Chapter Twenty-eight
Sean
We’re still at the lake house on Sunday. The two of us are lost at the end of the world, content with the isolation.
“What do you want for lunch?” I ask.
Flora sighs, as if eating is hard labor. “I’m not that hungry. Maybe check the fridge to see if there’s anything edible.”
There are rows of bottled mineral water inside, a block of cheese, and not much else.
Like the one in her apartment, the kitchen is gleaming white and fully equipped with stainless steel appliances.
The marble countertop is shiny and spotless, and sitting on top, there’s an assortment of high-end gadgets, including a rice cooker and three different types of toasters.
“My dad would kill for a kitchen like this. How often do you guys come here?”
“Every two or three months, I think. Jeremy stops by occasionally. We don’t really use the kitchen, but we have stuff just in case. My parents want me to feel comfortable when I have friends over.”
It must be cool never having to worry about things like scholarships and scraping by for a trip.
But despite having everything handed to her, Flora remains so kind and genuine.
Her parents must know what they’re doing to trust her like this.
I sift through the shelves, finding a pack of pasta and a can of tomato paste wedged between a bottle of soy sauce and a half-used jar of chili crisp. “Want to have pasta?”
“You can cook?”
“Not really, but let’s find a recipe online. Shouldn’t be harder than a chemistry experiment, right? There’s more room for error.” And I feel bad that no one uses this nice kitchen.
As I put a pot of water on to boil, Flora leans against the island in a silk robe, the fabric clinging to her in a way that doesn’t leave much to the imagination.
I add the spaghetti to the pot as the water comes to life with bubbles.
The package says it takes seven minutes.
On another stove, I heat up the tomato sauce.
She makes an exaggerated sound of appreciation when she tastes it.
She hops onto the counter, crossing her legs. I drop the wooden spoon, and she wraps her legs around my waist, tugging me closer. I cup her face and kiss her.
The timer goes off. Right. The noodles.
“I should turn off the stove,” I murmur, not really caring.
She responds by kissing me harder.
The noodles are getting limper by the second while I . . . well, I’m not. If we keep this up, we’ll never eat. I pry myself away, and she heads to the living room to lounge in front of the TV. When I bring out two plates of spaghetti, she digs in.
Dropping her fork, she nods as she chews. “So good.”
I take a bite. It’s completely overdone.
“We need some good wine with it,” she says.
“To be honest, good wine is a waste on me.”
“You need to awaken your senses! Let me enlighten you.” She heads back to the kitchen.
There’s the sound of a cork popping, the clinking of glass against the counter, and the faint sound of liquid sloshing before she returns.
“I have two glasses. One of them is from a bottle of Chianti, and the other is cheap supermarket wine Josie left behind.”
Only Flora would spring a wine tasting on me out of nowhere. What I wouldn’t give to have a can of Pepsi right now.
“Close your eyes. Okay, the first one.” She lets me smell first, then the cold glass presses to my lips. I take a sip.
“Do you like it?”
It tastes like . . . wine. “Yup.”
She feeds me again. “How about this one? Which one do you prefer?”
There’s no difference, so I take a random guess and open my eyes. “The first one.”
She sets down the glass with a sigh. “Sean, it’s the same glass.”
“That’s unfair. It was a trick question!”
“I love you so much, I couldn’t bear to give you cheap wine.”
I smile. “I don’t care. Cheap wine suits me fine.”
She exhales with a frown. “You don’t appreciate the finer things in life. It breaks my heart.”
“That’s not true,” I protest. “I appreciate you. You’re the finest thing in my life.”
“But this is part of me.” She gestures to the wine bottle. “As well as designer clothes, gourmet food, extravagant parties-—these are the things that matter to me.”
“Come on, you’re so much more than that. You’re not just about money.”
“No, it’s not about money. I knew you’d say that because you don’t get it. It’s about developing taste,” she says, her frown getting deeper. “If you never try new things, you’ll miss out on a lot.”
Some of us don’t have the luxury to try new things all the time, and I’m still in high school. Besides, I’m so broke after Lindsey’s party, I can’t even afford to try old things right now. But why worry about money when Flora cares about my opinion? She just wants to share her interests with me.
“I’m sorry. Let’s try again. Tell me what’s so amazing about this wine so I can impress everyone at my next dinner party.” I make a big show of searching for a piece of paper, preparing to jot down notes. “Now, what’s this supposed to taste like?”
She rotates the glass counterclockwise, letting the dark-red liquid coat the sides before it runs down in slow stripes.
“Chianti is like the little black dress of wine—elegant and timeless. The Sangiovese grapes give it acidity, which is why it works so well with tomato sauce. Do you get hints of flowers or berries or minerals? Think earth notes, like truffles.”
Truffles? Flora made me truffle cream sandwiches yesterday, and it was nothing remotely similar to this. “Are you sure you’re not just reading off the label?”
She narrows her eyes, even though her lips are curving up. “It’s not on the label. Don’t insult my extraordinary taste buds.”
“All right then. You mentioned flowers. What kind of flowers?”
“What do you mean what kind of flowers?”
“Can you be more specific?” I place the pen over my notes. “In case you don’t know, I’m a model student, and I need full comprehension.”
“This isn’t a written test. But if you must know, I’d say violets.”
I cross out the word flower and put violet underneath. “What kind of minerals?”
“You’re impossible.” She shakes her head and laughs. Her laugh is the part that sticks with me.
* * *
Josie is sitting by herself on the lawn when I arrive at school on Monday, headphones wrapped around her head. Instead of joining the other girls for their giant lattes, this is her version of breakfast. She feeds herself on enough rock and roll to get her through the day.
“I got invited to see this band, Birch Grove, perform at the Crocodile on Friday. You know, that grungy venue near Belltown,” she says when I sit down next to her. “Wanna come?”
I’m her go-to whenever Brian is busy at university. A week ago, I would’ve agreed right away, but now I hesitate. “Let me ask Flora if she’s up for it,” I say, even though it isn’t her cup of tea.
Josie doesn’t miss a beat, and the realization clicks into place on her face. She’ll stop asking me to hang out since I’m back in a relationship. “Of course, ask Flora to come! And congrats, by the way. Finally, the pair of you came to your senses.”
“Yeah, and now you know everything.”
“No need for me to point out the obvious. If you had confided in me, at all, at any point during junior year—”
I groan. “I get it. I brought this on myself. In the future, I’ll report everything to you firsthand. Want to subscribe to our newsletter?”
“No, thanks, I’ve got limited space on my email server.”
“I still can’t believe I have her back.” Flora was my first thought this morning and has stayed on my mind ever since.
Josie pats me on the shoulder. “She’s one step away from tattooing your name on her forehead. Glad to see you’re taking this seriously too. But also, you’re different people at the core, and it’s important to develop common interests—”
“We have common interests. You wouldn’t believe what I did this weekend. I was wine tasting. I’m now an expert on tannin and oak notes.”
“Well, I’m happy for you.” She couldn’t fake that smile of genuine approval even if she wanted to. Josie is the greatest friend I could ever hope for, even though I sideline her whenever I’m in a relationship.
“Let me know if you need my advice on anything. Picking out a baby name, for example.”
“We’ve got that covered. Flora will name it Christian. Middle name Dior.”
She laughs. “If you hurry, you can catch Christian’s mom before class.”
* * *
Flora is hanging around Madison’s locker with Carmen. I seem to have developed tunnel vision—she’s in the center, and everything else defocuses.
“I heard Flora took you back,” Madison says as I approach. “How wonderful. I mean, recycling is good for the environment.”
“Congrats!” Carmen, ever the balance to Madison’s negativity, beams. “It’s great you guys worked things out.”
“If you hurt her again”—Madison jabs a finger at me—“I’ll make sure you regret every second for the rest of your miserable life.
And let me clarify the question on everyone’s mind—how stupid could you be?
I thought you were a cruel jackass, but now it’s clear you’re just an idiot.
You owe us all a massive apology for the emotional turmoil you put us through. ”
“Okay, I deserve that,” I say. “But can we do a onetime roast and get it over with? Instead of reliving this every time you see me?”
“Way to make this about you, Mads,” Flora says, smiling. “Don’t you need to go eat some small children or something?”
“Small children are hardly vegan.” Madison chuckles anyway, like an afterthought. “I meant to say congratulations too. It came out wrong because I’m a bit allergic to happy people.”
“Thanks.” I’m too happy to come up with a comeback.
Flora grabs my elbow and waves goodbye to her friends. “Excuse us. We need to go and be happy now.”
When she leads me over to the side of the building to kiss me, I don’t protest. We’ve become the kind of annoying couple who makes out in public, but considering everything, we’ve earned it. For three days, at least.
It’s not easy to pull apart but we manage. I have to remind myself she’s going to class instead of to war. I walk her to her classroom even though I’ll be late to mine.
“See you at lunch,” she says.
The bell rings. She leaves a whiff of jasmine on my sleeve.
* * *
My life begins to be divided up into fragments, and the chunks of time in between become irrelevant, lost in the static.
It’s transformed into a conveyor belt of waking up, catching Flora before class, a blur, then lunch, then history class, where I stare at her chocolate-colored head from three rows behind.
Another blur, class ends, and we spend every last drop of time together.
The boundary of reality dissolves into a field of jasmine.
We went to the show with Josie. We attended the homecoming dance together, dancing exclusively with each other, staying true to our tradition. My dad snapped another photo before we left, which I shared on my account, bringing my total posts to six.
One day in history class, Flora and I text each other until my phone runs out of power.
Flora: Dear Sean, it’s very difficult for me to concentrate with you radiating heat from 3 rows behind. I want to serve you in your chamber
Sean: Dear chambermaid, we’re on page 213. Stop fantasizing about my hotness
Flora turns to wink at me, and all the words from page 213 melt away.
* * *
“What is it about Flora that keeps you crawling back for more?” Jake asks at lunch a few days later, and Dylan gives me a look that can only be described as inappropriate. “If you’re willing to branch out, I hear some juniors are very into your whole broody, tortured energy.”
“Jacob, I don’t have tortured energy. And no, thank you.”
Right then, Flora slides into the seat next to me, trailing a hand along my shoulder blades. “What are you guys talking about?”
“I’m telling him he can do better than you.” Jake grins. “I’m sick of all your friends. I was hoping Sean could bring some fresh blood into this group, but we’re stuck with you again.”
Flora swipes a handful of fries off my tray and pelts him with them. Jake laughs, ducking just in time.
“Are you coming to my place Saturday night for the game?” Dylan asks me. It’s our custom to watch NBA games together, especially the important ones. This year Dylan’s basketball captain, and his obsession with strategy is even more intense.
“Saturday?” Flora checks the calendar on her phone. “Saturday’s fine. We’re free.”
“I didn’t invite you,” Dylan says. “Nothing personal, it’s a bro thing.”
“You’re watching the live broadcast?” Flora picks up a fry and nibbles at it. “Then that means you’re not interested in free tickets.”
I arch my eyebrows. “You have tickets?”
“No big deal, but they’re lower-level sideline seats. Close enough to see the sweat.” She shrugs, her diamond earrings catching the light as they shimmer through her hair. “My dad’s client—anyway, I’m going to sell them online. Seems like watching TV is the cool way to go.”
“Take me! Please!” I place my hand over hers. “I’m not friends with these people.”
She must have more than two tickets. Flora doesn’t flaunt unless she’s offering.
“How many tickets do you have?” Jake asks.
“It depends,” Flora says, “on how nice you are to me for the next five minutes.”
I try not to smile as they scramble to butter her up. How is it even possible that being Flora’s boyfriend keeps getting better?
“I’ll end you if you ever break up with her.” Dylan points a steady finger at me, a firm show of loyalty to Flora, the ticket holder. “You’ll never know peace again.”
Jake nods along. He puts a hand over his mouth and whispers loudly, just so she can hear and laugh. “Break up with her after the game.”