Chapter 12 #2
“You’re the one who takes forever to get ready.”
“I lose track of time!”
“You and that pout, Denny!”
Denny played coy. “What about my pout?”
“What about my pout?” Eris parroted, hiding a smile behind her mug. “Bitch.”
Denny basked in that complicity. She loved that they had their own inside jokes. And not being afraid to make mistakes or be honest.
Even though this dinner was going to be casual, she was buzzing at the idea of her parents meeting Eris. They’d love her. She just had to make sure they contained their enthusiasm. Especially Dad.
It was pouring outside, a rain so heavy it blurred the contours of the buildings with the rumble like an overflowing river.
Denny sipped her tea, eyes locked into Eris’, finding the same quiet contentment that warmed her from within.
She wanted to fetch some biscuits, but couldn’t bring herself to move.
She was dying to reach out and undo the braids at the top of Eris’ head just so she’d get to start over again, comb her fingers through that glossy mane and hear those pleased sighs that she loved so much.
Eris was quieter than usual.
She was beautiful, forehead leaning against the glass as she pensively observed the street below. The rain became her: it matched her colours, the patina of melancholy woven into her mannerisms.
How do I take that wistfulness away? Denny mused, imagining running a knuckle down Eris’ cheek. And then, more selfishly, she asked herself: Would I love you as much as I do without it?
Removing the melancholy from Eris would mean altering all she was, transfiguring her into someone else, someone who most definitely wouldn’t be the Eris sitting in front of her now. She might not even be here at all.
It’d have been so easy for them to miss that narrow window of time when their paths had crossed.
What if I’d never got that wedding commission?
What if the bride hadn’t held me back?
What if I’d taken a different route?
Denny chugged down half of her tea to try and pacify those unsettling whispers. So much had happened in just a few weeks. So much had been given to her. So much could be taken.
Eris ripped her attention from the rain. “You’re staring.”
Denny tilted her head. “You bet.”
Something funny happened to Eris’ face: it went blank, confused, then a twitch creased her forehead, and finally she rolled her eyes, going back to stare outside with a subtle curve in her lips.
“Guess we’ll be skipping leg day.”
“Uh? Oh. What about leg day?”
“We’re skipping it. We’re not going out in this weather.”
Denny let out a whiny sound. She didn’t want to skip leg day. There was this ongoing squat challenge between them and she was so close to surpassing Eris’ record.
“We’ll go tomo— Oh, shoot! I haven’t fixed my torn leggings!”
“I did it.” Eris said, in a tone that felt like a ‘Duh?’ was being omitted.
Denny’s head thudded back to the wall as she surrendered to a smitten smile. She felt so giddily helpless, with all this uncontainable love radiating off her while the recipient of it just sat there, gazing out of the window, so stoically oblivious to it.
That was what she loved most about Eris: she never assumed something was owed to her.
You had to shove things in her face for her to see them, and often even that wasn’t enough.
She hadn’t come into Denny’s life to grab everything she could and run away with it like the girls before her had done.
Eris was here with no demands, feeding off crumbs when she could’ve easily taken all of Denny and then some.
“I’d be lost without you.”
“You’ve managed just fine until now.”
“Managed? Yes. Just fine? Not really.”
Eris pierced her with one of her ‘I just can’t with you’ glares that never quite delivered the way they were supposed to because of how latently soft they were.
The hostile annoyance Eris had emanated in the beginning was gone; what was left of it was a playful, harmless shadow.
Denny was still getting used to not having to dissect every conversation to uncover hidden meanings and mind games.
Being mutually transparent took courage and a whole lot of emotional strength, but it made being together shockingly easier.
She genuinely couldn’t fathom why people lied and cheated when honesty was so simple.
She had lived in survival mode for so long that this serene happiness almost felt like a scam.
Denny knew it would take her some time to be able to fully accept that she didn’t have to guard her back and watch every step all the time. Slowly but steadily, she was learning that being with someone wasn’t so disheartening when the affection that you poured out came back to you twice as strong.
* * *
The rain persisted the next day, but Mondays were always profitable. Between walk-ins and online orders, Denny barely had time to go to the loo until mid-afternoon.
Busy days were the best and the worst at the same time: they went by fast and made her proud of her business but also caused mental burnout.
Some individuals were difficult to deal with, no matter how polite and well-meaning, especially when they couldn’t make up their mind or explain what they were looking for.
“Do these come in yellow, too?”
Denny took in the blue hydrangea the lady in the pied-de-poule peacoat had picked up from the display.
“No, sorry.”
The woman had already asked twice since walking in, fifteen minutes before. She must be one of those people who wouldn’t stop asking until they got the answer they wanted.
“Is it possible to procure them?”
“No, sorry.” If I say sorry one more time, Eris is going to come down here and slap me. “They naturally come in hues of pink, blue, and white. Or green, when the colour fades out of them.”
The lady tapped the tip of her stiletto boot. “I want this flower in yellow.”
The overstimulated child trapped under Denny’s professional mask screamed. Just the one customer even more tragic than slow thinkers: non-listeners.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible: hydrangea lacks the pigment that produces yellow.”
“So?”
“So it biologically can’t be yellow.”
“Flowers can be artificially coloured, right?”
“I wouldn’t know where to find artificially coloured hydrangeas.”
“Well, can you look?”
Denny bit down on a whimper. “My suppliers don’t stock up on artificially modified flowers.”
“Mmm.” It was almost possible to hear the rusty cogs in the woman’s brain creak into motion.
Please, please, I implore you: just accept the facts. Butchering my sanity won’t change the answer.
Her prayers were answered: the unwanted blue hydrangea was stabbed back among its peers. The lady swept a patronising look at Denny.
“I’ll check online. Thank you anyway.”
A gust of cold air blew in when she left. Denny welcomed it. She was feeling a bit claustrophobic.
Emerging from under the counter, where he’d most likely burrowed to laugh, Rocco let out a long whistle. “Once again, hats off to your self-control. I know you don’t drink, but this one deserves a shot.”
“The kind of shot that involves bullets.”
Denny couldn’t wait to be in the gym, blowing off steam. Her head was throbbing. She reached for her bottle and chugged down half of it. She needed to find a way to remember to drink without constantly relying on Eris’ reminders.
“I think you have an admirer.”
“Uh?”
Rocco pointed a finger to the window. “That bloke on the other side of the street. He’s been there for like half an hour, keeps looking this way.”
There was a man in a trench coat leaning against the streetlamp, smoking his way through a phone call. He must reside or work in the area, because Denny was certain she’d seen him before. Either way, he seemed more interested in the Mercedes parked nearby than the shop or anyone inside it.
“Maybe you have an admirer.”
Rocco gagged. “Look, I’m a man of many flaws, but you’ll never catch me fancying a dude.”
Denny gave him a fist bump.