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Afork clattered onto a plate, disrupting the tranquil room asMomgaped at the stunning arrangement.Zanestudied the flowers from across the table, quickly grew bored, and returned to his meal with mechanical precision.Myeyes were also on the oversized bouquet, instinctively knowing they were fromhim.Sendingflowers to my house was unprecedented, but at least the unwanted relatives were gone, and they didn’t bear witness to this.
Asigh escaped the lips of my two-year-old cousin, nestled contentedly in my lap.Withhis parents spending the night in the city,Ioffered to babysitNeil, hoping his presence would alleviate the gut punchIreceived last night.Guiltwasn’t somethingIsuccumbed to, but this felt damn close to it.Damonwas meant to distract me fromRose’saccident, not the personIneeded a distractionfromforRose’ssake.
Icleared my throat. “Thankyou,Rachel.Wasthere a card?”
“Yes.”
Rachelextended a tiny envelope.Myfingers hesitated before pulling out the engraved note concealed within.
Toyour many firsts
Mylips throbbed with the memory ofDamon'sassault on them.Kissingalways seemed frivolous to me, a pointless indulgence that delayed gratification.Ialready limited distractions such as sex to once a year.Although, sinceDamonbulldozed into my life, the notion of his tongue stroking mine more than annually didn’t seem so bad.
Therewas only one rational explanation for deviating from my usual frame of mind.Iwas experiencing a psychotic breakdown.
Ialways assumed going mad would at least be entertaining, but so far, it had brought forth unwelcome emotions.Damon’sincessant stream of texts didn’t help.Myresolute loyalty toRosewavered under the weight of his unfaltering attention.
PerhapsIwasn’t givingRoseenough credit.Shemight’ve acted irrationally on the night she fell because she was drunk.Maybeshe’d be happyIfinally found someone who intrigued me.
Itwas wishful thinking.Noone had such a strong reaction unless they were hopelessly in love.Damonmight not be at fault for encouragingRose’sadvances, but she still fell for him.Whocould blame her?
Despitethe disappointing menIhad encountered,Damonwas a good apple in a bushel of rotten ones.Hiscontributions to suicide prevention programs and generosity as the leading benefactor for countlessALSresearch facilities testified to his integrity.Thewidely acclaimed philanthropist had covertly turned me into a fan of his.Iwas supposed to be his enemy but reluctantly admitted long ago thatDamonwas exceptional.Unbeknownstto him,Damonembraced a cause holding deep personal significance to me.Hispursuits resonated with the core of my being, embodying the moralsIlacked.
UnlikeRose.
Rosewas a better choice forDamonin every way.Shewas kind and possessed endless compassion.Rosewould mold into his life and could give him the one thingIcouldn’t.Love.
Momwaited for me to acknowledge the elephant in the room, brimming with curiosity.Unableto hold back, she blurted, “Pleasetell me those aren’t fromParis.They’retoo beautiful to be burned.”
Mylips tilted to one side.Thelast timeParissent me flowers,Iburned them in the sink, inadvertently setting off the fire alarm.Thatday,Ilearned a valuable lesson: the extinguishers dispersed solely for real fires.
“Someonedid their research,”Momadded slyly, hoping for a hint about the secret sender of flowers.
Yes.Damonhad gone to great lengths to procure my phone number and favorite flowers.Thename paid homage to my favorite aunt andNeil’smother,Dahlia.Blackwas also the only color that didn’t make my skin crawl.
“Piya,”Zanedrawled, “Ifyou want to know who they’re from, ask her.”Hehad a habit of speaking about me as ifIweren’t in the room, often referring to me in the third person rather than addressing me directly.
Momchose not to pry. "Poppy, it's up to you if you want to tell me who they’re from."
“Afriend,”Ireplied dispassionately.
Myeyes strayed toRachel’sretreating figure as she set the vase in the other corner of the room.Zane’sirritating voice interrupted the beautiful haze.
“Didyou make up your mind about the casket?”Heslid a brochure toMom.
“Howabout this one?”Mompressed an index finger onto the booklet.
Zanewrinkled his nose. “It’spink.”
“It’scute.”
“Wearen’t getting buried in a pink casket.”
Myeyes twitched from across the table.What?
Mom’sbright eyes danced with amusement. “Whatif only my side of the coffin is pink?”
Piercinga piece of broccoli with my fork,Itwisted the utensil against the fine china. “DidImiss an invitation to your upcoming murder-suicide pact?”
