Blue Roses (12 page)

I don’t see Luca for a few days, because he’s been busy getting the garage ready to open on Saturday.

I finally drag him away on Thursday night. He comes to my place, and misses meeting Rory by about ten minutes.

She’s done another great catering job for me. The meal isn’t as elaborate as the first one, but it’s good.

Over dinner, Luca talks about the problems with his contractors. I try to keep up with him, but I don’t want to know about itemized breakdowns of budgets, and who went over on what. The truth is, it all goes right over my head, because Luca switches from one story straight into another, and suddenly we’re talking about a different guy entirely.

I smile and try to be polite. What I really want to hear about is personal stuff, like what it was like to grow up with his dad and uncle.

During a lull, I ask, “Did your father keep motorbikes in the house?”

“He sure did, when he ran out of room in the garage.” Luca’s blue eyes twinkle at the memory. “After things settle down, I’ll take you out to the farm to meet him. I should probably warn you, though, he’s eccentric.”

“If he’s anything like you, I’m sure we’ll get along fine.”

Luca smiles. “And what about your father? He’s out of the picture?”

“Long gone. But he’s a nice enough guy. We see each other a few times a year when he’s in town.” I wrinkle my nose. “He’s always suggesting I should go back to school, or do something different with my life. He means well, but he doesn’t know.”

“You’re comfortable.”

There’s something in Luca’s tone that puts me on edge, like he’s judging me. Suddenly, my cottage feels small. My life feels small, compared to his.

“Luca, I may not be a world traveler and adventurer like you, but I know who I am.”

He leans back in his chair and looks around, his gaze settling on the framed photos over the mantle.

“And who are you, Tina? All those photos are a decade old. And you still won’t tell me about that prom picture.”

I cross my arms. “People don’t get photos printed anymore. It’s all Facebook and stuff. Digital.”

He waves one big hand dismissively. “That’s kid stuff, all that social networking bullshit. Sending text messages. Wasted time.”

“We can’t all be big, burly know-it-alls with a bunch of money and their own houses and garages, now, can we?”

“I earned that money. Nobody handed me anything. And I moved away from home when I was nineteen.”

I keep my arms crossed. “Good for you. When I was nineteen, I held the love of my life while he died in front of me.”

Luca blinks, then looks away.

Gruffly, he says, “I’m sorry.”

“If you think I don’t appreciate the gift of my life, you’re wrong. I feel it every day, this gift. This burden. I’m alive, and he isn’t, and it’s not fair. He was a better person than me, in every way. He gave everything.”

My jaw aches as I hold back the tears.

Luca is quiet, his eyes focused down on the floor.

My body shakes with the sobs I’m holding tight.

“Jonathan never held back, and no matter how bad things got, he always said it was fine. He said he wouldn’t change a thing.”

Luca glances over to the pictures, then back to me.

His voice soft and low, he says simply, “His name was Jonathan.” He licks his lips and swallows. “I’m sorry.”

I look down at the dirty dishes between us, blinking away the tears in my eyes.

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” I say. “We were having a nice dinner, and I had to wreck everything. Now I’m causing all this drama, and you don’t like drama, and I’m sorry. This is me, Luca. I live in a garage behind my mother’s house, and I work the same job I’ve had for years. I’m stuck, and I don’t care, because I’m comfortable here. My best friend Rory comes by on Sunday and we do laundry and watch TV. I don’t want to have kids, because I don’t want to stop being a kid. I don’t want to have your babies. I might change my mind later, but right now, I can’t imagine it.”

His eyes flick up to mine. “What made you think I wanted you to have my babies?”

I hold my arms tighter around myself. My head is hot and my body is cold.

I can’t tell him that I feel it every time he looks at my stomach, like he’s planning our future. “Never mind. I’m just crazy. Typical woman, right?”

He looks down and straightens all his silverware, avoiding my eyes.

“Tina, I’m just taking life one day at a time. Same as anyone else. But it’s very difficult to have an honest discussion with someone who breaks into hysterics.”

I push my chair back and stand. “Hysterics?”

He stays seated, looking up at me warily. “I don’t know what else to say. I’ve had a lot of fun with you these past few weeks.”

I shrug and turn my face away, waiting for the worst.

It’s over. He’s had fun, and now it’s over.

“You should go,” I say, my voice thin and cold.

“We’re not going to talk about this?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I hope your opening goes well on Saturday. Don’t worry about me making a scene, because I won’t be coming.”

“You won’t come to my grand opening?”

I won’t turn to look at him, because then I’ll definitely cry.

“Honestly, I don’t see the point. Just go.”

He pushes his chair back and stands. “I don’t like this side of you,” he says.

“Me neither, but I don’t have a choice.”

“You’re shutting me out.”

“Just go.”

I turn my body away so I can’t even see him out of the corner of my eyes.

“Don’t forget your jacket,” I say. “Make sure you have everything that’s yours when you leave.”

“Teenie.”

I growl, “Don’t call me that. You don’t know me.”

I hear him moving around, pulling on his boots and getting his leather jacket from the closet.

Without a word, he opens the door, leaves, and gently closes it again.

I walk around the circuit, closing all the blinds and curtains, keeping my face turned away from the windows.

I lock the door, and then I open the coat closet. I push out the shoes and settle onto the floor, my legs folded up in front of me. I pull the door shut behind me and bury my face between the jackets.

Safe in this small space, I disappear.

Luca had the garage’s grand re-opening on Saturday.

The flower shop sent over an arrangement. I considered signing my name on the card, but I didn’t.

I wrote:
Best wishes from Gardenia Flowers.

The opening went well, and the only motorbike “gang” who showed up was a group of seniors who tour on road bikes together.

My sister keeps me up-to-date on what’s going on at the garage. She bumps into Luca from time to time on Baker Street. Unlike me, she hasn’t switched her route to detour through the alley to avoid him.

Luca and I haven’t spoken to each other since the night he left my place.

That was three months ago.

Three long months ago.

Sometimes I’m sad our fling didn’t last a little longer. Other times, I’m relieved, because the hole he left in my heart feels like it might close up eventually.

This year, I got through the prom season with very few tears shed.

One of the boys who came in asked for blue flowers, to match his date’s dress. I told him how I once wore a blue rose to my own prom. I told him about the pale blue dress, and how everyone said I looked like a bride. I told him how my friends all got drunk in the bathroom, but I wouldn’t drink their smuggled booze.

The alcohol was actually someone’s father’s moonshine, brewed in the bathtub from who knows what. Two of my friends threw up right on the dance floor. Everyone ran outside because of the smell. Then the DJ pointed the speakers at the open gym doors, and we all danced the last songs of the night outside, under the stars.

I’d almost forgotten about those last songs.

Time rearranges itself sometimes, like a road map that’s folded like a paper fan. With the folds, two cities miles apart come together and touch, just like how anniversaries pull us back through time and link with previous ones, until everything’s happening at once.

In the flower shop, the boy who ordered the blue corsage just looked at me like I was a weird older lady and he couldn’t understand why I was even talking to him, much less talking about the philosophy of time.

When he left, I realized I was smiling.

My memories of Jonathan seemed to hold more joy than previous years. It was as though time had bleached out the sorrow, the way the sun faded the blue dye in my rose.

Megan leans over me, putting the finishing touches on my hair.

It’s August now.

I hardly think about Luca at all. But I haven’t been on any other dates.

Tonight is the annual Baker Street Block Party. We barricade the street at either end of a five-block span, and people from all over the city come to enjoy a party that goes until midnight.

Lots of people dress up for the party in summer-themed costumes, or at least get their faces painted—adults alongside kids.

Megan and I have been going as “flower girls” every year, and tonight is no exception. I already braided her hair and twisted the braids around her head in a crown, and she did the same for me. Now we’re decorating our heads, adding more fresh-cut flowers than most people would think is reasonable.

“It’s getting heavy,” I say, complaining.

“I think we could get a few more flowers on your head,” Megan says.

We’re in the flower shop, and Rory is sitting nearby, reading gossip magazines that are several months old.

Without even looking up from the magazine, Rory says, “You two look perfect. Let’s go eat.”

Rory has put some flowers in her hair, but just a few daisies stuffed into a bun. She would never let us touch her hair, much less braid it into a crown and stuff in an unreasonable number of flowers.

We finish up with our hair, switch off the lights, lock up, and walk out into the crowd.

For the next few hours, the three of us shop for beaded jewelry and tie-dyed clothing at the usual assortment of street vendors that appear at all open-air festivals. Then we sample the many delicious deep-fried foods, including a battered, deep-fried Mars bar.

Rory says she’s tired, and anxious from people jostling her in the dark, so she goes home not long after sunset.

My sister and I make our way over to the band stage and stake out a prime spot for our blanket.

We’re just sitting down when a familiar figure tosses a gray wool blanket next to ours and takes a seat.

Luca Lowell is sitting right beside me. The sun has set, and his features are only lit by the street lamps, but every cell in my body knows it’s him.

I’ve glimpsed Luca around from time to time over the last few months, but I always run in the opposite direction to avoid him.

I turn to Megan, keeping my back to him, and whisper, “Meenie. Don’t look now, but you-know-who is behind me. Roll up the blanket and let’s go.”

“Just talk to him,” she says, her voice at regular volume. “You can’t avoid Luca forever.”

I hear him say, “Is that Teenie and Meenie under all those flowers?”

I slowly turn around, a smile hardening on my face.

“Hi, Luca. How are you?”

One look into his pale blue eyes, and my breath is taken away.

“That really is you,” he says. “Nice flowers. Hey, Megan. You guys look… cute.”

I reply, “Cute? That means a lot, coming from a manly guy who doesn’t usually say words like that.”

He chuckles, looking down at his long legs as he stretches them out in front of himself on the gray blanket.

I follow his gaze and look at his legs, while giving myself a lecture.

Tina, just get up from this blanket right now and walk away. No good can come of this! He’s not going to apologize for being a jackweed, and you’re not going to apologize for whatever you did. Because you did nothing wrong. I know that hole in your chest is gaping open, and you want to fill it with something big and tough, like Luca, but you don’t need him. You’ve been just fine without him.

Unaware of my silent freakout, Megan asks Luca if he tried the deep-fried Mars bar.

“I didn’t know that was a real thing,” he says.