-AUGUST-
Despite a lifetime of shying away from any semblance of commitment, Florian felt like a weight had been lifted from their shoulders. Being with Kells felt correct in a way little else ever had. When they actually imagined spending future seasons at the cottage, they felt gentle anticipation rather than trepidation, or indeed, even rather than the giddy overexcitement that tended to burn out too quickly. Perhaps all those years of flitting from one subject to another was only an indication that they had yet to find what they’d been looking for, rather than any inherent restlessness.
However, before they could fling themself headlong into a future by Kells’ side, there was still the matter of their London engagements flapping at loose ends. When Florian had written that letter to their friends, late August had seemed a decent compromise between the far-off future and the too-near present. Yet, with August actually upon them, waiting four more weeks seemed an impossible test of patience.
“Then go to London and get it over with,” Kells said, when Florian raised the topic over a late evening drink. “I’ll drive you.”
“I can’t just show up on their respective doorsteps, break up with them, and walk away again.”
“Flore,” Kells said, none too gently. “If your friends are even half as bright as you are, I think they’ve already figured out that they’ve been dumped. The best thing you can do now is make it official, apologise, and let them get on with their lives.”
They didn’t like it, but Florian had to concede that it was the best thing to do.
Unfortunately, their friends beat them to it.
The very next morning, a stylish, low-slung motorcar crept up the road and turned into the drive, parking alongside the apple tree, which was beginning to bear fruit. Grim was the one who alerted Kells and Florian to the car’s arrival, tearing off barking from where he’d been keeping them company in the potion garden.
Florian paused in their good-natured ribbing of Kells, who was harvesting a fresh crop of ridiculously phallic Priapus Giganticum flowers for her male enhancement potions. Kells had visitors rarely enough that she got up straight away to see who it was. Curious, Florian got up from their patio chair to hobble after, leaning heavily on the walking stick Kells had supplied. The potion garden’s aura of magic and pollen trailed after them in a haze, faintly glittering in the breeze’s currents.
In the driveway, the car’s engine cut off and two figures exited, a young man and woman, both in nice city-styled clothes. For a second, Florian didn’t recognise them, so unexpected was their appearance. Between one step and the next, recognition hit like a freight train, and Florian stumbled to a dead halt, their heart thudding in sudden panic. A yard ahead, Kells shot Florian an inquisitive look from over her shoulder.
“Flora?” Anna called from the drive, squinting against the sun like Florian’s appearance might be a mirage. “Is that you?”
Kells looked back and forth between the three of them, taking in Florian’s shell-shocked expression. “You must be Anna and Charlie,” she said. “Flore’s told me about you. You drove up from London?”
“We did,” Charlie confirmed, his attention fixed on Florian with an air of absolute bafflement.
“Why don’t I go and put the kettle on,” Kells said, giving Florian a look that might have been a warning or might have been intended as reassurance. Florian couldn’t tell. They were too rattled.
“You look well,” Florian managed, as Kells collected Grim and took her leave.
Anna was in a pretty floral-print frock and a knee-length skirt, with a burst of flowers pinned to her cloche hat, while Charlie was in a clean-lined linen suit with his hair slicked back in waves like he was going out dancing. They looked as they always did, fashionable and well put together. If Florian got closer, they would bet anything that Anna still smelled like lavender, and Charlie was wearing the same cologne as ever. For a moment, Florian couldn’t breathe for how much they missed their friends.
“You look different,” Anna replied, something of an accusation in her tone.
Florian winced. “Yeah, I do, a bit.”
“In a good way,” Charlie hastened to add. “You look good, Flore. But what on earth have you been doing? When you wrote back in April, you said you were spending the summer with a friend, and then we waited and waited for another letter, but you never followed up.”
“I said I’d be back at the end of the month,” Florian said weakly.
“We got fed up with waiting.” Anna crossed her arms and fixed Florian with a suspicious glare. “Would you really have come back? You didn’t tell us anything. We didn’t know if you’d been kidnapped or if you’d found someone else to marry or if you were even still in England. Or all of the above! You worried us sick, you arse, and here you are, having a lovely time playing house with some provincial Irishwoman. Bloody hell, Flora.”
“I finally put a return-to-sender spell on your last letter,” said Charlie, “which I wouldn’t have needed to do if you’d written more than three lines and told us what was actually going on. What is this? Are you a farmer now?”
“More of a gardener, really.” Florian desperately wanted to shrink into their own body and disappear.
“And what on earth happened to your foot? Since when have you got a limp?”
“Since very recently, when I tripped and sprained it?”
“Never mind that,” said Anna. “I don’t care about farming or gardening. Are you a boy, now?”
Florian opened and shut their mouth ineffectually, like a goldfish. They’d been so focused on having to break up with Anna and Charlie that they’d hardly considered how to explain their new gender.
“You are!” Anna exclaimed, coming closer to get a better look. Florian squirmed under her scrutiny. “Is that why you ran away? Why wouldn’t you just to tell us?”
“We’re your best friends,” Charlie said, aggrieved. “If you wanted to be a boy, we would have had your back.”
“It wasn’t about that at all,” Florian confessed in a guilty rush. “I wasn’t afraid you’d reject me just because I wanted to be a boy. But I panicked. You might be my best friends, but it’s not as simple as that, is it? I thought what you each wanted was a wife. And if I’m not a girl … That changes things, doesn’t it? It must.”
Anna cleared her throat and dropped her gaze, abandoning her earlier defensive aggression for awkwardness, instead. “That’s true. I’ve never wanted a husband. I still don’t.”
Charlie coughed. “I wouldn’t mind,” he admitted, “but I can’t see my parents going for it. If we were to keep seeing each other, it would have to be in secret. Much as I might like it, I don’t think there’s any way for me to actually marry you like this.”
Florian’s relief was immediate and overwhelming. “So, our engagements are off?”
Anna’s mouth twisted to one side. “It’s off.”
“It’s off,” Charlie agreed.
“And … you’re not completely furious with me?” Florian asked tentatively.
“For your complete lack of communication this summer? Yes, we are,” Anna said.
“Right, that’s valid. I really am sorry, for what it’s worth.”
“For turning into a boy, though,” Charlie said, “no, I shouldn’t think so.” He turned to Anna. “Are we?”
“No, not that. Although I don’t see why you had to run away to do it in secret.”
A blush crept over Charlie’s ears. “You absolutely could have done that around us. Or at least written and kept us in the loop. I should have liked to see how you did it, anyway.”
“You’re right.” Florian blew out their breath and managed a shaky smile. “I’m honestly, awfully sorry for running away and dragging things out, but at least it’s done with, now. Do you want to come in for tea?”
At the offer of tea, that longstanding olive branch meant to smooth over all manner of situations, the tension finally dissipated. Anna and Charlie visibly relaxed, and Florian was left weak-kneed in the wake of their adrenaline rush.
“Will you tell us what you’ve been doing all summer?” Anna asked, offering her own olive branch in turn. “You haven’t really been out here farming this whole time, have you?”
“Like Marie Antoinette,” Florian said, and led them up the path to the cottage door.
◆◆◆
Tea was a tentative affair, starting off cautious before growing in comfort and conversation until the four of them were chatting comfortably over scones. Although Florian had assumed it would be tremendously awkward, sitting their two ex-lovers down with their new one, Charlie was too well-bred to pick a fight with his hostess, and Anna didn’t seem inclined to fight anyone for Florian’s hand now that they were no longer Flora.
For her own part, Kells matched the others’ energy, reserved but friendly, shooting Florian glances at regular intervals as if checking that things were going as well as they seemed. She shared stories of Florian’s summer, their adventures in the gardens and exploits at the market, seeming pleased to puff Florian up as much as she enjoyed sharing their more embarrassing moments. When Florian told their own tales, Anna and Charlie would loudly interject, turning to Kells for confirmation or refutation of the facts, as if they couldn’t believe half of what Florian had got up to.
Florian didn’t take offense. Last winter, Florian wouldn’t have believed such stories about themself, either. That they might run away to chase a fantasy of a romantic pastoral life was nothing unusual in itself. But the fact that they’d stuck with it for so long, and were actually thriving — twisted ankle not withstanding — out in the middle of nowhere, so far from London’s convenient distractions, was nothing short of miraculous. From an outside perspective, it must seem like they’d been replaced by an entirely different person, and that wasn’t even taking into account the fact that they were no longer a girl, a daughter, or a fiancée.
“What’s that look on your face?” Anna asked, her teacup raised halfway to her mouth.
“I think I just realised all at once how quickly everything can change, if you let it.”
“In a good way?” Kells asked.
“In a fantastic way,” Florian promised, breaking into a smile.
Charlie watched them with a funny, pensive expression. “I’d like to hear more about these potions that put you through such changes,” he said, and, with Florian’s blessing, Kells launched into a lecture on that very subject.
By the time the scones were gone, the impromptu gathering had blossomed into something genuinely pleasant, such that when Anna began making soft noises about heading off, Florian ached at the thought of saying goodbye.
“Do you want to go back with them?” Kells asked, as she and Florian stood on the front step, watching Anna and Charlie walk through the front garden towards the drive. “You can, if you like. You can always find your way back here.”
Florian hesitated, grinding their walking stick against the step, before launching after their friends in a lopsided sprint, sending up little kicks of dirt with every hobbling step. When they caught up at the garden’s far edge, Florian threw their arms around them both at once, crushing them close in a bear hug.
“I’ll come back to London soon, at least for a visit,” Florian promised, squeezed in between their two best friends. “If you want to see me. I suppose I should see your parents,” they added to Charlie specifically, “and explain that the engagement’s off.”
Charlie sighed. “Right, that whole thing. Let’s make it a lunch date somewhere nice. They won’t be able to fuss too much if there’s the risk of a public spectacle.”
“No hard feelings, then?” Florian asked hopefully.
“A couple, but I’ll be alright.”
“I’ve got a few, as well,” said Anna, poking Florian sharply in the shoulder as they collectively detangled from their hug. “I missed an entire summer with you! Are you actually going to write to me this time? Or are we going to have to track you down again like intrepid hounds after an inconsiderate little fox?”
“I’ll write,” Florian promised. “I’ll write every week I’m not visiting, if that’s what you want, and I’ll send you drawings, too. And preserves, and honey, and pressed flowers. As many as you’d like.”
Anna softened, somewhat mollified. “Alright, then. I’ll hold you to it. Especially now that we know where you’re living.”
Squeezing both their hands one last time, Florian flashed their friends a smile and hopped back through the garden to Kells’ side before their eyes could tear up and make their goodbye more difficult than it needed to be.
On the dirt drive, Charlie hesitated, one hand on the driver’s door. “Do you think that’s something anyone can do?” he asked uncertainly. “Just change their presentation on a whim?”
“Why?” Anna asked. “Do you want to be a girl, all of a sudden?”
“I might like to try it,” he admitted.
The two of them stood in silence for second, with her looking him over as critically as a best-in-show judge.
“Alright,” she finally said. “Would you like to come back with me and give it a try? We’re about the same size. Most of my things would fit you, I should think.”
“Really?”
“Yes, why not? It’s not like either of us have anything else going on right now. Anyway, I think you’d look fetching in my green sundress. The colour suits you, and you’ve got the legs for it. Come on.”
Reaching over, she pulled the door open and shepherded him into the car. He looked as confused as he did happy, following her directions with an expression like he couldn’t believe his luck. From the step, Florian watched them tuck themselves into their seats, start the grumbling engine, and back down the drive towards the road.
Kells draped an arm over Florian’s shoulders, silently pulling them into a sideways hug. Leaning into her side, Florian wrapped both arms around her waist and breathed her in: the flowers’ perfume clinging to her clothes, the pollen in her hair and under her nails, rich soil in the treads of her boots, and the warm, herbal spice of her potions. She and her magic smelled more like home than smoggy London ever had.
“The two of them seem well matched,” Kells observed.
“Oh, they’ve been friends for years. We all have. I hope we will be again, but I think I’ve got to do some more mending of bridges first.”
“If you’ve learned anything these past few months, I hope it’s that sometimes, putting the work in yields worthwhile results. If you want your mates back, I think you can mend things with a little effort.” Kells paused. “Besides, I think it’s likely I’ll be seeing your Charlie again, and sooner than later. He seems the curious sort.”
“Curious like a cat, or curious odd?”
“Both.” Kells elbowed them. “Like you.”
They didn’t talk about it that evening. Not the future, nor what they might do in it. But as they went to bed together again, Florian thought it was a pattern they wouldn’t mind falling into.
The next morning, Kells went to run an errand in London, leaving Florian to mind things and watch Grim, who was always disconsolate at being left behind. He must have been abandoned in a previous life, Kells joked, though she’d reared him from eight weeks in this one. In any case, he took his loneliness better than he had in the past, as if Florian — though certainly no replacement for Kells — wasn’t such terrible company after all.
Florian kept up a ramble of conversation for his benefit as they hopped around the kitchen, cobbling together a semblance of tea for Kells’ return. Florian was by no means a cook, but their meals were better than their baking, and even they could manage sandwiches and a salad. When Kells made it back that evening, just as the sky was starting to go pink, it was with a good cheer and an enormous book tucked under one arm. Grim launched himself at her, wriggling all over with unbridled joy, as if she’d returned from a years-long absence at war.
She placed the book, which was a hefty hardcover with a well-worn dustjacket, on the kitchen table. As she knelt to greet her delighted dog, Florian glanced at the book, whose title proclaimed it the tenth edition of The Encyclopaedia of Old-World Magical Plants and Flowers with Magical Properties, and Their Uses.
“I thought the illustrations might be of interest,” Kells said, looking up at Florian from where she was busy scruffing Grim’s face.
Flipping open the front cover, Florian leafed through the pages before allowing the book to fall open where it liked. When it did, a painting of a pure white rose greeted them from the page, its petals round and elegant in their simplicity, intricately swirling around the stem. The Purissima Rose, read the text, a magical variety of the family Rosaceae, native to Spain, named for the Blessed Virgin, and renowned by young women the world over for its remarkable ability to prevent unwanted pregnancy from taking root.
“Well,” said Florian, their heart excitedly skipping a beat. “This seems serendipitous, doesn’t it? Shall I give it a go?”
“If you like,” said Kells. “As long as you know I want you around whether it works or not.”
“Tea, first,” Florian decided, magnanimously resisting the rose’s temptation in favour of getting Kells fed. “You must be starving after so many hours driving. Come on, sit down and eat.”
“You didn’t go all the way to London just to look for a book of illustrations, did you?” Florian asked, halfway through their salad. “We don’t even know if it’ll work. Painting a flower from real life is one thing, but copying it from another person’s painting—”
“It’s worth a shot,” Kells said, sounding unconcerned. “And I can’t get my hands on a real Purissima Rose for you, so it’s this, or nothing. If it doesn’t work, at least you’ve got a good encyclopaedia to read while you finish convalescing.”
She fished a spear of zucchini from her sandwich. They had been putting zucchini in everything, with increasing desperation and mixed results. In this case, it had been grilled alongside an assortment of other vegetables, melted with cheese, and stuck between pan-seared bread. Florian considered it a success, and Kells seemed pleased with the results.
“Anyway,” Kells continued, “that wasn’t the only reason I went. I had to talk to a man about getting back into boxing.”
Florian sat up straight, successfully distracted from the rose. “Tell me everything!”
“I’ve been thinking on what you said, and I thought, yeah, I might like training new fighters. So, I went to talk to a bloke about getting my foot back in that door and starting things up again.”
“Oh, that’s brilliant! You have to practice on me, once my ankle’s better.”
“You want to learn?”
“If it means getting to watch you be all sweaty and strong and athletic, then yes, absolutely.”
Kells laughed, warm and pleased. “Alright, yeah. When your ankle’s healed, we’ll do that.”
That afternoon, when a rain shower pushed Kells indoors ahead of schedule, she joined Florian at the table to watch them paint. As Grim slept on Florian’s feet, they bent over their watercolours to commit every detail of the Purissima Rose to paper.
The paint gave the virgin-white petals a faint pink blush, blue in the shadows, yellow where they imagined the sunlight hit it. With every brush stroke, every drop of pigment, Florian concentrated on its magical properties, the protection and peace of mind it offered, the scent Kells described, and the way she dried the petals one by one to grind them into dust with her mortar and pestle, reducing them to the fine white powder she used in her potions.
When the painting was done, Florian set down their brush with trembling fingers, and they both stared at the paper.
“It looks better than the one in the book,” said Kells. “Worth framing.”
Holding their breath, Florian slipped fresh magic into the wash of paint to bring the flower to life. One leaf, one petal at a time, they peeled the rose from the paper to hold it up to the window’s rainy grey light. Their grip was delicate and nervous, like the rose was liable to wilt or sting them with its thorns with a single wrong move. It was ridiculous; they’d never been nervous that their magic might not work. The worst that could happen would be for Kells to deem the flower pretty but useless, and that was no real loss at all. It couldn’t be a loss if Florian’s failure merely maintained the status quo.
Kells held out her hand, silently requesting the rose. When Florian gave it over, they bit their lip, anticipation making butterflies churn their stomach like a whirlwind. Kells inspected the flower from every angle, touching its petals with a surgeon’s grace, studying its leaves, running a finger along its tapered thorns, burying her nose in its depths to breathe in deep.
When the silent study became unbearable, Florian blurted, “Well?”
Placing the rose in her empty tea mug, Kells leaned over the table to take Florian’s chin and kiss them soundly.
“Did it work?” Florian asked against her mouth.
“It’s perfect,” Kells replied, her lips brushing theirs.
“You can use it?”
“It seems so.”
“I’ll paint you a hundred,” Florian promised, breaking the kiss to pull back and look Kells in the eye, their hands on her shoulders.
“I might hold you to that,” Kells said, laughter curling through her voice as she cupped one hand around the back of Florian’s neck to hold them close. “You’re not worried that with this talent, I’ll want to keep you here forever?”
“I wouldn’t mind being kept a bit longer. At least until I can get around on my own two feet again.”
“Only till then?” Kells teased.
“Well — then it’ll be the fall harvest. It doesn’t seem right, abandoning you when you’ll be so busy. And then it’ll be getting cold. I shouldn’t want to find myself starting over somewhere new mid-winter.”
“Winter’s when I’d have most need of your magic,” Kells pointed out, barely hiding her amusement.
“In that case,” said Florian, pretending to be very serious, and not doing a convincing job of it, “I suppose I’ll have to stay at least until next spring.”
“Hm. I’d like that.” Kells pressed a kiss to their forehead, and Florian leaned into it.
“I’ll paint you every foreign, hard-to-find flower in the world. I’ll single-handedly make you self-sufficient, and you’ll never have to worry about blights or supply-chain issues again.” Stepping back, they pushed the open encyclopaedia towards Kells. “Show me what’s most useful to you,” they requested. “I’ll paint every single one of them.”
Peaceably, Kells knelt on the floor to gather Grim into her arms before returning to her chair beside Florian with him in her lap. Grim raised his head to sniff at the table, found nothing of interest within reach, and curled up on Kells’ legs to resume his nap like a loaf of bread.
“Why don’t you point out the ones you’d most like to paint?” Kells countered.
Florian thought about digging in their heels and protesting, but if Kells didn’t want to put them to work and tell them which plants she most needed, then Florian would simply start at the book’s beginning and make their way through every plant pictured until there were no more.
“Fine,” they agreed, and scooted their chair over so they and Kells could sit side by side and flip through the encyclopaedia together.
As the afternoon drifted towards evening, the rain cleared, and the aura from the potion garden gleamed pink and gold through the kitchen window as the sun passed through its golden hour. Grim shuffled from Kells’ lap to Florian’s, stomping their thighs with his sturdy little paws as he made himself comfortable.
Slowly making their way through the chapter on the magical varieties of English wildflowers, Florian realised they were content. They were excited for the future, for their planned paintings and to see what Kells’ gardens would do next, and what further changes her potions would make to their body, and how many more kisses they could trade, and what new things they could try in bed. But it was a comfortable excitement that seemed sustainable for a long time to come.
Sinking deeper into their chair, Florian buried one hand in the dog’s fur and rested the other on Kells’ thigh. As Kells turned to the next page, Florian let their eyes fall closed, listening as she read aloud to them in a low, lilting voice about wildflowers.
The End