Chapter 2 #2
Just a botanist.
The traffic flowed slowly in the soft sunset light. Denny didn’t mind. She had her music and her coffee and was able to nibble at the sandwich in between one red light and the next.
Her polyjamorous playlist jumped from upbeat pop hits, to cartoon soundtracks, to metal ballads, to heartwrenching laments that had her clutch the wheel while singing along with watering eyes.
“Don’t tear me down for all I need…”
She may or may not be a bit of a masochist when it came to songs that reminded her of too many painful memories, but no one was there to judge her and call her dramatic for spilling a tear or two.
A couple dozen songs and as many mood swings later, she was pulling over in front of the deconsecrated chapel, which was still empty and slightly ghastly in the purple light of dusk.
The door was open. She switched the lights on and a myriad of twinkling fairy lights came alive above her. The entire ceiling was covered in them, like an indoor starlit sky. Little by little, she unloaded the van, took everything inside, and got to work.
It was completely dark outside when she found herself at the end of the aisle, looking back at her hard work with a throbbing sense of pride. Between the glow-in-the-dark petunias and the fairy lights, the atmosphere was breath-taking.
A pang of jealousy dimmed her contentment.
Every day she assembled gorgeous bouquets for customers who were eager to surprise or simply spoil their partners.
She got hired to decorate venues for weddings and special occasions…
It was like looking into a fairytale from the outside, never getting to be a part of it.
She wasn’t one of those women who’d grown up dreaming about her wedding, but she had grown up watching Imagine Me & You on repeat, and that had given her unrealistic expectations about what could happen one day in her future.
Sometimes, especially on days like today, she caught herself fantasising about it: a beautiful white dress—not for tradition or virginity nonsense, but because her favourite flowers were white —, the love of her life waiting for her at the end of the aisle…
But life wasn’t a romcom—certainly not hers. She wasn’t Lucy and there would be no sweet Rachel barging into her life out of nowhere to fall in love with her against all odds. The sooner she accepted it, the better.
She’d dated plenty of women, loved some, and had had her heart broken by many. After her last, devastating breakup, her grandma had accused her of being a serial self-sabotager.
‘You have so much love to give that you don’t even mind who you’re giving it to. Never heard of quality over quantity?’
It made perfect sense. It did. It wasn’t Denny’s fault that she was a magnet for wolves in sheep’s clothing who took pleasure in sucking the joy of living out of her.
It was like the women she dated hated seeing her happy.
One of them in particular had left her so damaged that it had taken her months of therapy to move on.
Never again, she’d sworn to herself.
Hence her current self-inflicted dating ban to detox from her out-of-control ‘affection addiction’, as Grandma referred to it. Six months dating-free and going steady. But whenever she saw a merry couple being merry and coupley, the longing stirred inside her.
It was hard to be a hopeless romantic and single in her field.
And yet, in spite of everything, she was still a dreamer.
* * *
The drive back was bittersweet.
She’d stayed at the chapel longer than planned.
After seeing the glowing petunias, the bride had begged her to add some to her bouquet, which had been no easy feat.
Thankfully, Denny always brought a few spares in case of emergency and was able to fulfil the request. The bride had been so euphoric that her father had discreetly approached Denny to slip her a huge tip that had been impossible to reject.
“You made my girl’s big day unforgettable, Miss Alabi. Look at her: she’s glowing as bright as your flowers!”
Denny had grudgingly taken the money, thanking the proud father with a hint of melancholy in her smile.
She was her father’s only child and would’ve loved to see that joy on his face one day.
He and Denny’s mum had tied the knot in their mid-twenties and Denny had the impression that her latest breakup had hung a ticking clock above her head.
You’re just twenty-five, girl, get a grip.
A cheesy country ballad began to play. Denny wasn’t in the mood. She hit skip until the shuffle landed on the perfect song to distract her.
One might argue that it was twisting the knife more than a distraction, but Denny’s brain chemistry worked like that: it was easier to deal with someone else’s blues than her own.
“It’s a wonderful, wonderful life…” she sang along, because, after all, she was an optimist through and through.
It was past midnight. The traffic was gone and a light drizzle was sprinkling the windshield with wet glitter. It wasn’t good for Denny’s astigmatism, which enhanced and distorted the glare of the lights around her. She slipped her glasses on and her vision cleared.
People said she looked cute with them, but she was still getting used to them. She only really needed them to drive and to read, so the acceptance process was taking longer than normal.
She was driving by Tavistock Square Gardens when, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a commotion on the park side of the road. Slowing down, she saw a dark lump on the ground and a large man throwing kicks and curses as he laid into it.
Denny hit the brakes. Disregarding all caution, she left the van in the bus lane with the hazard lights on and rushed across the street, a small can of hairspray firmly clutched into her hand.
“Oi!” she called. The man stopped and glanced back at her, unfazed.
“Fuck off.”