BOUQUET OF SORRY
1696 Words
Point of View — Maya
The white roses were still inside the counter when Maya came downstairs in the morning.
She walked into the kitchen and the white roses caught her eye away. They were sitting in the vase just like she had left them the night. They were arranged nicely white and fresh. They looked like they belonged in a magazine. They were beautiful and clean. They didn't fit with the quiet morning atmosphere of her kitchen.
Maya put the kettle on. Didn't look at the roses again.
Linda had stayed until midnight. After Maya couldn't answer her question, Linda hadn't pushed. She had simply moved around the kitchen the way she always did , the way she had done since they were twenty-two sharing a tiny apartment with one working burner , and she made tea and reheated food and made Maya sit down and eat her own birthday dinner at half past nine at night in a dark green dress with her earrings still on.
She sat across from her and talked about small things. Easy things. Her latest client. A fabric she had found that she couldn't stop thinking about. A show she had started watching that she said Maya would love. She talked while Maya ate. The food was still good when it was cold. Ethan slept on the chair with the throw blanket pulled up to his head at the time.
When Linda left she hugged her at the door. She held on a little longer than usual.
She hadn't mentioned David's name that evening.
Maya had noticed that.
Now she stood by the kettle. Waited for it to boil. The roses were in her line of sight at the time. A white shape at the edge of everything. She thought about the card.
Enjoy dinner.
She had thrown it away after Linda left. She had held it over the bin in the kitchen. Let it go. It fell in cleanly without touching the sides. She tied the bag, put one in, washed her hands and went to bed. She hadn't thought about it again until now.
The flowers were still there. The cup of tea poured on her body mistakenly. She sat at the kitchen table. Wrapped both hands around the mug. She looked at the roses properly for the time, in the morning light. The roses were really beautiful. Maya and she were going to have a day. The roses and tea made her feel better. She was glad Linda sent roses. The card was mean. Roses were kind. She liked the roses. Whoever arranged them knew what they were doing , full heads, even petals, tied with a ribbon the colour of cream. They had probably cost more than the groceries she bought for the entire birthday party.
That was the thing about David's apologies.
They were always beautiful.
They arrived in the right packaging. The right flowers. The right words on the right card. Delivered on time even when he wasn't. There was never a sorry that showed up empty-handed. There was always something attached to it , something that could be held or displayed or pointed to as evidence that the apology was real.
She had a drawer in the bedroom with three cards in it. She hadn't planned to keep them. She had just kept putting them somewhere temporary, and the temporary had become permanent the way temporary things do. She knew what all three said without opening them. She had read them enough times. Each one written in David's clean, even handwriting. Each one promises something. Each one arriving in place of him.
She took her tea gradually.
Ethan came downstairs at 7:30 with his birthday crown still on his head. He had slept in it again. He climbed onto the chair beside her and looked at the roses.
"Pretty." He said.
"They are." She agreed.
He looked at them for another moment. "Did Daddy send them?"
She put her mug down. "Yes."
He answered slowly. He did that when he was thinking about something that he can't explain. Then he got up from his chair. He went to the fridge. He stood there looking inside. He looked very serious like a four-year-old.
"I want the round bread." He said.
"The bagel."
"The round bread." He insisted.
She got up and made him his round bread, and she didn't look at the roses while she did it.
By nine o'clock, David called.
Maya was in the garden when her phone rang. She had come out to shake the breakfast cloth. She stayed because the morning air was cool and clean and she needed a moment outside the house. She looked at David's name on the screen. She let it ring twice. Then she answered the phone.
" Birthday for yesterday, " David said right away. His voice was careful like he knew he had hurt her. He was being cautious. "Maya I am so sorry. The flight was "
Maya said "Thank you for the flowers" and her voice was pleasant and steady. She was looking at the c***k in the garden wall while she spoke. The c***k looked a little wider that morning. Maybe the light was just hitting it differently.
David paused. "Are you okay Maya?" he asked.
"I am fine, " Maya said.
"You do not sound fine Maya " David said.
"I said I am fine David, " Maya replied.
David exhaled. "I know night was not what you planned Maya. I know that. And I know sorry is not enough. I mean it. I am going to make it up to you Maya. This weekend if I can move some things around we can ."
"You do not have to do that David, " Maya said.
"I want to, Maya, " David said.
Maya stopped looking at the c***k. I looked at the sky instead. The sky was pale blue with a few clouds, a perfectly ordinary Thursday morning sky. "David you say that every time, David. You are going to move things around, you are going to make it up to me Maya.. Then something comes up and the thing you were going to do does not happen and another sorry arrives at the door in a vase. We start again David."
There was silence.
"That is not fair Maya, " David said.
"No, David, " Maya agreed quietly. "It is not."
David was quiet, for a moment. "What does that mean Maya?" he asked.
Maya said "It means it is not fair David. That is all I said, David."
Maya could hear David breathing. David's breaths were slow and steady. She could hear the background of wherever he was , the low hum of an office, voices somewhere behind him, the world he lived in during most of his hours.
"I hear you." He said finally. "I do. I know I keep missing things and I know .”
"Ethan asked me this morning if you sent the flowers." She said,
He stopped.
"He saw them on the counter and he asked me if they were from you." She pulled her cardigan around herself. "He's four, and he already recognises your apology flowers, David. He knows what they mean when they show up."
The silence that followed was the longest one yet.
She waited in it.
"I'll call him tonight." David said. His voice was quieter now. Something in it had changed. "I'll call and read his bedtime story over the phone."
"Okay."
"And Maya." He paused. "I love you. I need you to know that."
She looked at the c***k in the garden wall.
It was wider. It was definitely wider than the day before.
"I know you do." She said,
She hung up.
She stood in the garden for a while. The morning was still cool. A bird landed on the wall near a c***k. It sat there for a moment then flew. She watched where it had been.
Then she went inside.
The roses were still on the counter. She picked up the vase. She moved it to a table near the window. The light comes there during the afternoon. The roses will last longer. It's a spot. She did this without thinking. She was taking care of flowers. They didn't make her feel anything.
She cleared the breakfast things. She wiped the table. She got Ethan dressed. She took him to his grandmother's for the morning. On the way she passed a flower shop. She slowed down. The window was full of colour. There were sunflowers and pink stems and green leaves. There wasn't anything
She didn't stop but she came to the house.
Already in the corridor, looking at the vase of roses. They were inside the afternoon light. They were beautiful and perfect. They were already turning a bit.
She opened the drawer in the kitchen. She looked for her journal. It wasn't there.
She checked again. She moved things around. She couldn't find it. She stood up straight. Thought. Then she remembered. It was upstairs. It was in the nightstand on her side of the bed. She had put it there months ago. She hadn't opened it since.
She went upstairs.
She sat on the bed. She opened the nightstand. She took out the journal. She turned to the page she had written on. The handwriting was rushed. It was slanted. She had been writing fast.
She read the line she had written.
Then she turned to a page.
She picked up the pen.
This time she didn't stop. She wrote for three hours. She didn't look up. When she finally stopped she closed the journal. She sat in silence. The sun had moved across the floor. The house felt different. It was like something had been opened. It was like air had reached a room that had been shut for long.
She sat there.
Then her phone rang. It was a message. It was, from a number she didn't know.
She picked it up.
She read it.
She read it again.
The pen rolled off the bed. It hit the floor. She didn't move to pick it up.
- Writer
