CHAPTER 10: THE GALLERY
1232 Words
VESPER'S POV
November 18th.
6:00PM.
Elias came with an envelope.
Thick. Cream. Gold seal.
“No,” I said before he opened it.
“Don’t say no yet.”
“I just did.”
He put it on the counter.
“City Gallery,” he said. “They want your roses.”
“I don’t do galleries.”
“They’re offering $10,000.”
I stopped pruning.
$10,000.
That’s 250 roses.
That’s rent for a year.
“That’s bait,” I said.
“It’s not.”
“It is.”
“Vesper—”
“No, Elias.”
He didn’t push.
He just sat.
“Why not?” he asked.
“Because galleries are white,” I said. “Bright lights. Wine. People who touch flowers with gloves.”
“Not this one.”
“All of them.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
He didn’t bring it up again.
For three days.
November 19th.
I sold eight roses.
$320.
I put it in the jar.
`FOR SEEDS`
At 6:00PM, Elias came.
No envelope.
Good.
We repotted.
Our hands touched.
Neither of us pulled back.
November 20th.
Maren came at noon.
“You’re an i***t,” she said.
“Why?”
“$10,000, Ves.”
“I said no.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to be in a glass box.”
“Then don’t be,” she said. “Take the money. Say no to the wine.”
I didn’t answer.
November 21st.
6:00PM.
Elias came.
He had dirt. Again.
“New cuttings?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Alley.”
“More alley?”
“I bought three more feet.”
“You’re buying the town?”
“No,” he said. “I’m buying you time.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
So I didn’t say anything.
November 22nd.
The envelope was still on the counter.
Unopened.
Elias looked at it. Didn’t touch it.
“Vesper,” he said at 7PM.
“Yes.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“Leaving.”
“This shop?”
“No,” I said. “Leaving myself.”
He went quiet.
“Okay,” he said.
November 23rd.
I dreamed about the gallery.
White walls. Black roses in the middle.
People pointing.
“Dead,” someone said. “Like her.”
I woke up sweating.
At 6:00PM, Elias came.
He saw my face.
“Nightmare?”
“Yes.”
“About?”
“The gallery.”
He nodded.
“Then we don’t go.”
“But—”
“No buts,” he said. “Your no is enough.”
November 24th.
I opened the envelope.
Finally.
Inside was a letter.
`Miss Ashvale,`
`We saw Black Petals Day. We want the real thing. Not an exhibit. A living wall. In our atrium. 30 days. $10,000 + transport + care. You keep the roses after.`
`- L. Moreau, Curator`
L. Moreau.
Dr. Moreau’s sister.
I stared at it.
At 6:00PM, I showed Elias.
He read it.
“She’s not asking you to leave,” he said.
“She’s asking me to bring the shop.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know.”
“Then don’t decide today.”
November 25th.
I went to the alley.
Looked at the roses.
Black in snow.
Alive.
I touched a leaf.
“I can’t,” I whispered.
“Can’t what?”
Elias.
Behind me.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“I know,” he said. “You can’t leave them.”
“No.”
“Then don’t.”
“But $10,000—”
“I’ll give you $10,000.”
I turned.
“What?”
“I’ll pay you,” he said. “To stay.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because then I owe you.”
“You don’t.”
“I do.”
He stepped closer.
“Vesper,” he said. “I don’t want to buy you. I want to keep you here.”
“How?”
“By making staying worth more than leaving.”
November 26th.
I said no.
I wrote back.
`Thank you, but no.`
`- V. Ashvale`
I sent it.
At 6:00PM, Elias came.
“Did you—”
“Yes.”
He didn’t smile.
He just exhaled.
Like he’d been holding his breath.
“Good,” he said.
November 27th.
The town heard.
“Vesper said no to $10,000.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s stubborn.”
“Because she’s real.”
Maren told me.
I didn’t care.
At 6:00PM, Elias came.
He had a box.
“Don’t,” I said.
“Open it.”
Inside was money.
Cash.
$10,000.
“What is this?”
“Your gallery fee,” he said.
“I said no.”
“I know,” he said. “This isn’t for the gallery. This is for you.”
“I can’t take it.”
“You can.”
“No.”
“Then loan it.”
“Elias—”
“Take it, Vesper. Or I’ll put it in the soil.”
I stared at him.
He was serious.
I took it.
Not because I wanted it.
Because I didn’t want him to waste it.
“I’ll pay you back,” I said.
“No,” he said. “You’ll plant with it.”
November 28th.
I bought seeds.
Black rose seeds. Rare. Illegal in three states.
$8,400.
I kept $1,600.
For soil. For lights. For winter.
At 6:00PM, Elias came.
He saw the bags.
“You did it.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He helped me plant.
Until 9PM.
My hands were black.
So were his.
November 29th.
Dr. Moreau called.
“I heard you said no,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Good,” she said. “Galleries kill things. Shops keep them alive.”
I hung up.
At 6:00PM, Elias came.
“Did she—”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“Then we were right.”
November 30th.
The last day of November.
I counted the seeds.
400 of them.
400 chances.
At 6:00PM, Elias came.
He didn’t bring anything.
He just sat.
“Vesper,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For choosing here.”
I looked at him.
“I didn’t choose you,” I said.
“I know.”
“I chose me.”
“I know.”
He took my hand.
Black with soil.
So was his.
“Then I choose you too,” he said.
December 1st.
Snow again.
The new seeds were inside.
Safe.
Warm.
At 6:00PM, Elias came.
He didn’t sit on the cot.
He sat on the floor.
By my feet.
“Vesper,” he said.
“Yes.”
“I don’t care about the city.”
“I know.”
“I don’t care about $10,000.”
“I know.”
“I care about six.”
“I know.”
He rested his head on my knee.
Just for a second.
Then he stood.
“Same time tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
He left.
I locked the door.
I didn’t regret it.
Not the no.
Not him.
December 2nd.
6:00PM.
He came.
Like always.
The gallery was gone.
But he was still here.
And that was worth more than $10,000.
*END OF CHAPTER 10*
- Writer
