36. Zinnia
ZINNIA
A t midday on Saturday, Daisy, Iris, and Poppy arrive at Gran’s to set up for the baby shower.
Violet and the other guests aren’t coming until one, so we take our time setting up Gran’s living room with a photo corner that has fun props, a card station for people to share unhinged advice, and a guest-book.
Daisy has collected items for Violet’s “survival kit,” and the masseuse will arrive at one for an hour of unlimited foot rubs.
My contribution is the drinks, given I’ve worked in multiple bars during my varied career.
I created two signature mocktails, one with mint and lime flavors, the other with vanilla and espresso notes, and brought some craft beers for the guys.
“Right,” Poppy says, wiping her hands on the blue and red poppy-printed apron wrapped around her waist. “I think that’s everything.”
I smile as I look around the living room at our handiwork.
Poppy unties her apron, stuffing it into her bag, and surveys the food table she’s set up.
As a chef who owns her own catering company, she’s gone a little overboard, putting out a spread for at least thirty people.
There will only be thirteen of us. Fourteen, if you include baby Rose, who isn’t likely to eat a lot of onion tarts.
“Is that enough food?” Poppy asks, and Iris issues a quiet laugh.
“Yes, Poppy. It’s more than enough.”
She exhales, smoothing her hands down her dress. “Sorry,” she says, smiling sheepishly. “I just want it to be as good as my shower.”
Daisy smiles, wrapping an arm around her friend’s shoulders. “I’m glad you loved your shower. It turned out great.”
I watch the women, my heart full. Planning this baby shower is the most fun I’ve had with a group of women in a long time, and I’m surprised to find I’m feeling a little sentimental. I’ve never been to a girlfriend’s baby shower before—let alone thrown one—and I’m honored to be included.
As if sensing my thoughts, Daisy turns to me.
“And I’m glad you stuck around for the fall semester,” she adds.
Her eyes twinkle, reminding me of the moment in Joe’s when she saw me holding hands with Nick, the night we ran into Marcus.
Between sneaking around, classes starting, and taking over at the community arts center, I haven’t had a chance to tell them everything.
Or maybe I’m avoiding it.
Daisy opens her mouth to say more, but before she can get the words out, Gran ambles into the room.
“How are we going in here, ladies?”
“Great.” Daisy grins, turning to Gran. “Thank you so much for letting us do this here, Sylvia.”
“And for letting us bring the guys,” Poppy adds.
Gran waves a hand. “It’s my pleasure. I know your husbands will be no trouble. All gentlemen, the lot of them.” She smiles, looking at her already immaculate outfit. “Right, I think I’ll go change before our guests arrive.”
I watch as Gran shuffles out of the room, resisting the urge to help her up the stairs.
Guilt tugs at me as I think of how absent I’ve been this week.
I’ve spent nearly every night at Nick’s place, catching the train to Manhattan after closing up the community arts center, praying no one sees me sneak into his apartment in the dark.
While I don’t love the secrecy, it’s worth it to be with him.
Inside his apartment, it’s only us, like that lovely little bubble over summer, when things felt so innocent.
We get to cook together, talk about art, kiss and cuddle and fuck.
I get to fall asleep by his side and drink coffee with him in the pre-dawn light before I slip out his front door.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss Gran.
I worry about her when I’m not here. Every time I walk through her front door, I feel a strange sense of relief.
That I’m here to make sure she’s okay, yes, but it’s more than that.
Something I can’t put my finger on. As much as I love being safely tucked away from the world in Nick’s apartment, it’s still Nick’s apartment, not my home.
And more than ever, I yearn for a sense of home.
For somewhere I truly belong.
“Speaking of gentlemen,” Daisy says as the door swings shut behind Gran, “how are things going with the professor?”
I blow out my breath, debating how much to share.
I’ve never been someone who worries about the opinions of others.
It’s not who I am. But as I glance around at the group, I realize I do care about these women.
About their opinions. And I don’t know what they’d think of me sleeping with Nick, especially now that he’s my professor again.
“It’s, uh…” My mind flashes on that moment in the university archive room, the way Nick broke down and told me he couldn’t stay away.
The way he kissed me so hard it left a mark.
I lift a hand unconsciously to the delicate bruise where my neck meets my shoulder, closing my eyes.
He’s left more since, in places I’ve begged him to. Places only I can see.
“Wait.” Iris leans closer, nudging my hand aside. “Is that… a hickey?”
Heat stains my cheeks, and I cover it again. “No,” I squeak, but it sounds like a lie even to my own ears. I grimace, uncovering the mark. “Is it really obvious?”
“No,” Poppy assures me. “I wouldn’t have noticed.”
Iris’s eyes flash excitedly. “But it’s from him, right?”
My breath rushes out, and I flop back onto the sofa in defeat. “Yes, it’s from him.” It’s a relief to get the words out. To finally tell someone what’s going on.
The women settle in beside me, leaning forward eagerly.
“Well?” Iris presses. “Tell us everything!”
“And be quick,” Daisy adds, checking the time on her phone. “Everyone will be here in five minutes.”
I glance between them all, deciding to just be honest. If they judge me, so be it.
“We’re together,” I confess, keeping one eye on the door in case Gran returns. “We got together the day class ended.”
The women emit a quiet, collective squeal, trying to contain their excitement, and I laugh. But my laughter dies away.
“When I decided to stick around for the fall semester, it was fine because I wasn’t in any of Nick’s classes.
But then…” I wince. “Then my professor had to leave, and Nick took over my class.” God, even saying it aloud makes me uncomfortable.
I’m sleeping with my professor. I’m dating my professor. I’m falling for…
Before it can take hold, I shake the thought off, glancing at the women. I wait for them to suck in a shocked breath, maybe recoil a little in disgust, but they simply nod, as if there’s nothing shocking about it at all.
“If it helps,” Daisy says gently, “we’ve all been there.”
I look between them in confusion. “You’ve all slept with your professor?”
Poppy laughs. “No. What she means is—” The doorbell sounds, and Poppy swallows her words, giving me a wink. “You’ll see.”
I trail after Poppy to the front door, mystified. Gran’s in the hall, avoiding my gaze when I look her way, and my stomach sinks. Shit, she didn’t hear any of that, did she?
Poppy throws open the front door, revealing Violet, an older woman, and an older man. “Hi!” she says, doing her best to hug her friend around her enormous belly.
Violet smiles at me over Poppy’s shoulder, her gaze drifting around Gran’s foyer. “I forgot how gorgeous this brownstone is.”
I grin and usher her inside, turning to the people behind her. “Hi, I’m Zinnia, come in.”
“Hi, Zinnia,” the woman says. She’s got blond hair, exactly like Violet’s. “I’m Diana, Violet’s mom.”
I smile, motioning for her to enter. “And you must be Violet’s dad,” I say to the man behind her.
His lips twist wryly. “No,” he says, slipping an arm around Violet’s waist. “I’m Violet’s husband, Kyle, but that’s not the first time someone’s accused me of that.” He and Violet share an amused look, and I shrink, mortified.
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” I mumble, sneaking a glance at him with this new information. Mid-forties, with flecks of gray in his beard and creases beside his kind green eyes, he must be close to twenty years her senior.
He shakes his head, laughing. “Here’s her father now,” he says, gesturing to a guy with silver hair coming up the front steps.
I shoot Kyle an apologetic look as he and Violet enter Gran’s living room, introducing myself to Vi’s father, Rich, just as three other men arrive.
One is Iris’s fiancé Aidan, who I’ve already met, and it doesn’t take me long to figure out that one is Daisy’s husband, Weston, and the other—holding a gorgeous baby girl— is Poppy’s husband, Wyatt.
All much older men. I can’t help but stare a little as I lead them into Gran’s living room.
“Now, my dear,” Gran says, taking Violet’s hand, “I believe this seat is for you.” She motions to her recliner, which we’ve adorned with silk scarves to create a sort of makeshift throne.
“Oh, thank God,” Violet says, falling into the chair with a low groan that makes everyone laugh. Kyle kneels before her, reaching for her feet, but Daisy stops him.
“We have a masseuse arriving any minute now. Go get a beer.”
He hesitates, then rises, heading to the drinks table.
Another woman arrives—a fiery redhead and old friend of Vi’s called Sadie—and Iris puts on a playlist through a Bluetooth speaker.
People mingle, eat, explore the activities, and the masseuse plants herself at Violet’s feet, drawing a relaxed moan from her every few minutes.
I sip my mocktail, letting my gaze drift between my friends and their husbands.
Wyatt is easily in his mid-forties, bearded and covered head to toe in tattoos.
It gives him a dangerous look, completely at odds with the tender way he holds baby Rose, as if she’s the most precious thing in the world.
Every few minutes he glances up to find Poppy across the room, talking with Sadie, and they share a tired but affectionate smile.
Then there’s Daisy and Weston, sitting together on Gran’s sofa. He’s got salt-and-pepper hair, a beard, and looks at Daisy like she hung the moon. There must be close to twenty years between them, too.
Is this what Daisy meant when she said they’d all been there? Not with their professors, specifically, but with older men?
I glance at Iris and Aidan, taking silly pictures in the photo corner, and there’s a tug in my chest.
It’s not the same, though, is it? Sure, age gaps like theirs are often frowned upon, but none of them are crossing lines like Nick and me. They’re all here, all out in the open together.
And Nick and I can never have that.
“Having fun?” Iris asks, appearing at my side.
“Mm.” I smile, but that ache in my chest is only growing worse. I watch Gran talk with Rich and Diana, wondering again what she’d think about me dating Nick. How disappointed she’d be.
The party wraps up at three, and everyone leaves except for the women, who stay to clean up.
Even Violet says she wants to stay behind for a bit, sending Kyle on his way.
Gran tries to help, but Poppy insists she go sit down.
Gran, who hates being coddled, goes to the kitchen to make tea for everyone.
The minute she’s out of the room, Violet grabs my arm to yank me down on the sofa beside her.
Oh, crap. She’s still angry that I confused her husband with her father. I can’t blame her.
“I’m sorry.” I rub my forehead. “I didn’t mean to say Kyle was your dad.”
She shrugs. “Don’t be, I’m used to it.”
“We all are,” Daisy says with a smirk. “You get what I’m talking about now, right?”
I exhale slowly. “Yes… and no. You guys all seem so happy, but you don’t have to hide like Nick and I do.”
Iris snorts. “Not anymore, but we’ve all been there.
Aidan was my boss, and he worked for my father.
” She turns to each woman in the circle, pointing to them in turn.
“Wes is the father of Daisy’s ex, Kyle is Violet’s dad’s best friend, and…
Wyatt’s your best friend’s dad, right, Pops? ” Poppy nods, and my jaw drops.
Holy crap.
Iris turns back to me, softening. “We know what it’s like falling for someone you’re not supposed to want. Having to sneak around. I was in your position last year, thinking that these women”—she motions to the group—“have it all figured out, but they’re just a few steps ahead.”
“Wow,” I murmur, trying to process this.
“What we’re saying,” Daisy chimes in gently, “is that there’s hope. Things might feel impossible now, but you’ll find a way to work it out.”
A thousand questions rush up my throat—how they knew it was worth the risk, how they told people, how they overcame the rules they’d broken—but Gran appears with the tea, and the women rise, returning to tidying the living room.
It’s a relief that they seem to know not to discuss this in front of Gran.
“Don’t stop on my account,” Gran says dryly.
Poppy laughs. “It’s just boring dating advice,” she replies, gathering the leftover food.
Gran’s gaze slides to me, glittering with interest. “Is that right?”
I quickly look away, busying myself with collecting the advice cards. There are some pretty funny comments on there, which I think Violet will enjoy.
“Thank you all so much,” Violet says. “This was the best afternoon.”
I share a grin with the others, but as I turn back to tidying, it doesn’t last. These women are so warm, so kind, so generous. I’m thrilled they’ve all worked things out with their partners, that they’ve created loving relationships they can be proud of. Relationships they can share with the world.
I only hope Nick and I can do the same.