Depression #2
Until one day, when they would get a little too tipsy and confess their feelings for each other.
Then they’d move in together way too soon and live happily ever after with two cats, and maybe a dog who would be the ring bearer at their wedding.
Esther would wear a pink suit, and Lucy could wear whatever she wanted because she’d be beautiful in anything.
But Esther’s warm greeting of “Oh my god, it’s so nice to meet you!” was met with a short nod and a cool “likewise” from Lucy, who then immediately looked away.
Esther’s hopes of even being friends with Lucy had come crashing down, along with her courage. As usual, she deluded herself into dreaming that anyone—especially someone as cool as Lucy—would want anything to do with her.
From then on, Esther hadn’t dared to give Lucy more than a quick nod in greeting on the rare days when they were both in the office.
Even during meetings, Lucy would rarely speak.
When she did, her voice was low and soothing and lovely and captivating.
Each time she heard that voice, Esther would hope that maybe one day Lucy would simply talk to her.
Preferably for hours and hours, so she could listen and hang onto every glorious word.
Because there was no way she could approach Lucy.
Lucy was collected and mature; she carried herself with depth and gravity far beyond anything Esther could hope to emulate.
When giving a lecture, Lucy was the definition of the “executive presence” that Gilda is constantly on her ass about.
As if Esther could ever reach the level of confidence that Lucy had.
“I don’t even know why I kept the dress. It’s not like it’ll fit me, even if I wore dresses.” Esther shakes her head. “I guess I wanted to remember the first time I saw you. You took my breath away. I was such a coward. I should have just talked to you.”
Esther isn’t sure if her own regret is growing deeper, or if Lucy would also regret that they never spoke, but a sudden ache in her chest resonates with the bitterness in her heart.
No, she is keeping the dress. As a reminder for next time—if there ever is a next time—to not be so cowardly. Even if it’s too late for a “next time” with Lucy.
Which just leaves the plant.
Before this, Esther never successfully kept a plant alive.
Her mom banned her from the kitchen garden after she accidentally flooded it while trying to help.
Not even the tough little aloe Cash gave her when she first started this job was safe.
One birthday, her old friends had gifted her with the bouquet of fake roses that still sits on her bedside table, teasing her that she probably wouldn’t kill plastic plants.
It felt like love then. Acceptance of Esther’s shortcomings.
Good-natured teasing. Now, Esther looks back and sees the callousness in how those friends treated her.
They must have thought she was so dense for not seeing it.
Now there was proof that they were all wrong.
Esther brought Lucy’s plant back from the dead.
The purple butterfly-like leaves bobbing on the long stems remind her of Lucy’s smile every time she waters it.
The fragile bell-shaped pink flowers bashfully looking down call to mind Lucy’s elegant frame nodding back at her.
The slight smile that made Esther’s heart race, whenever they made brief eye contact in passing.
The idea of giving it to Angel sits ill with her.
Even if he wants it—if he would take care of it—what would be left for her?
That plant is the only thing Esther has to care about, the only thing that brings her peace amidst the bitterness of her life.
Instead of looking across the alley for any signs of life in Lucy’s old apartment, watering the plant every Friday at ten is her ritual now.
Normally, Esther would try to connect with her students or colleagues, to try to find someone worth caring about to keep her motivated.
But with so many classes this semester, she can barely keep her head on straight.
And next semester will probably be more of the same.
Constant, thankless work, without a single person to care about, or who cares about her.
Esther takes another sip of wine, more of a gulp this time, relishing in the bitter flavor. The tannins keep her tears at bay. “I’m keeping the plant.”
It’s so hard sometimes, to keep going. Esther has always been driven—mostly out of spite and sheer willpower—to prove her worth.
She’s achieved most of her professional goals and then some.
All that’s left is a tenure-track position.
A place she can finally settle in. But for what?
She’s still alone, now more so than any other point in her life.
The sweet plant that she brought back to life is the only source of hope she has.
When the plague first started, the few friends she had—the ones who said they loved her and would never leave because they were her family now—drifted away and stopped reaching out.
Stopped responding the second there was an inconvenient distance between them.
Then she held on to hope that maybe moving to a new city with this new job would make things better.
Then Cash and his friendship kept her going.
Then all of her dreams were pinned on Lucy.
But those friends who “drifted away” grew so fucking silent, they must be actively avoiding her attempts to reconnect. Cash is dead. Lucy was never in her life to begin with, and now she never will be. No one in her family ever answers her calls—they haven’t for almost half of her life.
And so…well, Esther has this plant. This cute little purple butterfly cluster with bashful pink flowers that reminds her of Lucy.
Esther is the one who revived it. She’s the one who brought it back to life. This plant is hers now. “Yeah,” she nods, taking another slow sip of this awful wine. “Definitely keeping the plant.”