Orange Daisies

I picked a few petals and tossed them aside before I bent and placed the flowers at the foot of her stone. The burial took place yesterday, February 13^th. The plot was well maintained, and covered in other offerings but, I knew it would not be complete without the orange daisies.

It was exactly ten years ago today that the orange daisies entered my life. My eyes, a bit sharper then, flickered back and forth between the road and my mirrors in quick succession. I passed the blue sedan in the left lane and was drawing nearer to the vehicle in front of me, so I jerked the wheel to the left and then passed them too, before re-entering the right lane. I don’t know if the wave I gave was interpreted as a thank you or apology, but the sound of the horn indicated that neither was sufficient. Finally, I saw the sign of the florist and pulled into the lot, in a spot directly facing the illuminated “Open” sign.

I burst through the door and took a moment to catch the breath I suppose I had been holding for the last two minutes of the drive. I expected the place to be packed but there were only two other customers. I saw that there was an opening at the counter and rushed to claim my territory. The woman, the sole worker, asked how she could help me, and I explained that I wanted something other than roses to bring to my girlfriend. I felt bland enough buying flowers, regular roses were cliche. She asked how much I wanted to spend, and I said I didn’t know. She smiled and said that if someone were to buy her flowers, she would prefer orange daisies and pointed to where they sat at the other end of the store. She said they represented new beginnings. I grabbed a bouquet and returned to the counter.

Unknowingly, she rested an elbow on the flowers as I paid. As a result, when I grabbed the bunch, the bottom third of the many stems snapped, and several petals, still trapped between elbow and counter, were separated from their flower.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, sweeping up the petals. “You can go back and grab a new one.”

I told her that I had to leave, that I was going to be late to meet my girlfriend. “Well,” she paused looking at the flowers, “She won’t mind.” I wasn’t sure if she was talking about not minding the flowers or the time. I knew my girlfriend would likely mind both, but with hopes of salvaging one, I ran outside.

I weaved through traffic for a few blocks, as before, and eventually hit a red light. I glanced at the passenger seat and saw the flowers, stripped of their previous perfection. I knew this would not work. When the green left-turn arrow appeared, I swung the wheel. The nose of the car pointed briefly down the intersecting street, the one on which I was meant to turn, before completing the U-turn back in the direction of the shop. As I pulled into the lot, I noticed the neon “Open” sign was no longer lit, but I thought I saw movement inside the building. I parked, briskly approached the door, and pulled. To my relief, the door opened. The store was now empty, aside from the woman who helped me earlier.

“Hello again. Would you like to exchange those?”

“No,” I replied.

She furrowed her brow. “Would you just like a refund?”

“No”, I repeated. “They’re for you.”

She smiled as I handed them to her, and then returned them to their place in the store among the other daisies. A little exasperated, I reiterated that they were a gift, not a return. She could put them anywhere. She could bring them home if she liked.

“I arrange the flowers here, and I put them here because this is where they look the best.” She paused. “Are you worried someone else may buy them? Don’t worry, no one ever does, but that won’t stop me from having them in the store.” She looked from the flowers to me and added, “Now I like them even more.”

I pointed out that they were missing petals.

"It tells a story," she told me. "Just because something is incomplete..." she started to say.

Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “You were closing the store when I came back in. It’s only 7:00. Are you doing anything the rest of the night?" Her earlier comment about ‘new beginnings’, echoed through my head.

As my sentence ended, she looked down at her hands, her fingers rubbing each other. For the first time I noticed a ring. I felt foolish for not checking earlier, but I was out of practice. She noticed the object on which my gaze fell and told me that she was not married but had been. He had recently passed away, and that she was not ready for other romantic pursuits. She told me to come back in a year and try again. I didn’t know if she was serious or joking. I found excuses to return to her shop, a few times within the year, but noticed her ring remained. The next Valentines Day I returned, purchased orange daisies, and gave them to her after plucking a few petals. She promptly returned them to their home, smiling as she did so. I asked if I bothered her, coming in as often as I did. She said she enjoyed the visits. The presence of the ring persisted, and I continued to think of her remark from our first meeting. Will we find our new beginning?

The years passed, and the visits continued, maybe once every few months. They were highlighted each February 14^th by a purchase of orange daisies. Each year, the flowers would be brought to the front of the store only to find their way back from the place they had come. Of course, they would return with fewer petals than when I found them. It was a game we would play, one that I didn’t fully understand, but one that I still enjoyed. Throughout these years the ring remained welded to her finger.

My last visit was yesterday, and it was then I learned of her passing. The man who now stood at her counter told me that it was unexpected, a car accident.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said. “Are you a friend, family?” he asked.

I hesitated. I knew I was not family. “I’ve been coming here for a few years now,” I answered.

“Yes, it’s very sad,” he said as he handed me a receipt. He did not seem sad.

For the first time in a decade, the flowers left the store with me. This time, as I glanced at them in the passenger seat, I had no uncertainty as to where they belonged.

Now, at her stone, I take one last look at the daisies, glowing orange like a sunset, or maybe a sunrise. I think of the ring she wears, and the man whose name I see for the first time, etched next to hers. To new beginnings.