings I have managed to collect.
"Oh, apologies! I- I didn't know where you'd gone!" He says, hands up again, in peace. ".. you weren't kidding about the drawing.." He murmurs, stooping down to look at my open sketches. Embarrassed, I start to reach for them, but he picks up the book first, engrossed in it. "These are not terribly inaccurate." He says.
"They're what?" I blink.
"A- apologies, I meant to say, you're drawings are very accurate. You almost have them perfectly captured." He smiles awkwardly, the edges of his mouth clipping behind the mask. "That is to say, I enjoy them. Your drawings, I mean." I blink again, and then I realize; he's complimenting my art.
"Oh, oh thank you. They're just warm up sketches, really, and not what I came here for, either.." I explain, still blushing a bit.
"What did you come here for, then, miss..?"
"My name is Christine." I reply, sticking a hand out. Slowly, he takes my hand, shaking them once, firmly.
"I am called Erik." He says, mysteriously. "And your reason for coming?" He turns his head, his eyes focused on me.
"I need tiger lillies. My- my friend- a client, really, she wants a tiger lily design. I'm, well, I'm not very familiar with plants and google images was not as helpful as I hoped it would be, so I figured I'd do some live studies. So, uh, here I am." I smile pathetically, hoping that doesn't come off as weird. But god, how often have I gone to see dogs or animals or even people for specific portraits and designs? Why do I feel so weird now? Is it because I spooked the guy, this mysterious Erik, who wears a mask? Is it him?
No, I decide, it's not him. He seems just as offput as I do, interested but nervous, and it's probably because of our shocking introduction to each other. The mask does add to the oddity of the scenario, but it's also very, very intriguing.
"Tiger lillies, you said?"
"Yeah."
"That's interesting, because the vase I was bringing out for the daily display was primarily tiger lillies." He notes, smirking.
"Yeah. One heck of a coincidence." I chuckle. "I don't suppose I can buy those off you? I did also make you drop them.."
"If you wish. It would take me a moment to rearrange them.."
"That's fine! Actually, could I watch? It might give me some ideas.."
"Ah.." He thinks for a moment, sitting up straight. I do the same, suddenly aware of how much I was leaning forward as well. "If you wish." He nods, and then stands, offering a hand. I gather my things and take the offer, letting him pull me to my feet. God, he's a whole head and a half taller than me, and his hand, nearly twice the length of mine. Do I just have tiny hands? Am I small, or is he very, very tall?
I watch him retreat behind the counter, and notice how thin he is as well. What a strange character this florist is turning out to be. A mask, crazy tall and crazier thin. He disappears into the back, and I set my book and pencil down on the counter, and let my bag drop to the floor. Erik returns, a new vase in one hand, and the flowers gripped gently in the other. I notice, now, the distinct orange and dapple of the flowers, the starry shape they make, both open and closed. He sets them gently on the counter next to me and my book, then looks up, as if noticing me for the first time.
"I- there's not much that's very interesting about this part."
"No, no, it's cool! I've never- never seen it done before." I shrug. "It would be cool to see you thinking while you do it."
"Ah. Should I explain my thoughts as I go?"
"If you want to. If not," I shrug again. ", don't, I guess." He nods, looking down at his hands and the flowers. He's quiet, thinking. For a moment, I wonder if he ever plans on moving again, he's so still and breathless that he could be an incredibly lively statue of a person, rather than a living being himself.
But then he moves, picking out individual flowers by their stems, grasping them daintily by the very points of his fingers. He holds them in front of him at the level of his eyes, arranging five or six as a small bundle in his hand, then sets them in the vase, which already has an inch or so of water in the bottom. Then his hands dance out over the remaining twenty or so, choosing them one at a time, now, and setting them carefully, thoughtfully in the vase with the rest. He seems to be choosing the less leafy ones for the inside of the bouquet, and the shorter, less opened flowers for the outside, letting what leaves they have billow out from the lip of the vase.
Then, somewhat like a hairdresser might lightly pull or pat or pad someone's hair at the end, his fingers hover over the whole arrangement, elegantly pulling at this leaf or that, pushing a flower so that it angles a certain way, fastidiously cultivating a look of perfection. Erik looks at it from the left and the right, turns it around by the base, and then smiles.
It's a small smile, a delicate thing itself, but it speaks volumes of the satisfaction he's found in the completion of the arrangement. With something that's almost a sigh, he turns, again remembering or realizing that I'm still here. He clears his throat, pushing the vase toward me.
"What do you think?"
"It's.. perfect." I smile, looking at the fluffy floral majesty that was constructed right in front of me.
"So you enjoy it?"
"Oh, yes, very much. How much do I owe you? For this and the, the other vase?" I ask, looking back up at him. He blinks, and then looks away.
"It's free. You may have it." He says, pushing the vase again, stepping back this time.
"No, I insist on paying for it. It's a work of art! And it's a business.. Can't be giving away all your goods and services for free."
"Hardly." He scoffs. "I never give anything away. This is free. Or, perhaps, a trade, if you will."
"What do you mean?"
"I got to see your drawings. You may have this arrangement. Art for art." He explains, gesturing deftly, as though each curve of his fingers and bend of his wrist was meticulously practiced for this exact moment.
"That's still not fair. You got to see my drawings. I'm getting to keep your flowers." I counter him, eyebrow raised.
"And they will die, as all flowers do. Temporary beauty for temporary beauty. I think this is a fair trade." He counters back, crossing his arms and tilting his head back, daring me to continue.
"Well.. fine. But what about the broken vase? I still think I should pay for that. I haven't given you anything for that, yet." I huff, conceding the first part. In turn, he nods, looking down and to the right, conceding.
"I will check the price for that vase, and we can bargain that out as well." He says, heading toward the back. But I grin, and tear the page out of my sketchbook, signing it hurriedly with a heart, and drop a twenty on the page before snatching the vase and running out. The bell of the door dings cheerfully, victoriously, and I disappear, just as victorious.
E-
"I can't find a price for that specific vase, as it is an older one, but a comparable one is priced at ten-" I stop talking as I realise the girl- Christine- is gone. I look about the shop, but she's not hiding amongst any of the shelves or hanging feeders. She's gone. I didn't even hear the bell, I was so engrossed in finding a less expensive vase to 'sell' her. And on the counter is the page of drawings and a twenty dollar bill. I blink, not used to being tricked, and sigh.
I take the twenty in one hand and the page in my other, noticing the slight smudge that's appeared since I saw it just ten minutes ago. Oh, she signed it, quickly, almost illegibly. And there at the corner, is that.. a heart?
I feel my face heat up under the mask, reeling at the thought of it. A heart, for me? How.. sweet of her. What a strange girl she is, though I suppose I am one to talk, being the one wearing a mask.
I tuck the twenty in the drawer, and hold the paper by its edges as I return to the back. What a strange girl, and what a strange day this is. Why, if Darius hadn't called ahead to say he'd be late this morning, I would have remained in the back, composing my orders for the day, lost in music and floral design, and would never have met this most charming person and received this surprise gift..
I pin the drawing to my order board, noting the lines and the way they flow, light to heavy around the curves, airy in general, and how they come so close to capturing the life of the daffodils she's been studying. I wonder, as I collect my tools for the day, if I will ever see the strange girl again.
C-
Three days later, my tiger lillies are dying in their vase, probably because I didn't take any care instructions from Erik when I ran away so sneakily. But my drawings are better, almost ready for a proper design stage. Except there's something missing. I keep starting to pull together thoughts for designs, only to feel that the lilies alone are not enough. But I don't know enough about floral accents to make what feels like an informed design choice. I know it doesn't matter that much to Meg in this matter, it just needs to look pretty, at least in the first round of designs, but I never feel right approaching something I'm not knowledgeable about with reckless abandon. If I do something, I need to know I'm doing it right.
And, like last time, the internet is informative, but it lacks the spark I feel I'm missing for this project. And, like last time, I really want to get a live look at whatever plant I might use anyway..
I feel both excited and nervous to return to Roses in Ribbons this afternoon, to possibly see Erik again and be confronted about my little scandal. But it's the most exciting thing that's happened in weeks, besides Meg breaking up with her boyfriend in our lobby that one time. Nothing can really top that.
I pull out a blouse this time, and my favorite blue jeans, paired once more with my favorite little boots. It's a comfy get up, but part of me hopes that Erik likes it. I'm not sure why that part keeps popping up in my head as I observe myself in the mirror, but it does. Maybe it's that he's mysterious and interesting, and I want to know a little more about him, and it generally helps to know people if they like you. Or maybe it's that I'm hoping if I look cute enough, he won't be mad about me running out like I did. I'm not sure.
I head over, a bounce in my step and a smile on my face. The sun is high and everything seems as cheery as I feel. But my good mood sinks when I see not Erik behind the counter, but a younger boy, a teenager. He cleans the counter with a whistle, and lacks all the strange, refined and restrained grace that Erik possessed, but he looks up at the entrance bell and waves.
"Hi there, welcome to Roses in Ribbons, or R+R, as I call it. How can I help you today? You here for a pickup?" He greets me as I walk up to the counter, clutching my bag. I notice his name tag says 'Darius'.
"No, actually. I, uh, I guess I'm a walk-in." I joke, feeling awkward and disappointed.
"No problem! What can I help you with?" He offers cheerfully, smiling at the attempt at humor.
"Well, you see, I was in here the other day and I got some tiger lilies, for an art project, but now I want to know what I should pair them with, if anything."
"The other day? I don't remember seeing you." He remarks.
"Yeah, there was this other guy, uh, he said his name was Erik?"
"Oh." Darius says. "Okay." He nods, seeming disturbed.
"Yeah, I was kinda hoping he was here. Do you.. know if he's in?" I ask, hope returning despite the mildly uncomfortable look on his face.
"Uh, he's, he doesn't normally come.. out here. I- he owns the shop but he's a kinda really shy guy, and he's usually done for the day by now.." Darius shrugs, fiddling with the rag in his hand.
"Oh. So I guess you take care of the front service, and he does all the flowery stuff."
"Yeah, something like that. My uncle owns the building. I work the front end and do a lot of the labor, and Mr. Erik owns and runs the shop. It's some deal they got worked out between the two of them." He nods, some of the levity back in his voice.
"Nice." I remark, but then I'm at a loss for what to say, tapping my bag with one hand. "..well, if you could just, take a note to him for later?"
"Oh, yeah, I can definitely do that. You were asking about tiger lillies? You want to make an order?"
"Yeah, actually. Same as last time, but.. With accents, I guess."
"What kind of accents?"
"I.. don't know. That's what I was hoping to ask him today.." I laugh, embarrassed. This is like fairy tale going sour.. Darius stops his writing, and bites his lip in thought.
"Mr. Erik doesn't like being bothered usually, but I think.. He'd make an acception for this. I'm gonna go see if he's still here, alright? Don't go anywhere." He says, and dips into the back. It's quiet in the shop, no one else here apparently, but not for long. I hear shuffling upstairs, maybe a stomp, and then something audibly moves from the center of the room upstairs to the back corner, and then down an unseen set of stairs. But the door- it flings opens, and there stands Erik, taking up all the space of the doorframe.
"It's you." He says, surprised.
"You're here!" I say, equally surprised. "Sorry for running away like I did last time, I thought I was being clever, aha.." I explain, flushing suddenly. I have no idea how he'll respond.
"Well, you certainly caught me unawares, so I would say you were very clever. But don't think you can run away so easily again." He says after a moment, walking out into the room, leaning over the counter. "Now, what's this about accents?"
"Remember my art project? It's kind of empty right now. I don't know what to put with the tiger lillies, and I'd rather not make something up and it have.. some weird or rude and unintended meaning." I explain, Erik nodding.
"What kind of message are you going for?"
"I don't know. My client didn't specify what she wanted the tiger lillies for, either. I'm completely lost."
"Well, then.." And then Erik launches into a small but concise lecture about the flowers themselves, the care and keeping of them, their history, their medical use and even their spiritual meaning and floral linguistic meaning. It might be overwhelming, if he didn't talk so smoothly and easily, composed and clear at all times. He also shows me several options of common flowers and greeneries that pair well with tiger lillies both visually and in meaning, and advises me to talk to Meg before getting too invested in my design choices. "Any questions?"
"Uh, no. That was really.. really cool. I wish I knew that much about things.." I grin, truly impressed.
"Well, now you know 'that much' about tiger lillies. And I am certain you have interests and passions of your own-" He stops, eyes wandering to my arm. "Is that a tattoo?" He points, to my right arm, where indeed a band of ink runs around the biceps and triceps.
"Yeah. Wouldn't be much of a tattoo artist if I didn't have a little ink myself, would I?" I joke. I'm pretty mild for the public image of a tattoo artist, it's true, but the ones I do have are very important to me, and not very small. Erik doesn't laugh at the joke, seeming fixated on the tattoo itself, rather than anything connected to it. "What is it?"
"Are those amaryllis?"
"Yeah. They were my mom and dad's favorite. When.. when dad passed, I got them. So I would remember how strong they made me." I explain. Sometimes people get.. weird if your tattoos don't mean anything, and sometimes they get weird about them even if they do. Personally, I don't care if it's as simple as just wanting the image on your skin because it's pretty or having a great symbolic or spiritual connection to the image. But some people.. "That's not a problem, is it?"
"Wh- Oh, oh no. I just- I don't think I expected you, s-someone like you to have such a.." He gestures to my arm, words failing.
"What? A tattoo?" He nods. "Why? Is it because I'm a woman? Or am I not 'metal' enough of a lady to have tattoos? Does it ruin your idea of my femininity? Or am I less of a person because I've ruined the skin God gave me?" I question him, bitterness seeping in as I go. Erik stands, backing up, hands up in defense once again.
"No, no! Nothing like- I would never-" His hands go to his mask, adjusting it, despite it seeming perfectly straight to me. "I just.. Didn't expect it. Not for any reason. I am.. I deeply apologise if I offended you. I had no assumptions."
"Oh. Sorry, then, for.. freaking out." I blush. Sometimes I get a bit heavy like that. Sometimes it's deserved, but not this time, it seems.
"It sounds like you've had problems before.."
"Yeah.. There's a lot of picky people out there. Think their way of thinking is the 'right' way, the 'only' way. You wouldn't believe the boyfriends I've had break up with me over something silly like this. But I shouldn't have snapped. I didn't know what you were thinking and I just pounced. Sorry, really."
"It's all forgiven. You were saying, about the amaryllis?" He asks, apparently having missed my explanation the first time. I smile.
"My parents favorite flowers. I got them in memory of my parents, after my dad died."
"It's.. relatively new."
"Yeah, only a couple of years now."
"I apologise. For asking." He says, looking away, rubbing his hands together.
"Nah, you couldn't've known. No worries. I should.. I should go. Thanks for all your help today, and, and the other day too."
"Of course." He replies, but he moves forward as I step back, until the counter and display halt him. "Feel.. feel free to come back, if you have any more.. projects." He tries to smile, but he seems uncomfortable, pressed against the counter.
"Yeah. Yeah, I will. Thanks. Have a nice day." I wave, giving a little 'peace out' as I turn and walk out. The bell doesn't seem so triumphant today.
E-
"And you as well.." I mumble, too late. I watch her go, out the door and around the corner, until the glass runs out, and she's gone. I had not intended to make her so uncomfortable. I'm, truthfully, not sure what intended, but it was not that. I sink against the countertop, suddenly unsure what I hoped of any of that.
"She's really cute." Darius says, appearing at my side.
"I beg your pardon?" I ask, turning.
"Well, she's cute. You know, for an older lady."
"Just because she is not a teenager does not make her 'old'. She's.. probably in her twenties, maybe thirties."
"Everything older than me seems old to me." He shrugs, and I roll my eyes in exasperation.
"And everything younger than you seems childish, I assume?"
"Yeah, actually. What's up with her, anyway?"
"I.. hit a sore spot, I believe. She talked of her parents' passing.. I may have said something inappropriate."
"Inappropriate? Like what?"
"Like mentioning her dead parents are freshly dead."
"Oooh. Yeah. Not- not appropriate." He inhales sharply. "But, hey, you told her she could come back, right? Maybe she will and you can say you're sorry."
"I doubt it." I sigh, and walk past the boy towards the back room. I'm finished with my orders for the day, but I hesitate at the board anyway, where her flower sketches are still pinned up exactly where I left them. I sigh again and head back up the stairs. I doubt she'll return. I can dream, though.. and maybe make it up to her. I boot up the ancient computer upstairs, and begin my search for one 'Christine Daae'...
C-
Meg is ecstatic with the designs I present her as well as the small infomercial I give her about meanings, as engrossed in my telling of it as I was in hearing it myself.
"I really like this one," She says, pointing to a wreath of tiger lillies and soft pink bouvardias. "I think it'd look really good on the back of my neck, you think?"
"Yeah!" I agree, not because I actually agree, but because she already seems set on the placement. I'm sure it will look really good there, of course, I'm just not personally invested in it either way.
"Where'd you learn all this cool shit anyway?" She asks, sipping her tea. I tap my pencil on my forehead with a wink.
"I have my ways.." I tell her coyly.
"Oh come oooon! You've got to tell me!"
"Please, Meg, the internet is a very powerful tool. You can learn anything if you know where to go. You found the scientific name all by yourself, remember?"
"Yeah, but I didn't really have to go far to find it. Wikipedia, baby. You were all.. organized and informed!"
"Well, you can get organized and informed things on the internet, too. But you're right in this case. I found someone who knew a lot. Even got a free bouquet out of it, though kind of on accident."
"No way, that's neat! Your drawings were very inspired, you know. That's how I really knew." She winks at me, but I'm not sure I understand.
"What do you mean?"
"You always do your best work when you get, like, really invested in something, even if it's not necessarily the project at hand. You've never noticed? When you did my starfish you had that, uh, that video game-"
"Breath of the wild."
"-and you told me all about it while you did inked it and how pretty it was and how fun and thoughtful it was. And then when I got my fire arrow, you had that book you loved, and basically for all my favorite tattoos, you had something you were really into when you did them. But this time around you got into a person." She smiles knowingly, but I just blush, fussing.
"That's not true. I've met them twice, twice, and our last conversation was.. awkward."
"Awkward how? Are they hot? Do you think they're out of your league?"
"I don't actually know what his face looks like, but the rest of him is pret- and, well, yeah, he's probably got some Ph.D. girl, and- w-wait a minute, no. I'm not, not interested in him."
"Come on, girl. You just babbled about him. You're kinda into him."
"No, I'm really not. He's just.. mysterious. I'm not, like.." I want to argue, but I realize that I'd be lying. I am pretty interested in him, on the grounds that he's interesting and mysterious and knowledgeable and odd. "Not again." I groan.
"Maybe this one'll stick around!" Meg suggests emphatically, really hopeful.
"I kinda left in a huff.. you know, from that awkward conversation?"
"Well, what was awkward?" I don't know how to put in words, but my left hand finds it's way to my upper arm, where my flowers sit in mourning. "Oh. Yeah, awkward. Well.. go back. Or, uh, call him! Text him?"
"He said to 'feel free' to come back if I had more questions.. but I can't show up on that premise and then just.. not actually have a question." I object. I'd like to go, like to see him, maybe make things less awkward, but I am awkward. At least about this!
"Ask him about roses~" Meg purrs.
"Oh, please. We're not four year olds. That's, that's so obvious and cheesy." I blush anyway. Imagine if I had the confidence to rock that? To go in and ask for Erik by name, to have him come down the stairs, for me especially, and to ask him to talk about roses. What would he say? Would he bluster? Would he understand the blatant subtext? Would it be too much? Am I being too assumptive? "Besides, we've still only talked twice. There's.. there's no telling what he even thinks of me, anyway."
"Yeah, but you've got it bad. You'll figure something out." She puts a fist out, beaming. I sigh and give her a bump.
"I'll figure something out." I agree. Just then, Andre walks into the lounge, knocking on the doorway.
"Hey, Christine?"
"Yeah?"
"You've got a delivery." He points to the office. "Thought it was a wrong address at first, but it's got your name on it." He explains, his mustache bobbing as he talks.
"Thanks. I'll be in to grab it in a moment." He nods and leaves.
"Well, I guess we should talk about an appointment to get this wreath done, huh? How's next tuesday at two?" Meg asks, looking at her phone, presumably her calendar. I pull out my own to check.
"Sounds good, I'm free the rest of that evening." I nod, typing in her details
"Then I will see you then, girl. I expect an update then, too." She winks and pats my head, as if I'm a child who needs to tell her mother all the gossip.
"See you." I show her out, and then head to the office. I don't see any boxes or envelopes, but a rose in a vase on the desk. There's a small card tied close to the base of the flower with a black ribbon, and sure enough my full name is written on it in careful, swooping cursive on one side. There's nothing but a heart on the other side, but I know who it's from. Who else could it be?
I blush and smile, taking a gentle sniff of the flower. It's sweet, and the petals are soft on my nose, and tickly too.
I think I have some questions about roses after all..