Crocus & Co. More familiar than his own apartment. More ‘home’ than his apartment was, for that matter. But Sonya’s business and home-away-from-home, not his.
It had only been six weeks since the last time he walked through that door. It felt like yesterday, it felt like an eternity. Same bell as he opened the door. Same welcoming scents of greenery and pollen – and of Sonya. Sonya standing there, wearing if not the exact same outfit as last time then one at least very similar– her unofficial work uniform of green blouse and brown knee length skirt, practical shoes, hair pulled back into a braid. That had the same effect of emphasizing her big green eyes, that he could lose himself in so easily, same as always.
Same ache in his heart. Same jumble of thoughts and emotions, same cacophony of should-have, could have, could-yet. The same thought that maybe he should find a name for the voice of heart-break; the same memory that whenever he tried all he came up with was an image of a bleeding rose but no name.
Same rationalizations on why he had to stay away from her, for her own good. Same cry from some nameless corner of his mind “But what about my good?” Same echoing silence as the rest of him still had the same lack of an answer.
Same stilted conversation, for all that the words were different.
Preston started. “Thank you for hooking me up with the job.” Flat, like thanking someone for holding the door open for you
Sonya replies with a veneer of emotion, banter with someone you’ve shared the elevator with many times before. “You are welcome. She’s a very major customer, so I hope when this is done I’ll be thanking you for taking it, not cursing you for losing me so much business.”
And that was all it took, Preston couldn’t maintain an air of indifference anymore. “Is business bad? Did you take yourself a cut on this job, because you should, if she didn’t offer I can give you”
Sonya stopped him mid-sentence with a slight shake of her head. “Business is fine – I mean the same as ever. I’m still not going to retire to Hawaii anytime soon, but I’m still doing OK.”
Preston finally moved into the store far enough to let the door close behind him with another tinkle of the bell. “Are you sure? You look thinner, I was worried that maybe money was tight – if it is ever tight, let me know, right?”
“Preston: You are the only one who thinks me getting thinner is a bad thing, everyone else just says ‘it’s a good start.’” Sonya tilts her head to one side, then offers “Maybe one of only two: there is that dwarf who sometimes scavenges wilted flowers from the dumpster who worries about me losing weight too. For that matter, I’ve seen him around more lately than you.”
“Spend any amount of time in the barrens and ‘thin’ doesn’t look so good anymore. You need to show that you are prosperous, that you can afford food, that …”
Again it took only a subtle move of her head to stop him. “Michael, we’ve been through this before, and we aren’t together anymore so you don’t get a vote.”
“Just ….. don’t take it too far, please. You weren’t born to look like an elf, and that is OK. And please, not my actual name”
“Preston then? Or Peter Maloch, if you haven’t changed IDs again already? Do you know how hard it is, when I don’t even know what to call you?”
“I … I … “ Preston’s face twists as emotions struggle to become words, but when words come out they are stripped of emotion. “Look, I need to get these flowers. If this is real. I met the supposed assistant to this supposed Lady. You’ve met them before, they are for real? I mean, I know the name is for real, but was that actually the assistant, is the Lady really my client?”
“Yes, I’ve met them both. Monique more often as she normally arranges things like flowers, but I’ve met Lady Marisart too. She’s English, red-headed, seems to have more money than she knows what to do with, but at least some of it comes to businesses like mine and she does a lot of charitable work too. She seems decent, for what she is; she talks to me more like a real person than some of my corporate clients do, and she seems to actually care about how flowers look, not just how expensive or rare or exotic they are.”
“So, do you have any idea what this is really about?”
“No. You will come back and tell, after, right? Call that my finder’s fee. I might have enough money, but enough vicarious excitement perhaps not so much.” Then her hand flies to her mouth “I never thought, are you seeing someone? Is that why you haven’t been by?”
“No, nothing like that. I’ve just been … just … just BEING. Trying to be me, be normal, I guess? I don’t know what normal is, I don’t think, but you know, present in day to day life, not buzzing through it on Jazz, living something better in hot sim, just … trying to be bored, be tired, be in pain, be”
“Pain? Have you been hurt?”
“No, nothing like that. Just …” Just my heart. “Just life, you know? It hurts sometimes. You know, even when nothing is hurting right now, the past, everything…”
Sonya nods. Silence falls, and a deeper conversation finally happens, spoken in subtle shifts of muscles, hummingbird light touches of eyes, pheromones, and thoughts that still have drawer set aside in each other’s minds.
Finally Sonya intrudes on the silence, apologizing with a watery smile and trying to hide possibly watery eyes. “I have everything you need put together. Corsage, boutonnière, bundle of roses that she’ll apparently be giving to the performers. I’ll show you how to hold it properly, in case she wants you to do while she hands them out. Tell her that the floral decorations for her party will be delivered in plenty of time.”
As Sonya pulls the items out of her cooler, Preston indulges in a lingering look at the curves of her posterior, then finally responds “Yes, business is …. Business.” Preston says the last word like it tastes bad, then brightens up and adds “I got fitted for a custom tuxedo this morning, before coming here. Not a rental, a real one! I just hope she is paying for that, but this guy, the tailor he’s just amazing, he is such a professional at what he does, and seems to love it so much. You just don’t meet many people like that, you know? A guy for shoes who was much the same. I love that, people who combine so much expertise and love for what they do. Like, like, …. “ Sonya turns around, arms full of packages of flowers, and Preston finishes off “Oh.”
Their eyes frantically discuss how to get them out of this moment, then Preston closes his while Sonya turns her head to put flowers down on the counter.
“I should”
“You probably need to”
“Holding flowers”
“Right!”
A hurried lesson, held out of touching distance, the two doing a dance of one approaching the counter while the other retreats. Finally Preston is the one with arms full of flowers, Sonya holding the door for him. He passes so close to her that he can feel her heat, before passing out into the cool, rainy, afternoon.
Sonya calls after him “You’ll remember?”
How to hold the flowers? To tell her about the opera? About the job? About how he still feels? “Of course” he lies, hoping that his turned back and the sound of rain will let her pretend to believe him.
