Page 190 of The Stranger

I’d put the first arrangement straight in the bin, still annoyed that he’d had the absolute nerve to turn up at my work like he did. I never did find out who orchestrated the tête-à-tête, not that I would’ve reported it. But I might’ve roundhouse kicked that person in the face.

Anyhoo, I’d dumped the flowers—shock probably—before pulling them straight back out the wheelie bin. Even if I couldn’t bear to look at the blooms, someone would, or should, appreciate them.

Mon cœur, the first note read.

Blue hyacinths represent constancy. Forget-me-nots mean exactly what their name promises. I have not forgotten you for a single hour, Primevère.

Nor will I ever.

The day before was red chrysanthemums and ivy. I’d dropped that arrangement off at the cardiac ward.

Mon cœur,

Red chrysanthemums say I love you.

Ivy means fidelity; a bond that endures. I know flowers cannot undo what I have done, but perhaps they can say what I should have said before you left.

A different arrangement every day. Different blooms and different meanings. He’s going to run out of flowers at some point, though. Not to mention words. I hope it happens sooner rather than later.

Mon cœur,

Primroses. I must be as courageous as the bloom while I am without their namesake.

While I am without you.

White tulips ask for forgiveness.

I’m sending both because one is the truth and the other is the hope.

This was my favorite card, though I won’t ever admit to almost keeping the arrangement that was simple and sort of pure. I also won’t admit I’ve been carrying the card in my backpack since. Such a pretty sentiment from someone who deserves a throat punch.

I wish he would stop sending me flowers and words because they just make me think of him. Bad enough that he invades my dreams. Because there is no hope. None. There is no future for us. He needs to stop finding beautiful ways to make me miss him.

“Flowers.” Lavender sets down her fork.

“Yep.”

“Every day?”

“Every day for three weeks now.”

“Bunches?”

“More like…” I cast my eyes to the ceiling. “Tasteful displays. Vases and things.”

“Big?”

I shake my head.

“Red roses?”

“He’s not dumb.”

“Huh.” She pats her napkin delicately to her mouth.

“It’s weird, right?”

“What’s weird is this is the first time I’m hearing this. Your apartment didn’t look like a jungle last week.”