40. Serena
Serena
The New York Botanical Garden features a large, glass building with curved, domed ceilings and arms branching off in multiple directions.
At the entrance, Graham flashes some sort of pass that I can’t quite make out, and the attendant makes a hushed, apologetic noise before quickly allowing us inside.
For all I know, what Graham showed them was the deed to the place.
We’re dressed like incognito celebrities, with baseball caps pulled down low over our faces and face masks over our noses and mouths.
“Van Gogh’s flowers,” Graham says, looking down at the pamphlet that explains what to do and where to go.
Even standing off to the side, his large frame blocks a significant portion of the walkway.
I stifle a laugh when a little kid turns and stares at him, mouth open, as an older woman tugs the boy along.
“Supposed to be best right up there, we can see the big presentation.”
Our outfits are courtesy of Travis, who insisted that, if we were going out, we should at the very least cover our faces. Now, we look more like international tourists than city natives, but that’s okay.
After more than a week in Italy, and a few days holing up at Travis’s house outside the city, it feels good to be in public again. To be doing something around other people.
“I’m kind of surprised you like the botanical gardens,” I admit as we weave our way along the paths in the direction Graham indicated.
He glances at me, and though I can’t make out his expression, I get the sense that he’s asking, why not?
“They just seem like…” I swing my arms, look around at the pruned, perfect sampling of nature. Trees and shrubs, flowers and vines, all brought in from various places around the world. None of it wild, more of a museum of plants. “…not your thing,” I finish lamely.
“There are lots of people who don’t have the luxury of leaving the city, traveling like I do,” Graham says, maneuvering himself deftly around a woman with a stroller, who apologizes when she realizes she’s nearly run him over.
“While this doesn’t give you the same feeling as a hike, it’s better than nothing.
And the gardens do a lot of conservation work.
Reminding city people that there’s a big world out there, and the things we do actually does have an impact.
Reminding people of the beauty also reminds them of their responsibility to protect it. ”
I let out a little laugh, shaking my head, and this time Graham asks out loud, “What?”
“Sorry.” I adjust my mask and glance up at him. “It’s just weird, sometimes, to see how different the three of you are.”
Graham chuckles, “Different mothers. Different dads, too, if we’re honest. Travis got the toughest, strictest version. I got the guy softened up by the love of his life. And, if I’m being honest, I’m not really convinced Alex got to have a dad at all. Stephen was so torn up over my mother’s death.”
We sit with that for a moment, continuing our walk through the heat and the crowds, until we come upon a great field of swirling, psychedelic flowers.
“Huh,” I say, after a long beat of letting my eyes adjust to the colors, shapes and smells. “Guess this is something you can’t find in nature, huh?”
Behind his mask, I’m pretty sure he’s smiling, and he hooks an arm around my shoulder, pulling me in close. We stand close together, and then he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear him, “You know, I’m actually pretty happy with the way things turned out.”
My heart picks up. At him being so close. At this being, sort of, our first date. At him saying “the way things turned out,” like there’s not time and space for things to change. Like he’s unaware that he—or all of them—are going to realize at some point that I’m far from the right choice.
I try to push out the negative thoughts, but they cling to my brain like a whiny toddler.
“The way things turned out?”
Graham gives me a look. “I travel a lot. For work. I know I said that before, but this is the longest I’ve been in the city in… a long time. It’s part of the reason I’ve never really had a serious relationship before. Doesn’t seem fair to my partner if I’m constantly leaving her behind.”
“You could find someone who’s into travel, like you?”
He shrugs a shoulder, then knocks it against mine.
“I’ve been traveling on my own for so long, it just feels right to me.
Plus, I don’t really travel the way other people do—I like to be able to change course on a whim.
Hard to do that when there are two different people, with two different opinions. ”
“Well, this is crushing my dreams of being your jungle girl.”
Graham stops, and I have to turn around to face him as he says, “You want to travel with me?”
His face is scrunched. I laugh, punch him in the shoulder, “No. I mean—I liked going to Italy, could see us all doing a trip every once in a while, but I can’t say I’m interested in Indiana Jones-ing my way through vines and stuff.”
When Graham laughs, I swear several passing women slow to stare at him. It’s an arresting sound, deep and sure, and it reverberates right to the middle of my chest.
Around us, the air is thick with the scent of flowers and the sticky, late-August heat.
“Well, that’s good,” he sighs, like it was ever even really a question. Then he hooks his arm around me again, pulls me in close, and presses a kiss to my temple. “Because I was really looking forward to having someone to miss while I was gone.”