by Monroe, Lila
Now there’s a pairing I can get behind.
6
April
I head to the flower shop for the rest of the day. It’s actually busier than usual, and after all the excitement of the day, I’m pretty much ready to drop by the time I head home.
Except, I have that whole dinner with James to get to.
Think of the marinara, I remind myself, climbing the final stairs. But I stop in my tracks when I see a pile of duffel bags in front of my door. They’re surrounding a woman in clothes that scream South Beach, not February in Manhattan.
For half a second, I’m terrified it’s Extreme Vegan. Or worse, Furry Porn, here to move in.
Then the woman turns, her face lighting up when she sees me. “Apricot!”
“Katie-bear!” I shriek, excited and relieved.
Two seconds later, my favorite cousin and I are hugging furiously. “I haven’t seen you in forever!” I exclaim, happy.
“I know!” She pulls back and holds me at arm’s-length. “Like, three haircuts ago. It’s been way too long! But I’m here now. It’s so great to see you!”
“What happened to Miami?” I ask, adding, “And that hot polo player? Francisco? Fernando? Frederico? Please tell me he didn’t sink your houseboat!”
“Oh, Frederico was sinking something, alright! But it was his”—she does air quotes—“polo mallet into a bunch of other women, if you know what I mean!”
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” But while I’m appalled on her behalf, she’s grinning. Weird. “You seem awfully upbeat about it.”
Katie shrugs. “Obviously it wasn’t meant to be, no point getting upset about a breakup.”
“I guess so. I mean, you are the Breakup Artist,” I add, unlocking the door. Katie runs a blog all about how to negotiate breakups. Seriously, that’s her gig. And she’s damn good at it.
“I should have known we wouldn’t last,” she says, hauling her bags inside. “But what can I say? I got distracted by his abs. Funny how that works. Anyway,” she grins. “I’m hoping I can crash on your couch for a while— Poppy won’t mind, will she? I’m basically homeless.”
“You’re in luck. Poppy just moved uptown with her boyfriend, so the room’s going spare. If you can pitch in rent,” I add, wincing.
“No problem!” Katie beams. “I have a publisher interested in me doing a whole breakup book. Apparently, getting dumped makes me hella relatable.”
I laugh. “Well, that’s one silver lining.”
I help her get set up in the other bedroom, then pause. “I wish I could stay in tonight and catch up, but I have a date.”
“A date!” Katie perks up. “Tell me all about him.”
I shrug. “Not much to tell, he’s a surgical resident and is nice-looking. It’s sort of a set up, so I don’t know him that well.”
Make that a major setup.
Katie’s lips turn down into a frown. “You look . . . unenthusiastic. No chemistry?”
“Not yet,” I say. “But he’s a good guy.” I’m trying to be upbeat, hopeful. “And he’s employed and really wanted to meet me, so you never know.”
“Nope, it’s a wash,” she says, in that knowing older-cousin tone she does so well. “Chemistry is important. Trust me, with how hard relationships are, if you don’t have that spark at the beginning, you’re already doomed!”
“Sparks are not to be trusted,” I say, adamant. “You get caught up in what you think is chemistry and then all of a sudden, you’re getting the call for breakup advice because dude found that chemistry with someone else.”
She cringes.
“Sorry,” I say, apologetic. “I wasn’t thinking of you.” Which is the truth. I was thinking of Seth and how I definitely can’t trust those sparks. With his job, confidence, charm, and all-around sexiness, he’s bound to be a heartbreaker. Which is the last thing I need. After my last boyfriend came out of nowhere and dumped me, saying we were barely dating, it’s better if I keep from getting invested. I need to keep my eyes open.
James feels . . . safe. And it’s not like he’s a bad choice: good-looking, nice, eager. Asking for more feels selfish somehow.
“Well, I guess I’ll get settled and wait for you to come back and tell me I was right,” Katie says. “I’ll save you some takeout.”
“We’ll see.” I pause in the doorway. “I hope you’ll be here for a while?”
“I think so.” Katie smiles. “I can run my business from anywhere, right?”
“People break up everywhere,” I agree. “You should have no trouble getting clients in New York.”
She looks around. “You know . . . I never noticed the lighting in here. It’s so good. I could totally do my blog videos here.”
I laugh. “I swear to God, if you have a bear suit in there, consider yourself evicted!”
I’m dressed, ready, and just swiping on lip gloss when there’s a knock at the door. When I emerge from the bathroom, Katie is introducing herself to James.
“. . . and then I came for college—” James notices me and she’s all but forgotten. “April.” He lights up. “You look beautiful.”
“Umm, thanks.” I blush. It’s flattering to feel like the center of his world, especially next to my confident, hottie of a cousin.
It’s also a bit smothery, but I push that thought away.
“I brought you these,” he says, thrusting a bouquet in my direction. “I hope you like sunflowers.”
“She loves them!” Katie exclaims. “That’s sweet. Isn’t that sweet, April?”
“It is,” I agree, even though I know he only brought them because Seth probably coached him into it. “Uh, we should go.”
“Is Italian OK?” he asks as we head out. “I made reservations.”
“Great,” I say automatically.
But wait . . . I already know that Seth booked us the table. So, does this mean he didn’t tell James about our run-in today?
I glance over at James. He gives me a bland smile. I was going to be upfront and talk about the whole “meet-cute” thing, but now it would just be awkward.
So, I guess we’re all playing pretend tonight. James is pretending like he didn’t pay Romeo, Inc. to engineer a meeting, and I’m pretending like I don’t know what he did.
I’m going to need some extra garlic bread, that’s for sure. Luckily, Gino’s is just as delicious as always, and I pretty much dive face first into a bowl of marinara as soon as we walk through the door. By the end of the meal, I feel like I know a lot about James: he loves performing surgery, penne carbonara, Star Trek, and painting. He also doesn’t mind sharing his dessert, even though I already ate all of my own.
I also know that my instincts were right.. There’s zero spark. Bupkis. Nada.
Still, I’ve had worse dates. And with the leftover meatballs all packed up and ready to go, I’m itching to get back home and settle in on the couch.
“So, this was . . . fun,” I say, exiting the restaurant. I look around for the nearest subway stop. “I’m sure you must have an early morning tomorrow at the hospital.”
“Actually, our ride is just up here,” James says, pointing the way to where . . .
A horse-drawn carriage is waiting at the entrance to Central Park.
“Oh.” An odd sense of dread washes over me.
“Don’t worry,” James says, misunderstanding my reluctance. “There’s a blanket and a thermos of hot chocolate. We’ll keep you toasty warm!”
“You’ve thought of everything.” I manage a smile, because come on, it would be rude not to after he’s made so much effort.
James smiles. “Well, I wanted tonight to be perfect.”
“Uh huh.” I wince because really, this is a perfectly nice date and he’s a perfectly nice man, and I can’t think of a perfectly nice way to get out of this now, so I climb up and take my seat beside him in the carriage.
James arranges the blanket over us. “Comfy?” he asks, so considerate.
I nod.
“We
’re good,” he says to the driver, who moves us off. As the horse clip-clops into the park, James pours me some hot chocolate and snuggles beside me. “Isn’t it a lovely night?” he asks. “I love the city in wintertime.”
It’s really sweet and romantic. Or, it should be. But I can’t help from zoning out as James talks, thinking about business at the store, and upcoming jobs . . .
Pretty much anything except the guy beside me on this supposedly magical carriage ride.
“. . . April?”
“Huh?” I turn.
“I was just saying how happy I am that fate brought us together in the coffee shop that day.” James beams at me.
“Uh huh,” I manage.
Fate, or Seth.
“I think there’s a real connection here . . .” he continues, leaning in. “And I can already tell you’re a special woman.”
James reaches for me, angling for a kiss.
“ACHOOO!”
I sneeze, right in his face.
“I’m so sorry!” I blurt, trying not to laugh.
“It’s OK,” he says, but for the first time, he looks slightly irritated. I can hardly blame him. There is nothing romantic about a juicy sneeze in the face.
The good news is he doesn’t argue when I say maybe it’s best if we call it a night.
When I return home, Katie’s on the couch watching Bridget Jones’s Diary on Netflix, a soup spoon buried in a pint of Chunky Monkey. Before I join her, I stop in the kitchen for a spoon of my own.
“Well?” she asks expectantly.
“You were right. No sparks, no hope.” I drop next to her on the couch and scoop a huge mouthful of ice cream.
“I knew it!” she exclaims, more than a little smug. “The fact that you didn’t bother shaving your legs should have been your first clue. I mean, it was obvious to me, how come you didn’t figure it out?”
I pause as the ice cream melts on my tongue. “Denial?”
“Not just a river in Egypt.”
“Truth,” I say, clinking my spoon into hers before digging it back into the carton.
My phone sounds with a text. It’s from James.
I had a magical time tonight. Hope you feel better. Can’t wait to do it again!
Katie leans over and groans as she reads the screen. “Awkward. Need me to help?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think I need a pro for just the one date. I’ll just . . . you know, do a slow fade. Wait a couple of days and reply with something bland. He’s smart—he’ll get the hint.”
“Well, you know what your mom always says,” Katie offers comfortingly.
I smile.
“Someday, your prince will come,” we say together, then laugh.
I reach for the ice cream. “Here’s hoping he shows up soon, while I still fit in these pants!”
7
April
“You made me do it, you maniac!”
“Seriously, could you be a bigger asshole?! I am going to fucking kill you!”
I sit bolt upright in bed, listening to the angry yells echo through the wall from the living room.
What the hell is going on?
“Please,” I hear Katie say in a calm voice. “No one gets ahead from screaming. Lily, you’ll have your chance to tell Chad how he made you feel in a moment. Right now, it’s his turn.”
“Yeah, well,” a deep voice—Chad, clearly—speaks up. “If you killed me, I wouldn’t have to share an apartment with such a shrill witch! Goddamn rent control!”
Lily shrieks a string of really colorful profanities as I throw on my robe and open my bedroom door an inch. There’s Katie, standing in the living room. She’s positioned between a man and woman who are poised to lunge and scratch each other’s eyes out.
“Umm, Katie?” I ask.
She looks up. “Kind of busy here!”
“I gathered. But seriously, WTF?”
Her face twists in apology. “These are my new clients, the ones I forgot to tell you were coming here for breakup mediation. Sorry!”
“OK. Just . . . don’t break anything.”
I duck into the bathroom, get ready, and slip out while Chad and Lily are still screaming the place down. By the time I arrive at the flower shop with a croissant and two coffees, Remy is opening up. I hand him his cup. “Black, just like your dark, dark soul.”
He laughs, taking the cup. “Thanks, boss.”
“So, what’s on the schedule?” I ask, following him inside and flipping on the lights.
“Didn’t you get my message?” Remy asks. “We got a last-minute booking, a big gender reveal party.”
“What? When?” I gasp, panicking.
“Tonight. But don’t worry!” Remy adds. “I already called it in with Morty. He should be here with the delivery any minute; two thousand blush-pink roses. I’ll need to prep them and take them out to Brooklyn Heights to set up in the big flashy display.”
I exhale. “OK. Well. Good job!” I remember to say.
The bell on the door jingles and I turn to greet Morty.
It’s not Morty. It’s so not Morty.
“Seth?” I ask. Clear my throat. Try again. “Seth? What are you doing here?”
He smiles. “Just thought I’d check in. See how you are, if you’ve been eaten by wild bears.”
“What now?” I frown.
“You know, because I can’t think of any other reason why you’re blowing James off.”
“Oh.” I sigh. “That.”
“So you are blowing him off,” Seth says.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” I remind him. “But yes. I was hoping he’d get the hint.”
“But I thought your date went amazingly!” Seth protests. “Come on, a moonlit carriage ride in Central Park? What’s not to like?”
“Uh, the cold, the bumpy ride, the smell of horse dung . . .” I offer.
“Spoilsport,” he shoots back, grinning.
And for a moment, I want a do-over. That carriage ride . . . but with Seth, instead.
Luckily, the bell over the door sounds again, breaking my ill-judged fantasy. This time it is Morty, the weathered old delivery man. I’m fairly sure he’s worked at the flower terminal since before God actually invented flowers. He comes in, clipboard in hand.
“Hey, April,” he says, “I have a whole truckload of pink roses for you.”
“Thanks, Morty,” I say with a smile, before I turn to Seth and give him a look that I hope communicates that I don’t have time for any more of his games. “Thanks for stopping by. In the future, when you decide to wonder about my romantic life? Don’t.”
I start to follow Morty out to the truck.
“April, wait.” Seth follows me. “Come on, at least tell me what was wrong with James.”
“Nothing was wrong,” I say, sighing. “But I agreed to one date. I fulfilled that agreement. Can you please get out of my way? I have work to do.”
Morty pulls up the big rolling door at the back of the truck, and I climb inside to inspect the flowers. Yes! I can tell from first glance that they’re perfect—fresh and plump, the gorgeous pink color just for the gender reveal. Even if I do think those parties are weird, this order will set us right for the rest of the month.
“Thanks, Morty. These are great.”
I sign off on the delivery, and Morty starts unloading them onto the sidewalk.
“Now can we talk about James?” Seth asks.
“If you want to stick around and help, then sure,” I tell him. Seth grabs a bucket and starts hauling.
Just then, Remy comes running out the front door. “STOP!”
“What?” I look up at the panic on his face.
“It’s a boy! It’s a boy!”
I gasp. “NOOOOOO.”
“Yes.” Remy nods, panting. “I’m sorry, I must have messed up! The client just called to confirm tonight’s gender reveal for the baby boy.”
Remy is normally the epitome of chill. He’s never panicked. But as we look down at
the massive—and massively wrong —order, he panics. We both do.
I rush around to Morty.
“I’m sorry, April,” he says, anticipating what I’m about to ask—no, beg. “You’ve signed for them and I have more deliveries. I can’t take them back.”
“Morty!” I cry.
“I really am sorry,” he says, and I can tell he means it. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m helpless to do anything but watch as he gets in his truck and drives away, leaving two thousand ruinously expensive, completely useless roses on my front curb.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Is pink really so bad? Gender reveals are stupid, anyway,” Remy offers, probably trying to be helpful. “I thought we were beyond all this binary gender garbage. Haven’t we evolved at all?”
“Never mind evolution,” I wail. “We need to fix this.”
“How?”
“We need to dye them,” I decide.
“You can do that? Like paint?”
I turn. In all the chaos, I’d forgotten Seth was still standing there.
“Yes, you can dye them,” I say, frustrated. “But to color flowers we’d normally put dye in the water and let it travel up the stems to the blooms. It’s pretty standard process, but we don’t have the time—it takes hours and I need to be in Brooklyn by three.”
“So, what are you going to do?” Seth asks.
“Floral spray paint,” I decide. I turn to Remy. “Please tell me we have a ton of blue?”
He cringes. “Maybe two cans?”
I punch the button to open the cash register and give him everything in there, along with my credit card. “I’ll start, you go to the floral supply and get as much as you can. Light blue, dark blue—whatever. Just get as much as you can!”
Remy takes the money and the card and salutes. “On it.” Then he runs out the door.
“What can I do?” Seth asks.
I look over at him. He seems serious. “Either get out of my way, or help me get these roses in the back so I can start spraying them. All two thousand of them.”
His eyes widen as he seems to realize what we’re in store for.