Flowers for Adeline

Dave moves the boxes from our shipment this morning in his usual burly silence. His brows are hard-set and he keeps his head down, blocking out everything else but the task at hand. I wonder, for the hundredth time, how someone like him could stand working at a florist, where everything is sweet-smelling and full of color. From the first moment we began working together about three years ago, I could see that everything about him was in stark contrast to our surroundings: always dressing in dark colors, always a stony expression, seldom bothering to utter a word.

At least I try to be professional.

“It’s good that these bulbs came early,” I say, “But how are we going to get a truck on short notice? We’ll need more than our van to get them to the branch in Loterville, and there’s not enough room to just keep them here.”

“Already got one, Adeline,” Dave mutters, almost sounding bored.

“A truck? When?”

“When we ordered the bulbs.”

“How could you reserve one so far in advance?”

“I know a guy.”

“The same guy we usually talk to?”

“Hmph.”

I can’t tell if that’s a yes or no.

As stoic as he is, it seems to be worse when I’m around. Like he just can’t be bothered. I’ve always wondered what it is about me that he doesn’t seem to care for, but then he’s not exactly what they call a ‘people person’. He minds his own business and expects everyone else to mind theirs.

But today he seems on edge, and once again it’s up to me to keep things bearable.

“Well, in any case they’ll be really happy to get these. The blooms are best I’ve seen in a while. I like them over the white ones. What do you think?”

“They’re flowers. They’re all nice.”

“Yeah but which do you really like?”

“I like them all.”

It’s hopeless. He might as well be saying he doesn’t like any of them. I bet if there was a gray-colored flower he’d like it. It would match his soul.

“We need to recount these,” he says, straightening up to survey the boxes, “There’s an uneven number. We might be missing a few.”

“I’ll get the list.”

I jump up, slightly relieved to get a few moments away from the curmudgeon. I dip into my office by the back rooms and get the clipboard with our list of orders on my desk. On my way out, a flash of color catches my eye. The door to the next room is slightly ajar, and I can see what looks like a bouquet of bright-colored flowers sitting on the desk beyond. Curious, I deftly push open the door and walk up to the flowers to inspect.

It’s a lovely bouquet. Yellow mums, marigolds, red roses and lots of pink lilies, tastefully punctuated with baby’s breath. All held in a pretty crystal vase. There’s a card sticking up at the top:

Adeline,

Happy Birthday!

Enjoy the flowers <3

That’s so sweet! This must have come from our boss - she sends me a bouquet every year on my birthday. She always uses the choicest blooms. But this year she’s a day early. I stoop down to smell one of the lilies when I hear steps in the hall behind me.

“You weren’t supposed to see that!”

I whirl around to find Dave standing in the doorway, his frame nearly taking up the whole space. His shoulders are tense and he’s running his palms down his sides.

“Not yet, anyway…” he adds under his breath.

“I just –” I gesture vaguely to the vase of flowers, taken off guard by his sudden change in demeanor. Dave sighs.

“Well, happy birthday,” he says, sounding defeated and gesturing vaguely as I did toward the bouquet.

“Thanks,” I reply uncertainly, “They’re really nice. But they’re early.”

“Yeah, they…came in this morning.”

Dave’s being weird about me seeing them. I can’t imagine why – though it’s a surprise to have them today, it happens every year. Why would he be bothered? He’s never bothered.

“I’ll get the truck,” he says, “We can start loading the bulbs and make the shipment this afternoon.”

“But we haven’t recounted the boxes yet,” I say, waving my clipboard in the air.

“I found the other ones; we forgot to bring them in,” he says over his shoulder as he walks away.

*

We make it to Loterville by 2 pm and the delivery goes without a hitch. Just when we’re wrapping things up with the shop owner, our boss Susan DeGellinger sweeps in through the front door, tinkling the shop bell hanging above it.

“Hey all!” she says with a bright smile. Her blonde hair is up in an elegant bun and she’s dressed in business casual, Starbucks in hand. “I was just thinking I might run into you guys here – I heard you got the bulbs in.”

“Yeah,” I say, “Just finished with the delivery.”

“Great.”

“Oh, and thank you so much for the flowers.”

“Flowers?” Susan walks up to the front counter and sets down her coffee and bag.

“Yeah, the bouquet for my birthday.”

“Oh,” She leans sideways on the counter with a frown, “I was going to get you an edible arrangement – spoilers! But maybe Anna ordered them?” she turns to the shop owner who had just returned behind the counter.

“No, wasn’t me,” Anna replies.

“Oh…”

I glance up at Dave standing beside me. His hands are shoved in his pockets and there’s a glimmer of sweat near his hairline. What is with him? And why did he lie about the flowers?

“Maybe they’re from a secret admirer,” says Susan, waggling her eyebrows.

“Yeah right," I laugh, "Especially since almost every guy I know is either taken or unavailable.”

“You never know,” she shrugs.

Dave clears his throat. “I’m going to close up the truck so we can head back.” He shoves a thumb over his shoulder and stalks off toward the back of the shop.

“Is he alright? He didn’t look so good,” says Susan.

“Yeah he’s been acting a little weird today. Maybe just one of his moods.”

“If he gets worse tell him to go home. The man’s going to work himself to death one of these days.”

“Will do.”

*

When we get back to the shop, Dave is completely silent. We go about our separate tasks – he’s messing around with the cash register and I pick up a broom to sweep. We’re closed today, so we’re just doing some housekeeping before wrapping up.

I grip the broom handle as I sweep with slow, deliberate strokes. I want to confront him about the bouquet, but hesitant to break the ice. I keep predicting he will deny the whole thing, but he clearly knew about it, and obviously wanted to keep it from me till my actual birthday tomorrow. So what is he not telling me?

I risk a glance at him. He’s frowning at receipts from yesterday. How do I go about this? Do I just…

Oh, to hell with it. He’s going to be disagreeable anyway.

“Why did you lie about the flowers?”

He freezes. His frown deepens and he doesn’t move for almost a full minute. Then he slowly gathers the receipts to clip together. “I didn’t lie,” he mumbles, keeping his eyes fixed on the countertop.

“But you knew I thought they came from Susan, except she didn’t get me any this year and you didn’t tell me who they were actually from.”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, it does.”

“You got flowers for your birthday. It’s a nice thing. Who cares if it’s from Susan or not?”

“I care, because you’re being really weird about it and I want to know why.”

Dave heaves a sigh.

“Look, just tell me—”

“It doesn’t matter!” he blurts. “Who cares? I don’t care –”

“Yeah because you don’t care about anything!” His tone sets me off. I shove the broom into a corner and cross my arms. “You don’t have to tell me you don’t care. I know that! And I know you don’t care about me and that’s fine, I just want to know where they came from. That’s it! Is that so hard?”

He finally looks up at me. His gaze is intense, with something like regret etched between his brows. I stare right back, waiting for his response. When it doesn’t come, I scoff.

“Whatever. I’ll just take them and go home.”

I stomp toward the back rooms. As I pass behind the counter, he leaps a couple steps forward to grab my arm. “Wait,” he says.

I look up at him about to protest, but his expression stops me in my tracks.

He looks…sad?

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

I blink at him. He loosens his grip on my arm and shoves his hands into his pockets like he did earlier at the other shop.

“I’m sorry. For always – well, I know I’m not a joy to work with.” He shrugs. “It’s just that…I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he rubs the back of his neck and avoids my incredulous stare. It takes him a few moments to seemingly gather himself before taking a deep breath. “The flowers are mine – er, they came from me.”

I blink again. “You?”

“Yeah. They…always have.”

“What do you mean?”

“Susan never sent you flowers for your birthday. But I always signed them with her name.”

“What?”

Dave takes another breath, still looking anywhere but directly at me. His face is rose red.

“Why would you do that?” I ask.

“Because…I wanted…I thought if I…” he sighs, “I know we’re not usually on the friendliest of terms. I thought it might be weird if I just gave them to you.”

“Well, what’s wrong with that? I’ve always liked them, and it’s my birthday anyway. What would be so weird about that?”

He sucks in a breath, shaking his head slightly. He looks at me with a strange mix of uncertainty and eagerness, like he’s asking a question or…

Oh.

Wow.

Okay, this is so far out of left field – no, it’s so far out of the stadium, the city, the continent.

How? This is the guy who shrugs everything off and ignores me and even sometimes avoids me and...it’s all backwards.

I don’t know what to say and we stand there awkwardly for what feels like ages. I look up and see Dave – flushed and sweating buckets – and it’s like seeing a whole new person. Where has he been all this time?

I consider for a second. Maybe the real Dave is completely different from the one I know. Maybe he never meant to be so standoffish. Maybe he just couldn’t…

I step forward and tilt my head to catch his eye. At last he seems able to meet mine, and now his dark brown gaze is so steady it doesn’t break.

“You could have just given me the flowers.”

He takes a shaky breath. “Yeah well…”

“And if you didn’t hate me all this time, you didn’t have to always act like you did.”

“You think I hate you?” he looks genuinely pained. I gesture vaguely with a look that says well, duh. Another sigh and a shrug. “I guess it’s just my way to cope.”

“Still doesn’t give you a pass.”

“I know. Sorry.”

More awkward silence. This whole thing has taken such a wild turn. Part of me wants to dig further in, to talk more about why he’s always so closed off and whether things will change from now on. But in the moment, it feels like there’s nothing more to be said. There will be more time for digging later. Maybe. I hope.

“You are good at arrangements, though,” I offer tentatively.

He looks up and breaks a half-smile. I’ve never seen him do that, and I’m almost surprised his face doesn’t crack. But I have to admit it’s a really nice smile.

“Thanks,” he says.

“So…I’m going to take that one home now.” I point over my shoulder toward the back room where my bouquet is waiting.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

I’m about to turn away - then pause.

“Dave?”

“Yeah?”

“…It’s kind of nice to know that you don’t hate me.”

He looks right at me with another half-smile and says, “Not even a little.”

Suddenly I feel my own face grow hot. What is happening?! Before he can notice I whirl around and disappear into the back hallway.