The Language of Flowers
Sumi
There was a smoothie shop, off the beaten path, closer to the university and the hospital than the bustling center of town, and it had become her daily go-to.
Sumi found it provided a welcome respite on the days she couldn’t bear dealing with the staring eyes at the Black Sheep Beanery.
She didn’t know how it was that half the town seemed to know her.
She barely knew a dozen people, and half of that number were Yuriko’s family.
Not only did they seem to know her, Sumi got the distinct impression they disliked her.
Is it because you’re half human? Are humans not welcome here?! Discovering this smoothie shop had been a boon, and it was there that she found the answer to at least one of her unvoiced questions.
Join the local business owners coalition today!
She pounced on the flyer she found on the smoothie shop’s long bulletin board, taking a screenshot of the web address, exclaiming in delight that the group had a DiscHorse server.
Oh heck yeah, you’re joining that tonight.
Finally make some friends.
It was the first time she’d be using her account for anything other than chatting with ChaoticConcertina in months.
She hadn’t even checked in on the plant server that brought them together in the first place, nor on any of the other servers where she’d previously spent time scrolling.
It was nearly embarrassing to admit that in place of an actual flesh and blood partner, her emotional and conversational needs were being completely met by a stranger online, but it was true.
The worse she felt about the situation with Ranar, the more she looked forward to ChaoticConcertina’s messages, and Sumi had reached the point where something had to give.
She wanted to meet him.
She wanted to see if he really was as perfect for her as he seemed, and if it changed their relationship, they would either weather the storm or know for certain.
Either way, she wanted to start living life offline, and knowing whether or not that meant with him or without was unavoidable.
For now, though, she needed to try making some local friends.
DiscHorse had a particular feature with its use of screen names that she appreciated.
Different names could be applied to different groups one joined, allowing her to stay anonymous, unless she happened to share another group with one of the members.
It was useful, as she had learned very quickly that much of the digital bullying her students dealt out occurred in private DiscHorse servers.
Even if it didn’t appear she was doing anything other than typing on her classroom laptop, Sumi always kept an open ear, surreptitiously jotting down anything that sounded useful.
She’d acquired the name of several of those private servers over the years, infiltrating them with one of her handful of sock puppet names.
She had discovered a widespread test sharing scheme, in addition to identifying a handful of previously under-the-radar bullies.
Anonymity was vital.
She had her finger poised over the button to join the business owners’ server, doing so on her main account, but something tickled at the back of her mind, staying her hand.
Assess the vibes first.
Some of these people are sus.
She agreed with her inner tween, toggling over to one of her generic screen names, unconnected to her shop in any way.
Sumi was shocked to have her suspicions proven right almost immediately.
Well, I certainly won’t be using her for anything.
I don’t care how nice she is, it’s a point of principle.
Right! It’s the principle of the thing!
AND she’s brand new in town? Like I don’t want to be that person, but . . .
We all know you’re that person, Skreeva
Sumi scrolled back, and back and back, reading message after message of solidarity and support with the owner of The Perfect Petal.
They vowed not to do business with her, vowed not to welcome her into the community.
They hated her.
And there was Ranar, she realized.
Not many messages, but just enough to engender sympathy, just enough to make it clear that she was the villain in his story.
It made her inexorably sad.
She spent the entire evening curled up in the corner of her perfect, beautiful sunroom, sobbing into a pillow.
This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be! This was her reset, her fresh start.
She was supposed to be happy.
Maybe it’s you. Maybe you’re the reason it’s like this.
No.
She couldn’t let them win that way.
Look around you! You have this beautiful house.
You joined the Japanese club and have already made friends.
The business is already doing great. This is like the school, it’s just the hot gossip of the week. Give it a month and no one will care. Half of these people already don’t care! It’s not like all of your orders are for out of town.
It was true.
They could paint her as the villain in this story if it made them feel better, but every person who was choosing to order flowers on the Bloomerang website was just as culpable, weren’t they?
He’s not going to forget though.
He’s not going to get over this in a month.
Sumi couldn’t explain to herself why she was so bothered by that.
He’s one naga.
You don’t need to care what he thinks.
She didn’t.
She knew that she didn’t . . . and yet she did anyway. She’d spent too much time looking forward to him in those first few weeks when she was training, spending her time in traffic, daydreaming about discovering Cambric Creek with him, taking it for granted that he’d be a part of her new life . . . and now she needed to let go.
Let it go and forget about him for good.
He hates you, He made that abundantly clear, so stop giving him energy.
It’s a big enough town.
Your paths will probably never cross again.
PinksPosies your staff just needs to find their rhythm.”
That was the goal, she’d told the designers the following morning — find their rhythm enough to unlock the doors.
After the morning meeting, she’d gone to the front to pull from the coolers for the morning’s first deliveries, baskets and vases that had been made at the end of the previous day.
Seff and Doona had proved to be their most valuable hires, bringing along the experience of having worked in several Bloomerang-branded shops in Bridgeton.
The Bloomerang website, they’d explained, was built on a handful of base products.
Four different baskets and four different vases, the basis of everything else offered.
“If you have those pre-made, all we have to do is add flowers to bring it to value, depending on what they want.”
It had been the game changer they’d needed, entering the second week of business with no slowing in sight.
As she’d pulled the baskets from the cooler, Sumi had looked around her beautiful shop, understanding now why the footprint of her sales floor was barely half the size of the backroom.
You’re nothing but a bouquet sweatshop.
She was determined to prove him wrong, open her doors, let the whole of Cambric Creek see her beautiful shop.
Near the front door was a four-foot section of wall covered in plants and live greens, the Pink Blossom logo rendered in glowing neon.
Sumi had longed for the day when they would be able to turn the sign on, encouraging customers to take advantage of the social media ready photo op.
Now the day was here, the rhythm found; a system that worked for them.
And isn’t that what you want? To be successful? She did.
Without question, she did.
This was her dream.
But did you want to be successful like this? This isn’t what you envisioned at all.
The question nagged at the back of mind, the reality of her shop so night-and-day-different with her naive daydreams that it kept her up at night, but she had reached a consensus with herself, at least for the time being. She would open the shop doors every morning, for just a few hours a day. It wasn’t what she had envisioned, but it satisfied the inch beneath her skin.
The first customers through the door were a pair of shifters, gagging as they pushed the door shut behind them.
“What is that fucking smell?!”
Sumi felt her grin falter as one of the women exclaimed, ignoring her cheerful greeting.
“Something in the street, I think,” she forced out, still smiling.
“I hope they get it picked up soon.
Fortunately, we smell lovely in here.”
It proved to be a common refrain.
She didn’t have many customers come in, but each one that did mentioned the offensive odor outside her door.
“I didn’t see anything in the street,” an amphibious woman corrected her, nearly retching as she burst into the shop.
“Maybe it’s something in the trash.”
Sumi nodded, cheeks burning.
They were all looky-loos, just coming in to check her out, but that was fine.
She didn’t need their sales through the front door, but neither did she want the reputation of smelling like the dump.
“Fortunately, the trash pickup is tomorrow.”
Sumi watched with her own two eyes as the bin was emptied the following morning, breathing a sigh of relief.
Today’s going to be a good day.
That was, at least, until the very first troll through the door did so with her hand clasped over her mouth, just a short while later.
“This whole corner smells disgusting.” She peered around suspiciously, as though the source of the smell might be coming from Sumi’s tree.
“I really don’t think it’s sanitary for you to even be open.”
Her smile felt frozen as she picked up her phone, once the troll left, hiding her face again, dialing City Hall.
“Miss, I don’t know what you want us to do.
It was picked up this morning.”
Sumi glowered, wishing the bored-sounding voice on the phone could see her.
“I understand they picked up the trash this morning, but obviously they left something behind.
They need to come back and get it.”
A long-suffering side from the voice on the phone.
“Our trucks have very tight routes.
We don’t make repeat runs, because that would mean someone else doesn’t get their trash picked —“
“I don’t care,” she interrupted, struggling to keep her voice from rising.
Do not let them make you the Karen.
You are being unfairly targeted.
Hedda popped her head around the corner, eyebrows raised.
“Can’t you send someone to come out and check it? Call that guy from the planning commission, his name was Owen. He liked shooting orders, see what he’s doing this morning. It smells like a dead body outside my door, and it’s affecting my business!”
She was fuming when the city truck finally made its way around to their trash can, the following afternoon.
Even opening the front door made the noxious odor suck into the shop, leaving her with no choice but to keep the closed sign in the window.
The orc driving the truck pulled a face as he approached the bin.
She watched him pull up the nearly empty bag, knotting it and tossing it into the flatbed of his pickup before peeling off his gloves and turning for her door.
“Yeah, it was something in the trash.
Just unlucky that someone dumped their take out right after pickup.
The smell should go away now.”
Sumi thanked him profusely, insisting he take a wrap of roses home for his wife on the house, waving as he pulled away .
.
.
when her eyes narrowed.
Just unlucky my big bouncy ass.
She walked back to her desk, after the truck pulled away, pondering the orc’s words.
Unlucky was having something noxious dumped in her trash in the first place.
Having something dumped again, immediately after pickup, after the original something noxious was removed, was sabotage.
She stared at the shelf above her desk, where the most recent bouquet rested, her most recent reminder.
Chrysanthemums, once again, bright and cheerful .
.
.
and a single black dahlia at their center. She had retaliated, of course, not willing to back down from his intimidation, by sending him a dish garden of yellow hyacinths.
At least once a week a new bouquet arrived.
Lilies and narcissus, carnations and even once a small pot of basil.
The fucking audacity! Hedda and the gnome twins had watched open-mouthed as Sumi stamped around the shop, ranting to herself over the basil for a full afternoon.
As a response, she had sent him a beautiful bouquet of lush yellow roses and the gnomes had nudged each other, watching as she laughed wickedly, wrapping the flowers for delivery.
“Is all this supposed to mean something?“ Hedda asked conversationally one morning, eyeing the collection of dried flowers from The Perfect Petal.
“I feel you could both save a lot of money by just, I don’t know, not sending each other a hundred of dollars worth of lilies every week.
This is like, a very strange relationship you have together.”
“Oh, he knows what it means,“ Sumi had assured her, cackling to herself as she prepared a bud vase with a single daffodil.
“And we don’t have a relationship.”
This, though, was altogether different.
This wasn’t luck.
This was biological warfare, and she wouldn’t stand for it.
Calm down, it’s done.
Let the street air out, and then.
The following morning, Sumi came through the back door cheerfully, humming to herself.
She had brought goodies from home, a beautiful flowering begonia to hang outside the front door, which she would prop open today, announcing to the whole town that she was ready to welcome them.
And for Ranar, something even more special.
Hollyhock wasn’t the sort of flower you found in a shop.
The old-fashioned bloom was common enough in gardens, though, and she had snipped several white stalks that morning, just for him.
She would put them in an arrangement with pink hydrangea, female ambition, towering over his fragile ego.
Her good mood lasted all the way through the shop, until she reached the front door.
She barely had pushed it open an inch before the smell reached her, the smoothie she had for breakfast threatening to make a reappearance on her shoes.
“Motherfucker!”
The echo of her scream reverberated through the shop.
Hedda and the blue haired goblin both came running out from the back, probably expecting to see her laying on the floor in a pool of blood.
”I know this is him,“ Sumi raved.
“I know it is! He has everyone fooled into thinking he’s this sweet sap of a snake, oh, poor sweet Ranar, being put out of business by the big bad corporation.
What they don’t realize is that he’s an asshole!”
She dropped her head back, forcing herself to breathe.
What did ChaoticConcertina tell you? Don’t give him this much control.
“I guess we’re not opening another week.
Fine, that’s fine.
Gives us more time to work on orders.
Let’s turn the system back on, Hedda.
No reason to waste time up here. I’m going out for a bit. If the police call, someone needs to bail me out.”
She felt positively unhinged when she pulled into The Perfect Petal’s parking lot, practically wrenching the door off the hinges as she swung it open.
The naga inside was not the one she had come to see.
The snake woman’s eyes widened at Sumi’s dramatic entrance, coming around from behind the counter with her brows raised.
She was older, in the same age group as Sumi’s parents, and she realized this was likely his mother or an aunt.
“How may I help you today?”
Calm down.
You can’t act like a lunatic, you don’t want to start yelling at this nice old lady.
The crescent of her nails bit into the meat of her palm as she forced herself to breathe normally, gritting out a smile.
“Ranar.
I’m here to see Ranar.”
It was possible, the woman’s eyebrows raised a little higher.
“I hope my son has not done something to upset you, Miss.” She called out in a language Sumi did not understand, before looking around conspiratorially.
“And if he has, put him in order.
We can’t let them forget who is in charge in a relationship.”
She knew her face was bright red by the time he came around the corner, eyes instantly narrowing when he saw her.
His mother had turned, heading into the back room as he came out, pausing to swat at his arm with the stack of envelopes she carried.
“Don’t give her that look! Don’t give anyone that look, who raised you?!”
She bit down her laughter as he closed his eyes, exchanging hissed words with his mother until she disappeared.
The glare was back instantly, and she met it with narrowed eyes of her own.
“I thought I told you I didn’t want to see you in here again.”
“I assumed that was personal business.
I’m here with a delivery.” She slapped the wrap down on the counter, ignoring the way the end of his tail swished about.
Ranar snorted derisively.
“Let’s see what tired tidings you bring today.” He huffed as he unwrapped the flowers, rolling his eyes.
“You know, I don’t think pink hydrangea actually works the way you want it to.”
“Yes it does,” she snapped.
“It works fine.
This is your outsized ego, too showy for its own good.”
She waited for him to say something snide about her hollyhocks, but he only squinted.
“This isn’t gladiolus . . .”
Sumi frowned.
“No.
It’s .
.
. it’s hollyhock. C’mon, seriously?”
Ranar looked at her askance.
“A garden flower? Sorry, I don’t know this one.” He pushed the arrangement back across the counter, sliding it towards her as if he were rejecting a meal she had just served.
She balled her fists, shaking one at hand before slapping the counter.
“It means female ambition!”
He snorted again.
“I think you just made that up.
I’ve definitely never read that before.”
“Well, two seconds ago you thought it was a gladiolus, so maybe you don’t know as much as you think you do.”
Sumi was frustrated with herself.
She was no longer trembling in rage, no longer felt the desire to hit him.
What is wrong with you? Punch him! You want to hit him! She didn’t, that was the problem.
She never had.
Biting her lip, she took in the sight of his rolled-back sleeves, forearms on full display like a slut, making her squirm. His disdain, she decided, was harder to take personally when it came fringed in his thick black lashes.
“Will you please stop putting dead body parts in my trash can? I know it’s you, don’t bother denying it.”
The grin that slid over his handsome face showed he had no intention of denying it.
Not in any way that counted.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.
Thanks for the nice flowers, I guess.
This weed,” he nudged the corner of her hollyhock, “means nothing to me, though. So this was just a nice gesture.”
“Oh, you are the biggest dick.”
He laughed, deep and musical, making her shiver.
“Yes, I do.
But I’m still not going to pretend this stick means female ambition.
You’re going to have to take the L on this one.”
“I didn’t say have, I said—“ Sumi cut off, fuming, realizing he was still grinning.
You’re letting him win! He’s playing you like one of your fucking students.
“You know what’s funny about that?” she countered, changing tactics.
“I wanted to find out.
I wanted to go out with you so badly, because you seemed so nice. I thought you were so handsome. You knew flowers! We would have something in common, right off the bat. I wanted to find out everything about you.”
She looked pointedly down his body, her gaze moving beyond the hem of his button-down shirt, buoyed when he swallowed hard.
They were practically touching now, she realized, not realizing that they had both edged closer as they spoke, keeping their voices low.
Just another few inches and she’d be bumping his broad chest.
“But then you were so mean, for no good reason.” She held up a hand, preventing the rebuttal she could tell he had forming.
“I know you think it was a good reason.
But I still don’t get it.
I have never, not a single time in my life, ever once lived in a place where there was only one florist.
Only one drugstore. One grocery store. One doctor’s office. It’s weird, because I don’t ever remember the owners of the two hardware stores putting bags of flaming dog shit on each other’s porches even though they both sold hammers. Or the two different car lots setting each other’s dumpsters on fire. Almost like they were able to coexist and be friends!”
She broke off to take a breath, swallowing hard.
Ranar had averted his eyes from hers.
Please, please just hear me.
“I know you want very badly to believe that I personally set out to get you, but that was never, ever my intention.”
His mouth had flattened out, eyes dimming.
He was quiet for a long moment, just long enough for her to let herself hope.
Hope that they could get over this feud, and start over again as peers.
They might never be more than that, but at least they could be friends.
“I’m not surprised you don’t understand.”
Sumi turned her eyes up, biting her lip.
Please let us move forward from this.
“I don’t know, you’re right.
Maybe if you had opened just another flower shop, maybe we could have been.
Friends.
More.
But you didn’t. Your business is specifically designed to crush mine. It may not have been your personal intention, but you’re still part of it. So you didn’t mean it personally, and you think all’s forgiven? Am I supposed to thank you for blowing up my life? Because that makes you just another bottom feeder, preying on those of us who have put a lifetime into this industry so that you could stroll in and treat it like an assembly line.”
She sucked in a small gasp, not expecting that he’d be able to hurt her feelings even worse than he did previously.
Don’t cry in front of him.
Don’t give him the fucking satisfaction.
“You’re right, it was never my personal intention to hurt your family’s business,“ she squeaked out, heat moving up her neck.
Sumi didn’t know if it was tears of sadness or rage, and suspected it was a bit of both.
“But you’ve made everything pretty fucking personal since day one.
I guess I dodged a bullet.
I’m probably much better off stopping at that toy store over on Commerce, pick up the naga model. Get the full experience of fucking you while I’m fucking you over, right? Because you’re ugly where it counts.”
She was horrified with herself the instant the words were out, but it was too late.
She didn’t know what it was about him that brought out the worst in her.
If she’d learned nothing else from middle schoolers, it was how to hurt feelings, and he made every rude thought that popped into her head bubble to the surface without a moment wasted for regret.
Here she is, the bitch you heard about.
Ranar bent as his lip curled back, his face the scant inches from hers.
“I’ve seen what they carry.
It’s a pretty poor imitation, if you must know.
Definitely won’t give you an accurate experience.
But it’s just a cheap plastic knockoff, so that’s perfect for you. I’m sure you have puppies to kick on your way back to your sweatshop, so please, don’t let me stop you from leaving.”
Her nerves were jangling by the time she arrived back at the shop.
She wanted to go home.
She wanted to go home and cry, but home didn’t actually feel like home yet.
Nothing here in Cambric Creek did.
The only thing that felt like home was sitting in front of her laptop screen with a glass of wine, giggling over whatever ChaoticConcertina had to say for the day.
She was considering telling Hedda that she was just going to head out when she slipped back into the door, hearing their conversation carry out to the hall.
“His dad has dementia, but he still goes into the shop every day.
It’s probably good for him to have a routine.”
Hedda made a sympathetic noise, agreeing with whatever Seff was talking about.
“That’s so difficult to deal with.
My aunt had dementia at the end, and it was really hard on my cousin and her family.
By the time she passed, I think it was nearly a relief for everyone.
But then there’s guilt added to your grief and it’s just a mess. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”
In the hallway, her stomach flipped as Seff continued.
“Yeah, it’s such a shame.
They’re such nice neighbors, too.
I live on the other side of the development, but I see Ranar coming and going every day, he probably spends as much time at his parents’ house as he does at his own.
I know she thinks there’s enough business for everyone, but we’ve worked in these shops—“
”—and they suck up all of the orders,“ Doona finished.
“The only thing she’s gonna have to work for is his wedding business.
But I think there’s a lot more sentiment attached there for customers.”
Sumi stiffened.
They were talking about Ranar.
And you.
She reached out for the wall, creeping to the front as silently as she could, tears burning in her eyes.
She didn’t know about his father. He had mentioned to her that very first day that his shop was a family business, but if she had known . . .
What would you have done? Nothing different.
What could you have done? Everyone everywhere has something going on at home, that doesn’t mean you’re responsible for all of it.
This is where you live now.
This is your dream too!
Her little voice wasn’t wrong, but neither was he for his anger, Sumi decided, not bothering to wipe away the tears that tracked down her face.
She stayed in front the next few hours, greening in baskets and vases until she was cried out, earning Doona’s cheer when the gnome came waddling to the front.
As soon as she was home that evening, Sumi poured herself a glass of wine, swallowing several tablets of ibuprofen along with it before settling into the sofa with her laptop.
She desperately needed something comfortable and familiar.
She needed to talk with her friend.
But first .
.
.
she couldn’t help herself.
Checking the business owner’s server was a punishment she couldn’t stop doling out to herself.
Maybe it’s one you deserve.
Just as she had suspected, the topic had already moved on.
Attention spans are short and there’s always fresh drama brewing somewhere.
The current conversation was centered around a festival coming up. Sumi scrolled, looking for his name, but he wasn’t there.
Instead, she scrolled back, back and back, delving through the back scroll until she found him there, accepting someone’s well wishes, back when they had all discussed her shop.
Ranar_PerfectPetal
It was the required handle, she had noticed.
Every other participant in the conversation had something similar — their first name followed by their business.
Ranar.
Sumi clicked his name wondering if he had bothered adding a profile.
He hadn’t. Username, He/Him. Nothing else. Sumi scrolled to the bottom of the page, expecting more disappointment. Three mutual servers.
She blinked.
She had gone a bit of a spree after first signing up on the platform, joining more than a dozen different servers.
A forum for sharing 90s pop-culture.
Servers for plants, servers for teachers.
A Coming Gnome server, hilariously. She tried to imagine the handsome naga as a fan of the movie franchise from her childhood, and couldn’t do it.
She tapped the screen.
Which three could they be? Who are you other than an asshole, Ranar_PerfectPetal? The Flower Market.
Unsurprising, given his profession.
She had joined the server months and months earlier, after learning that folks occasionally traded clippings of rare houseplants, in addition to heirloom flower seeds.
The Vinery. She nearly choked on the sip of wine she had just taken. This was the houseplant server she had joined when her little philo was limping along, the server in which she had met ChaoticConcertina. The last server was, unsurprisingly, the Cambric Creek Business Owner’s Coalition. How?
The sun went in and her automatic lights flickered on, as she hunched over the screen, squinting.
She could figure this out methodically, she decided.
Starting with the house plant server, she proceeded to tap on every member, assessing their profile.
She/Her, one shared server.
He/Him, one shared server. One by one, Sumi had made it through nearly the entire list, only finding a few people with whom she shared more than membership in The Vinery, and all three of them were only additionally in The Flower Market.
She didn’t understand.
Is he covert? Is this just a weird glitch? This is just the app glitching, right? So convinced was she that her phone was malfunctioning, that she stopped before even reaching the bottom of the server list, restarting her phone and checking to see if the app needed an update.
Reopening DiscHorse, she quickly tapped back to Ranar’s profile.
Three shared servers.
Sumi pursed her lips. Back to The Vinery. She was nearly at the bottom of the list, she realized, only three names left. Someone she had never interacted with a single time, herself . . . and ChaoticConcertina.
Something moved within her, a stone turning in her stomach, sitting heavily on her insides.
She felt queasy, almost able to catch a slight whiff of that rotting, rancid smell from the garbage bin outside her shop door.
Her finger was trembling as she reached forward, tapping on his name.
He/Him.
Three shared servers.
The Vinery.
The Flower Market.
And the Cambric Creek Business Owner’s Coalition.