Carnations

                The shop is alive, filled with bustling people digging for change or trying to remember where they last put their debit card. The aroma of coffee beans and freshly baked scones fill the air. To the mind it should give a sense of harmony, but with all the voices and scuffling feet, the feeling doesn’t penetrate my brain. I sit in the corner at a small round table, my legs crossed and my hair slung over my shoulders. My hands are wrapped around a cup of orange pekoe tea, keeping them warm. I stare out the window, breathing slowly, my thoughts blank.

                A pink delivery van pulls up next to the shop, “Fleur’s” written on the side with roses decorated around the words. A young man steps out from the driver’s side, strolling to the back and opening the doors. Thousands of flowers are in the back, every shape and size and forming a rainbow. All the bouquets are brilliantly arranged. The young man grabs one filled with yellow and pink carnations, carrying it inside. He stops at the door, peering around the busy shop with sharp eyes, and lays them on me. He walks towards me, holding out the bouquet.

                “These are for you.”

                Dumbfounded, my mouth was still, no words coming to mind of what I should say. He hands me the carnations, and I cradled them in my arms. Who sent these? Why? I wanted to ask the man all these questions, but he simply turned around and went back to his van, closing the doors and driving away. I looked down at the bouquet, the fragrance of it flowing up into my nose. It smelled like a little bit of heaven. A few people were staring at me, probably also pondering why I had received these flowers. I ran my hands over them, embracing the feel of their velvet petals. But something felt wrong. I traced my hand back, and felt something hard and thin. I pulled a small index card. I smiled, knowing I would find out who the mystery flower-sender was.

                Meet me under the willow tree in the park.

                My smile formed into a frown, for the message was typed. Curiosity raced in my heart. I drank the last of my tea, and took the flowers in my arms again as I left the shop. The park was not far, only a couple blocks. When I arrived, I sought out the grand willow tree, its branches touching the ground and creating a thick curtain. I held onto the bouquet with one hand as I drew the curtain back with the other, entering the shade.

                “I knew you couldn’t resist.”

                He leaned against the trunk, holding one pink carnation in his hand. Smiling, he strode towards me and placed the flower in my bouquet, taking my hand in his. I only stood and gazed at his face.

                “What are you doing?”

                “I’m here to ask for your forgiveness.”

                I let my hand slip from his, and looked down at the bouquet. They glowed in the shadows on the branches; a light in the darkness.

                “But . . . You forgot . . .”

                “I know.”

                “It’s been a year . . . It’s supposed to be special.”

                “And it is. I spend all my time thinking about you yourself, that I forget the real world sometimes.”

Softly laughing, he brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, leaving my cheek embraced in his palm.

                “Ironic, isn’t it?”

                He raised my chin up so our eyes met.  Deep blue, his were like the ocean. When I looked into them, it was like everything around me faded away, and it was just us. That’s the way I wanted it to be. Crouching down, I placed the bouquet on the grass, and clutched both of his hands. They were warm. He pressed his body up against mine, putting on hand on my waist. He was warm. He was my own sun.

                “I’m sorry . . . I am truly in love with you.”

                The past and the future didn’t matter, it was the present that we lived in. So I wrapped my arms around his neck and brought him closer.

                “I forgive you.”

                He kissed me.