Chapter 23 #2
Poe stood up in the chair, stepped onto the desk and stretched, then flopped onto his back, all four legs in the air.
“You want me to call her?”
My phone buzzed. Poe rolled over, as if interested, watching me. I yanked out my phone. It was a text from Annie.
“It’s Annie,” I said to Poe.
He meowed and, with what seemed his last bit of energy, lay on his tummy, resting his chin in his front paws.
“It’s about you,” I said, holding out the phone to show him her text. “You’ve caused her to worry.”
Annie
I can’t find Poe and I’m freaking out. I don’t know what to do. There was an open window and I think he jumped out of it.
Dorian
The little orange idiot is here with me. I don’t know how he did it, but he walked here. Or ran, maybe? Theo said his paws were damp with sweat. He’s a little roughed up but seems fine. Ordering me around already.
Annie
Thank God!!!! I was so worried. Mom would be devastated if anything happened to him.
Dorian
He’s fine. Although I don’t know what possessed him to walk five miles to town. He hates exercise.
Annie
Why are you at the store on a Thursday? Isn’t it group night?
Dorian
Theo called about Poe so I came back to check on him. Do you want me to bring him back to your house?
Annie
NO. Don’t. If Mom finds out he ran away to YOU she’ll be weird about it. Can you keep him tonight? She works til 5 tomorrow. I’ll come get him in the morning.
Dorian
He’s welcome to stay. Although neither of us are entirely sure we want him to.
Annie
That tracks. Don’t let him trick you into giving him cheese. Mom says it’s bad for him. But somehow he always gets some. It gives him terrible toots, btw.
Dorian
Good God, no cheese then! What will you tell your mom about where he is?
Annie
She’s working late. Some kind of party at the gallery. So she’ll come home tired. I’ll just leave her a note that Poe’s pouting in my room in protest of her late night. She’s got an early meeting too, so we’re good.
Dorian
All right then. I’ll see you in the morning. The store misses you.
Annie
I miss it too. See you tomorrow.
I hung up, surprised to see that Poe had fallen asleep on the desk while I was texting.
I’d have to take him home and get those burrs out of his paws.
Plus, he’d need the litter box, and I had an extra in my garage.
I grabbed the carrier I kept in the closet, expecting a fight.
To my great surprise, he let me put him in there, without even one yowl. At least there was that.
The next morning Poe and I got to the store early. While I worked, Poe played on the floor in a spot of sunlight with a toy mouse Annie had brought to the store a few weeks back. Just playing innocently, as if he hadn’t just caused a bunch of drama.
Strangely enough, his disdain of me seemed to have lessened.
Even though getting the burrs out of his paws had been an adventure neither of us wanted.
He’d slept on my bed last night, curled at my feet as nice as could be.
Apparently, he’d learned how to be more lovable living with Delphine and Annie. Not surprising.
Now, he sat facing the front door with his tail wrapped around his feet, waiting. A minute later, Annie came in exactly the way she used to, which made my chest ache, and went straight to Poe.
“You absolute idiot,” she said, with her face in his fur. “You could have been coyote food. You could have been a hawk’s breakfast. What is wrong with you?” Poe lifted his chin, clearly without repentance, then purred.
“We discussed the whole thing last night,” I said. “And I think I know what he’s up to.”
“Yeah?” Her forehead scrunched. “Is he trying to get you and Mom back together?”
“I think so.”
“He’s really bossy.”
“For sure.”
“What do you think about his plan?” Annie asked, without meeting my eyes.
“I’d like to talk to you about that. Before I open the store?”
“Yeah, okay.”
I suggested we sit in the cozy chairs near the historical fiction section. Poe followed, jumping onto Annie’s lap.
How to start? With the truth. “I’ve not handled things well.”
“You think?” Annie asked.
“Yes, well, I’m a flawed human.”
A small shrug. “Everyone is.”
“But I’m sorry I hurt you when I pulled away. It’s hard to explain why, other than to say I was worried we were all getting attached too fast. And it scared me.”
“Why?” She glanced up for the first time. “What’s scary about something great happening?”
“First because I didn’t want you to be hurt if things didn’t work out. You’ve had to deal with a lot at a young age, and the thought of me causing more pain—it made me start to question everything.”
“Did something happen at the wedding?” Annie asked. “Because that’s what all of us kids think. Grace says something triggered you.”
“She’s right.” I told her about my conversation with Luci. “She said she was afraid she was the only one who remembered her dad.”
“I get that. My mom doesn’t like to talk about my dad. It makes me feel like I’m the only one who remembers how much we loved him. And he loved us. But why would that trigger you?”
“I thought it was because of you—my worry that I was being irresponsible and you would be the one to pay for it. But when I really started to think about it and examine my feelings I realized it wasn’t anything to do with how I felt about your mom.
I’m afraid, Annie. It’s as simple as that.
I’m afraid to love you and your mom and then lose you somehow.
Besides my mom, Nate was the person I loved the most in the world.
He was my brother. Losing him shattered me.
And I’ve been slowly putting myself back together again. ”
Annie didn’t move, her gaze on Poe as she absently petted him. “You’re afraid to love someone because they might leave. Forever.”
“That’s right,” I said. “But the problem is—it’s too late. I already love your mom. And I love you.”
“So you lied to her about that? You do know how you feel?”
“It was a lie, yes, but mostly to myself. This is going to sound unhinged, but, when things go well, I automatically assume it won’t be for long. Catastrophe will immediately follow. So when things were so good, I started getting really scared and I acted like a total idiot.”
“You really hurt her. She’ll never admit it to anyone, but I saw it for myself.”
“That makes me feel awful. If it’s any consolation, I haven’t been doing so hot myself.”
“Do you want to fix it?”
“More than anything. But I’m not sure how. Your mom’s pretty hard to soften once she’s angry. Becca advised me to do something, not just say words and expect her to forgive me.”
“Becca’s right,” Annie said. “My mom’s love language is acts of service, not words of affirmation.”
I chuckled. This kid. “Okay.”
She looked at me for a long, long moment. Then at Poe. “You know how she’s obsessed with peonies? The ones in her garden are her favorite flowers in the world, even though they bloom for like a week and then they’re gone.”
“Sure.”
“She told me recently that my dad gave her the seeds when he was trying to win her over. She planted them in pots and they went wherever they moved. After he died and we bought the new house, she planted them in the garden. Every year they bloom. Mom puts spikes in the ground to make sure they don’t fall over from the weight of their own flower.
They’ll bloom for a hundred years. Did you know that? ”
“I did, yes. They take three years to bloom and then they do it for another hundred.”
“That’s correct. Great metaphor, right?” Annie asked.
“For what?”
“Symbolic for something that lasts. Only my dad didn’t stay long. Not anywhere close to a hundred years. He was the bloom and not the plant. A bloom that came and went too soon. No matter how my mom tried to keep him standing.”
I just nodded, completely unsure about where this was going.
“You, though?” Annie asked. “You’re more like a daffodil.”
“I am?”
“Yeah. People might say they’re not as lush or flashy as peonies, but they’re tough.
They’re one of the first flowers to poke their heads up through the cold soil of early spring.
Every year without fail. They require no fussing or maintenance.
No coddling. Just a flower to be relied on to return year after year and bloom for weeks and weeks, all gorgeous yellow and hopeful.
And guess what? They’re extremely long-lived too.
I’ve read they also can live to be a hundred and, even better, they multiply by offsets, so a patch can keep going for generations.
A daffodil’s guaranteed to come back as steady and beautiful as the spring before. ”
“So, I’m a daffodil.”
“Right. Which is what you should give her when you tell her how you really feel. Bring her a bag of bulbs. You can’t plant them now, obviously.
They have to be planted in October. But tell her you’ll be there to plant them and, when they bloom after a long winter, they’ll bring color to the garden. Year after year.”
“Does she have some planted in the garden already?”
“No. She says they’re ordinary and too predictable.”
I had to laugh. “I don’t know about this plan. If she doesn’t like them, isn’t that the wrong choice? Although, I admit you’re right. I’m definitely a daffodil.”
“But they’re my favorite flower,” Annie said. “I ask her every year to plant some, but she blows me off. Says there’s no space in the garden. Which is not true. Anyway, my point is—she knows they’re my favorites. Which will mean something to her. Trust me on this. She’ll get it.”
“So what do I do?”
“Come over tomorrow morning. We can make a bed for the daffodils,” Annie said. “And then you can present her with a bag of bulbs with the promise that you’ll plant my favorite flower in the fall and be there to watch them bloom in the spring.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It seems kind of light for an apology and plea for another chance.”
“You tell her why you’re doing it. Because I wanted them. She’ll understand.”
“Okay, I’ll meet you in the morning with my gardening gloves on,” I said.
“I’ll be ready.”