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And I see flowers. A sea of flowers drying up. Their petals rain down onto the surfaces below, and I don’t have the will to throw them out or order new ones, so they sit as a sad testament to my life before.
Once again, I wonder how it was so easy for him to just walk away. After checking my phone to make sure I didn't miss any calls or texts, I toss the device onto my bed along with my purse. I strip out of my fitted dress and pull on some comfy sweats and a tee-shirt. I need the comfort right now.
Letting my blonde hair out of the tight bun I’d worn today, I shake my head, freeing the natural waves that are accentuated by the twist and coil of the bun. As I run my fingers through my hair, I feel an ache in my scalp, like the hairstyle left bruises behind.
And I want to cry.
Not about the scalp pain.
About Clifton.
The phone rings and I practically pounce on the thing. Disappointment floods me as I realize it's not Clifton calling but Katie. I just don't have the energy right now, so I refuse the call and send her a quick text.
Hey, not feeling great. What’s up?
It’s not her - I don't want to talk to anyone or hear anyone or see anyone, except maybe Clifton. Right now, I kind of just want to be alone with my thoughts and memories.
I know she’s my best friend and confidant, and she's been there for me through thick and thin, that she's helped me through good times and bad times and experienced the joy and the sorrow by my side. But this? This is just too much. I don't want to drag her into this mess when I can’t even handle it myself.
Are you okay? Her concerned message has me blinking back tears again.
If there's one person that I don't want to lie to about this, it's my best friend. But what choice do I have? I can't exactly tell her the truth now can I?
I’m okay. I bite down on my lip as I send the message, hating that I'm saying that to her. I wince at her follow up message.
Is Clifton okay?
Is he? I have no idea. The man won't talk to me. I feel a jolt of pain in my chest, and I wonder how to tell her that he’s gone. We broke up.
I'm just not in a place where I can discuss this, but I worry my best friend isn't going to let it go.
Ohmygosh, what happened? Are you okay? Do you need anything?
He broke it off via text a few days ago. I’m okay. Don’t need anything. How are things going with you? I don't want to give any more details than I already have. It hurts too much to think about it. I'm not ready to talk. I can only hope that by changing the subject she'll take the hint that I don't want to talk about Clifton, the breakup, or anything else.
She doesn't respond right away, and I wonder if she's angry with me for brushing her off. I don't blame her for not being a very good friend.
But then she texts again. I'm sorry, Emma. I'm here if you need me. My job is okay. Nothing exciting, Just the usual stuff.
I feel a sense of relief as I read those words. I can't help but be grateful that she knows when to back off. She's the best friend a girl could ask for.
You’re the best. I love you.
She responds right away. I love you, too, Em. Take care of yourself, okay?
I try to imagine taking care of myself as I text her back. I will.
When I put the phone down, I feel a little bit better and I glance at myself in my mirror, trying to figure out what I should do next. Katie's right; self-care would probably be a good idea.
But before I can decide what I want to do to help ease the tension within me, I hear the doorbell ring. I hope whoever it is, they don't mind me in my sweats and tee-shirt.
Some small silly part of me hopes that it's Clifton at the door. But when I pull the door open, it’s a delivery man on the other side, holding a vase with a beautiful arrangement of lilies, green ferns, and pale purple irises. “Delivery for Emma,” he says, pressing them into my hands with a smile.
I stare at the flowers in disbelief, stunned both by their beauty and the fact that they are a cruel reminder of what I've lost.
“Thank you,” I whisper around a lump in my throat. I had forgotten that he set up automatic orders before he dumped me. I'm sure he forgot to cancel it.
Closing the door behind him, I glance down at the sweet-smelling flowers. For the first time in my life I'm unsure what to do with flowers. So I walk into my kitchen and put the flowers on the table, pushing aside the dead ones I’ve yet to clean up.
