April

Author's note: I apologize for any formatting issues. I kept trying to fix the paragraph indents in Reedsy's editor but they just wouldn't save for whatever reason.

It was ten in the morning, and Trader Joe’s was packed to the gills. The electric heat from outside seeped in through the automatic doors, and the sheer amount of people inside the store didn’t do its climate any favors, either.

Darren had been waiting in line for a good fifteen minutes now, wondering how such a popular store in this part of town could be so woefully understaffed. He pulled on the collar of his shirt feverishly. He had already been cutting it close when he decided to hit the snooze button on his alarm one (okay, four) too many times, but now he had real reason to be concerned that he was going to be late to the airport. If there was one thing April truly hated, it was lateness. And he promised he wouldn’t be late. He could feel sweat starting to soak through his clothes. He clutched the bouquet of multicolored daisies—April’s favorite—tightly, like they were going to somehow escape from his grip and make this entire situation even more disastrous. For a moment, he had half a mind to just steal them, but he banished the thought. He had never even thought of doing something like that before. Maybe his mother was right about April bringing out the worst in him. He quickly banished that thought, too. He figured he was just a wuss. That’s what April and her friends would say, anyway. He calmed himself down by watching the cherry blossoms flutter down from the row of trees lining the sidewalk outside the window, training his eye on one at a time to follow it on its trail to the ground.

After what felt like an eternity, Darren finally escaped, (physically) unscathed, from the treachery of Trader Joe’s on a Saturday morning in Union Square. He frantically endeavored to hail a cab to the point where he was beginning to draw pitiful looks. When he finally waved one down, he nearly slammed the door on April’s bouquet. “JFK, please,” he said to the driver. “Terminal 1.”

They drove mostly in silence until they were nearing the terminal, and the driver lowered the volume on the radio. Darren was a little disappointed when the latest Taylor Swift hit suddenly went quiet. “Who are those flowers for?” asked the driver. “Someone special?”

“My girlfriend,” Darren responded sheepishly. “She’s coming home from studying abroad in Japan.” He didn’t know why he was telling the cab driver all of this; then again, he didn’t really have anyone to share these kinds of things with. The driver just nodded, as if only very mildly interested in the situation. Darren couldn't place why this saddened him just a little.

"Those flowers look a little bent, kid," the driver said when Darren stepped out of the cab. "Might wanna straighten them out a little if you can.”

“Uh, yeah,” Darren replied. “Thank you.” What a weird thing to say. How the hell does he expect me to do that? “Have a good day,” he added, scolding himself for forgetting to in the first place, but the driver had already rolled up his windows and started driving away. He tried to relax the muscles in his shoulders and looked down at his watch. 11:19 AM, it read. He couldn’t help but smile a little to himself. He was right on time, maybe even a little early…

…or so he thought. When he reached the waiting area at the entrance, April was already standing there, arms crossed and brow furrowed. “You’re late.”

A “hello” would have been nice. “I thought you said you were landing around now.”

“Did I?” she said. “I don’t see why I would have told you otherwise.” She looked beautiful even when her face was twisted into a sneer at him as if he were something vile she'd stepped in, with her long, straight black hair, sharp features, and perfectly long eyelashes.

           “Let’s just drop it,” he said weakly. He halfheartedly held out the bouquet. “I got these for you.”

Her expression softened as she took them gently. “Daisies,” she said, “my favorite.” She looked at him and smiled. “Thank you.” Darren couldn’t help but melt at that. He thought that maybe he really had had nothing to worry about. April took his hand in hers as they walked out to hail another cab back to Greenwich Village, and he stood a little taller.

When they arrived at the restaurant, a wave of familiar dread hit Darren. The restaurant April had picked for lunch was one they had been to just a couple of times before, and it was only ever when she wanted to Talk. All of these Talks ended in one of two ways (or both): they would break up or leave in tears after making a scene. It was always messy, and they always ended up pretending that nothing had ever happened after a few days of bitter silence. He could feel the relentless eyes of onlookers on him already, his mother scolding him over the phone for making the same mistakes time and time again. 

They were seated at a table in the middle of the room, drinking wine from the bottle April made Darren go buy at the liquor store down the street when the host informed her of their BYOB policy. April was visibly irritated about something. “My chair keeps squeaking,” she said. “So annoying.”

“Do you want to switch?” he offered.

She scoffed. “I think I can handle a squeaky chair, Darren.”

“Okay.” He swore to himself that she was impossible. “Um, how was Japan?” he asked, changing the subject. “You kind of stopped writing back after a while.”

“It was amazing,” she said, looking off dreamily at nothing in particular. “I think I really discovered a lot about myself, you know? I feel like I’m in, like, a new era of my life.”

“That’s really great, April,” he said. “I’m really happy for you.” He smiled halfheartedly at her as earnestly as he could muster.

A thick silence hung in the air for a moment.

  “I met someone in Japan,” she said, completely nonchalantly, as if she were simply commenting on the weather.

He stopped drinking his wine mid-sip. It’s happening. “What?”

“Yeah. His name’s Junichi. Really sweet guy.” She twirled her spaghetti around, seemingly aimlessly. She had tended to play with her food more than actually eating it. “He’s a wildlife photographer. Really good, too.”

“Wait, I’m confused,” Darren said, forcing an awkward little laugh. “By ‘met someone,’ do you mean, like…romantically?”

“How else would I mean it?”

“Um, platonically?”

“Why are you acting so weird about this?” April said, making a face. “I was under the impression that our relationship was open.”

“When did that ever get discussed?”

“Well, I just assumed.”

“Why would you ever ‘just assume’ something like that?” It was getting more difficult to mask his hurt.

“Oh, please, Darren.” Her voice took on a decidedly meaner, more bitter tone. “I see you making eyes at your fucking Starbucks girls all the time.”

“What the hell are you even talking about? Those are my coworkers. And I don’t ‘make eyes’ at them.”

“That blonde chick is obviously into you, and you just let her be!” She was starting to raise her voice.

“Angie? She’s, like, fifteen!” Darren hissed, trying to bring down their volume without explicitly asking her to lower her voice; she couldn’t stand it when he did that. They were starting to get disapproving looks from the other patrons. He took a deep breath. “I know you have issues with this stuff, but I would never do that,” he said as calmly and deliberately as he could. He didn’t say but apparently you would. He didn’t know what would deescalate this, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“Jesus Christ, why are we even trying to do this anymore?” she spat. “All you do is weigh me down. I’m so fucking tired of it.”

He was quiet for a moment, blinking away tears with admirable effort. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I really don’t know.”

April sighed. “We haven’t ordered anything,” she said. “Let’s just get out of here.”

Darren nodded in agreement, and they walked out without a word. She left just as silently. He watched her walk down the sidewalk until she disappeared into the patchwork of the city. He wasn’t as despondent as he would have thought he would be; instead, he just felt hollow. A breeze passed by, carrying a line of pink petals across his field of vision, as fleeting and as beautiful as April, but kinder, more merciful. He held onto the hope that he would find something like that eventually, but he figured now he was one step closer.