A Short Story

Eleven Roses

February 15, 2024

Read time: 20 minutes

TLDR:

A man falls in love and gets a woman flowers

On the days I walked to work, I’d pass Benito’s Flower Shop. I didn’t think much of it. It blended in with the 7-11, the pizza place, the vape shop, and the grocer. I remember there was one chicken wing place I used to eat at that used to always have sticky floors. I don’t remember the place’s name, but they had good mozzarella sticks. It wasn’t until I decided to do something about this whole Emily situation that I decided to go into Benito’s Flower Shop.

Emily, naturally, had my attention. I first saw her when I took a flight of stairs up to accounting and made eye contact with her at her desk. She had this curly hair. She called it lion hair.

I thought I could get to know her through Ted. Ted was my friend. Ted was a couple of years older than me and had already been with the company for a while. He was a Dartmouth grad and was “waiting for the next big opportunity,” but we never really talked about that kind of stuff. We usually talked about sports. Ted was in accounting and worked with Emily. He knew her well enough to be on a daily email thread with her. They were on another email thread for a 1099 project that they had been working on for the last month or so. He went to her desk a handful of times with questions. Sometimes, he’d crack a joke. That was Ted and that’s what he knew about Emily.

When I passed Emily’s desk that first time, it struck a chord. Pretty soon, I’d make excuses to go to accounting just so I could pass her desk and see her. One day, I dropped my pen on purpose next to her desk. I bounced in her direction and under her desk. She leaned down to pick it up and handed me the pen. “Here ya go,” she said. I said, “Thank you, you really ought to be careful around these pens.” She snickered. I remember that all too well.

That was the extent of our interactions. Then I asked Ted about her.          

“Who’s that lady over there?”          

“Lady? Who says ‘lady?’”          

“Whatever. Who is she?”          

Ted told me Emily’s name. He said he didn’t really know too much about her. Just said that he knew her through email, Microsoft Teams, and seemed nice. That was a Thursday. I let it be for the rest of the day and through Friday. That night, Ted and I had plans to meet some friends and go out for the night. That’s when Ted brought up Emily.          

“Just ask her to come get drinks with us?” Ted said.          

“I’m not gonna ask her to come get drinks with us.”          

“You scared?”          

“No,” I said, “because you’ll be there, fool.”          

Ted laughed. He shoved me too.          

“You’re really gonna chicken out? What’s the worst thing she could say?”

***

It’s an incredible thing that happens to me when I ask a woman out. I get this thin film of sweat that forms seemingly all over my body. My heart starts racing. I am deathly concentrated on the words I say. I try to remind myself, “Just don’t say too many words.” I try to keep it short and sweet. I also try to remind myself that I don’t need to go on and on complimenting them on how they look and any other fluffy reasons I might have for why they caught my interest. Nonetheless, I can’t just ask a person out. It’s not my style. There has to be something. There has to be some sort of flair to make me stand out. It’s a delicate balancing act.

***

As I walked toward Emily’s desk, we made eye contact again. She looked away. Her eyes turned away from me and back to her computer. She noticed that I was still looking at her. I got to her desk. She pointed at me and said, “Pen guy!”          

I laughed. Meanwhile, my body continued sweating. “Yes, pen guy.” I smiled. “So hey, Ted Angelis and a couple of other guys are going out tonight. Adam Lawrence and Tyler Gnocchi are going too. He told me you might be interested in coming out.”          

She raised her eyebrows. “Um, well tonight I can’t make it. I’m going over to my cousin’s.”

“Oh, well that’s okay.”

 “It does sound fun though…” She shrugged her shoulders and moved around in her seat a bit. “Hey,” she said, “what’s your name?”

“I’m Nick, Nick Lastwood.”

“Emily Richards.” We shook hands.

“So, Ted wants to go out tonight,” she said. “And you’re the messenger boy?”

“Messenger boy?” I was stunned. I fiddled for words to  say. I said, “I don’t know, do I look like a messenger boy?

 “You sound like one.” She smiled at me and she looked good while doing it. I thought for a second.

“Hey, can I tell you a secret?”

“A secret?”

“Yeah, a secret.”

“A secret?”

“I don’t care at all about Ted or the drinks.”

Her eyebrows raised.

I said, “Can I take you on a date?”

She looked around. She looked as though she were looking for confirmation that this was actually happening. I guessed that getting asked out on her to-do list that day.

“Cool secret,” she said.

I stood there and waited for eternity. She held out her hand and said, “Here, give me your phone.” She put her number in my phone and made a new contact, “Emily Richards.” I didn’t expect it to be under the R’s section. If I put in her name, it would be under the E’s. I looked at her contact in my phone, then I looked back at her.

“Cool,” she said, “I’ll see you around.” She turned in her chair and looked back at her computer.

***

That was the prologue for this story.

No, I am not going to continue about the flowery, lovey-dovey, ups and downs of a long relationship I had with a woman named Emily Richards who later changed her name to Emily Lastwood. I’ve already told you what I can remember from that day. From there, it all went according to plan. We dated for a while. There was a fight. Then there was a big fight. But we kept on. There was a proposal. Then there was marriage. That was a fun day. We had a kid. And another. She lost a job she really didn’t want to lose. My mother got sick, unexpectedly. There have been plenty of things that have filled our lives with joy, struggle, and a sentimentality that has made life fulfilling for the both of us.

Personally, I don’t even think I did all that good a job writing out that prologue. I don’t think I did justice how I felt that day, how she felt that day. It’s something Emily and I talk about once every few weeks, whenever we talk about these things. She makes fun of me for saying that I sweated. And every once in a while, usually, when I’m cooking in the kitchen, she’ll put her hand on my lower back and whisper in my ear, “Hey pen guy.”

***

Emily and I decided we’d get together on Monday night. She asked if we wanted to go out straight from work. I told her I wanted to go home, shower, and put on some fresh clothes. She got excited by that.

After I put on my clothes for the evening, I looked up some flower shops in the area. There it was, Benito’s Flower Shop. It was on the first floor of my building.

Benito’s Flower Shop was unassuming. The signage on the outside was green and pink. It looked rugged too. The inside was brown. The floors and the walls were brown. It reminded me of my grandmother’s house. There was a sign hanging on the wall with a man and a woman. There was writing on the sign that said, “Always bring me flowers.” Then there were the flowers. The shop was filled with flowers. They brought color into the room. There were yellows, reds, pinks, oranges, and so on. When I walked in, a bell rang.

Sitting at the back of the shop was a charming looking man with olive skin and black hair. He wore a black T-shirt, a gold chain, and had gel in his hair. He leaned over the counter. He was on his phone. When he heard the bell, he picked up his head. “Hello.”

“Hello.”

I looked away. I wanted to get in and get out. Get some flowers and move along with my evening. I had Emily on my mind.

“Can I help you?”

Roses, I was looking for roses. And I spotted a bouquet that I liked. “Yeah,” I said. I grabbed a bouquet of roses and walked toward the register in the back.

“Those are good looking roses, man,” said the black T-shirt man.

“I hope so.”

“That’ll be all, sir?”

“Yup.”

He began to ring up my order.

“$15.11. Cash or card?”

I pulled out my credit card. He flipped around the card reader and held it to me.

“You made a good selection, man,” he said.

“Hey, I like roses.”      

“Every day I take a dozen roses home to my lady. Makes her happy.”

I got a phone call. It was Emily. The card reader was still charging my card.

“Hey give me one second.”

“No problem, man.”

I answered. “Emily, hey, how’s it going?”

She told me she was going to be a little late to the restaurant. I said it was going to be no problem. “Here you are, man,” said the black T-shirt man. I got nervous and put my finger over my mouth.  I was telling him to be shush. The roses were supposed to be a surprise and I didn’t want to give an inch of thought to Emily that I might be bringing flowers. Given the look that the black T-shirt man gave me, I looked like an idiot. He smiled at me. He was hiding a laugh.

“You’re all good,” I told Emily. “You’re all good.”

“Okay, great,” she said.

“Hey…I’m excited to see you,” I told her. That one was painful. I could feel it. The air was thick in my throat. I waited for her to respond.

“I’m excited to see you too.”

“I’ll see you in a bit,” I said. “Buh-bye.”

***

“You’re gonna do great, man,” said the man in the black T-shirt.

“What?” I said.

“You’re gonna do great. I can tell. You got nothing to worry about, man. You actually meant you’re excited.”

“Thanks.”

“That’s a good thing, man. Actually being excited is half the battle. Don’t worry. You got the flowers, man. What’s there to worry about?”

I stood there. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to be a philosopher or my friend. Either way, my mind was running a bit. Adrenaline flowed from answering the phone and talking to Emily. What could I say? I liked her. I was eager to see her. I paused for a second. I was just surprised how this flower shop guy was talking to me.

I said, “I guess there’s not much to worry about…first date, ya know?”

“Just bring her roses every day, man.” He smiled. I smiled back.

“Just bring her roses every day, huh?”

“Every day. Hey! Baby!” he yelled to the back of the shop.

“Yeah!” It was a woman’s voice. She walked from the back of the store and poked her head through the door.

“How often do I get you flowers?”

“Shut up.” She was playing around.

“Haha! See!”

“She loves me,” said the man in the black T-shirt. “That’s love right there, man.”

I smiled.

“But you have to buy them,” he continued. “You think I can just take from the shop and give to her? No. You have to go out and take from the world and give to her a piece of the world. Show her you care enough about the world to give a piece of it to her.”

“Don’t listen to him,” said the woman. “He thinks he can solve everything with chocolate and flowers.”

“Hey but at least we get to eat chocolate all the time!”

She smiled. She threw her pen at him, and said, “Shut up.”

He looked back at me and said, “That’s love, man.”

I said, “Hey thanks for the roses.”

“Hey have a good night, man.”

I went on my date. It was wonderful.   

***

Throughout the course of time and space, there has always been room for the flowering of human relationships. They take shape and form in the kind exchanging of names, mutual ecstasy through collective experience, and hugs. It’s what we live for.

There was something about the way that the gold-chained man in the black T-shirt and his wife were talking to one another that night. It was cute. There was something, too, about the way that he said to get Emily flowers again. It made sense. There’s never a bad time to get someone flowers. Someone dies? Flowers. It’s someone’s birthday? Flowers.

So, when the time came for Emily and I to go out on our second date, that Friday night, I went to Benito’s Flower Shop to get some flowers again. The bell rang as I opened the door. No one was at the register. Once again, the store was filled to the brim with flowers, orange, yellow, pink, and so on. I looked around and I found another bouquet of red roses. There was some noise coming from the back of the shop. A few men were talking over one another back there. It sounded like they were playing cards. I say this and I never play cards. I walked up to the register.

“Hey!” he said. “What’s going on my man?”

“Hey ya.”       

“My man! A dozen roses again?”

“A dozen roses again.”

“Hey-hey, good for you, Romeo.”

I chuckled.

“Another hot date?”

“Yes, I do.”

“New lady?”

I shook my head.

“Ahhhhhh, same lady! My man! Look at you go, Romeo. Roses again. You’re putting the moves on her, man. You got big plans, man?”

“Nothing special. Dinner and some ice cream.”

“Dinner and some ice cream, beautiful. Just beautiful. Get some chocolate in her, man. Ladies love chocolate.”

“I gotcha. I gotcha.”

“Flowers and some chocolate, man. She’ll love you forever.”

He rang me up. I handed him my credit card. “Here, you wanna see something?”

“Sure.”

He pulled out his phone. He scrolled for a few seconds. He showed me the screen. “See this.”

I looked at the phone. It was a text message chat with someone named Marie. She sent him a picture of flowers. Below the flowers was another message of an emoji. It was the blushing emoji with the blushing cheeks and the hearts all around.

“That’s my wife, man. They love it, man. They love it!”

“Apache!”

A voice yelled from the other room.

“APACHE!”

“What?!” The man in the black T-shirt snapped his back toward the shouting voices. A round man with olive skin came from around the corner.

“Can’t you open your eyes?”

“You gonna call or raise?”

“I got a customer right now.”

“C’mon, quit busting balls. You’re chopping it up out here and I’d like to keep the game moving. We got a lot to do”

Apache looked back at him and shook his head. He spoke to me, “These guys are killing me, man.”

“What are you playing?”

“Poker.” He handed me my card. “You ever play?”

“No.”

“Good game. Lotta fun. Takes the life out of you.”

“You gonna call or what?” asked the round man.

“What’s the bet?”

“Five and a half big blinds.”

Apache thought for a second. He said, “What’s the flop? Deuce of spades, deuce of clubs, six of clubs, right?”

“Yup.”

“I call.” The round man went back into the back of the shop.

“He calls!”

“Apache?” I asked. “Apache’s your name?”

“Apache,” he said. “Apache LaMonca.” He held out his hand to shake. “Nice to meet you.”

We shook hands. I said, “Nick Lastwood. Nice to meet you too.”

“Yeah,” said Apache, “my parents like western movies. I don’t know why that means I get to be named Apache. But ya know? Parents. They do whatever.”

“Yeah, I think Apache and I think some natives.”

The round man was back. “Apache!”

“Yup?”

“We flipped a seven of clubs. Cheeky checks.”

“Cheeky checks?” Apache thought for a second. “I check.” And the round man went back.

“These guys are crazy,” Apache said to me. “Sorry if they’re bothering you.”

“Nah, it’s all good. I appreciate the kindness.”

“Thank you.”

“You got a nice shop. I like it.”

“Appreciate that, man.”

The round man was back. “Apache! We flipped a queen of hearts. Cheeky bet half pot.”

“I call.”

“Hey,” I said, “have a good night now.”

“You too, man. I’ll see you around.”

I walked toward the exit. I was smiling. It was a nice thing he had going here. It made me feel good to come to Benito’s. It gave me some pep in my step. In the back of the shop, I heard a collective scream. Then someone yelled, "Flush!" 

Our date went great and I thought about what Apache said, how he gets flowers for his wife every day. We ended up going back to Emily’s place that night. We stayed up until five in the morning. We just kept on talking. When we woke up it was around noon. Emily went to make us some coffee. I followed her into her kitchen. She pointed to the roses, smiled, and said, “Thanks for the flowers.”

***

The next time I saw Apache was next Tuesday night. Emily and I didn’t have a date, but I was going over to Emily’s for the night. I got in, got some roses, got out, and had a good night. Apache called me Romeo again. On Friday, I went out for a run before going to work. When I got back to my building, there was a truck outside of Benito’s Flower Shop dropping off a delivery of flowers. Apache was outside smoking a cigarette. He asked me if I wanted one. I don’t smoke anymore, but I took one anyway. We talked about our lives. He asked me about “the lady” as he put it. I asked him about his wife. I came back to Benito’s every now and again. I’d be there every once in a while. Sometimes I’d miss Benito’s for a week or two, but then I’d be back. And Apache would say, “Hey! What’s up, my man?”

Up until that point, that was the best year of my life. I had been in relationships before, but none like Emily. It’s funny, I learned a lot from my prior relationships. I feel that there was a lot of my own ego involved beforehand, at least from me. I’d say things like, “vulnerable” and “honesty” with other girlfriends I had, but I never truly was. I’d get about 99% of the way there and then I’d always leave something out. It’d be something about my dad. Or it would be something about my friends growing up. To be honest, I was never really honest with myself. For me, that kind of stuff was always tough. With Emily, we talked about all of that. I told her about my past. I told her about the scar on my neck.

Apache told me about his wife, his kid, and poker. I told him about playing hockey growing up and getting beaten up by my older brother. I told him about how my brother and I get together for dinner once a week. Apache told me I should get him flowers too. I laughed and said, “He’d beat me up if I got him flowers.” I ended up having anywhere between ten and fifteen cigarettes with Apache. Those were the last ten to fifteen cigarettes of my life. Apache used to be an investment banker. He is a first-generation immigrant. He moved on to home loans. Now, he’s able to do loans on his own. He did loans for the round man, Cheeky, and everyone he plays cards with. Apache did their loans for their homes. He told me about Benito’s Flower Shop. As it turns out Benito is Apache’s father.

***

It was a couple of days after Emily and I’s first anniversary. It was a Friday. We had already hugged and kissed each other and said, “Happy anniversary,” but we waited until the weekend to give ourselves some quality time to celebrate. After work, I got myself ready for the night and went to Benito’s Flower Shop. It was raining outside. I was carrying an umbrella. I got to the shop and the bell rang. The shop was empty.

I had never seen that much brown inside of Benito’s Flower Shop. Yes, there were flowers here and there. But the shop was bare. There was only about a quarter of the color that there usually was. There was purple and red. That was about it. Marie stood at the counter. I said, “Hello Marie.” She said, “Hello, Nicholas.” She always called me Nicholas. I grabbed my flowers and walked toward the register.

The bare shop was on my mind. It was never ever bare. I felt a bit weird asking about it. A part of me didn’t want to intrude. Maybe business was down? But I was curious. In between the steps of the roses and the register, I found a nice way to ask. I didn’t ask about business. I didn’t ask about money. I asked why there were so few flowers in the shop.

“Apache didn’t tell you?”

“Apache didn’t tell me what?”

Marie took a deep breath. She looked up to the sky.

"Apache has cancer.”

My face froze.

“We’re moving to Florida.”

My eyes moved down. I felt my dog had just been put down.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

The silence was dense. The air wasn’t breathable. My arms, my legs, and my spine froze. My chest felt heavy. I asked, “Is he gonna be alright?”

“I don’t know.” Her lips pursed. Her face tightened. “Look, Nicholas, this is from Apache.”

It was a Benito’s Flower Shop greeting card. I opened it. Inside were flowers. Written inside said:

Nick,

Thanks for everything.

Apache

Marie cashed me out. There were a few more cards on the table. One of them I could see into. There were roses inside and Apache’s writing.

“When are you leaving?”

“Today’s the last day. Apache is already down there. Once we close tonight, we’re done.”

I looked down at the dozen roses. I pulled one out and handed it to Marie. “Here,” I said, “you have one for yourself and Apache.” She looked at the rose. Her eyes glossed. “Thank you, Nicholas.”

***

I got to Emily’s and dusted myself from the rain. We said hello to each other and gave each other a kiss. I said, “Happy anniversary.” She said it back and we kissed again. Emily poured us some wine and we talked about our day. Work was work. She talked about her mom and her dad. Apparently, their anniversary was earlier this week too. It was their thirty-third wedding anniversary. They did the same thing we were about to do, go out for a nice steak dinner. “What about you,” she asked, “how was your day?”

I thought about Apache.

It’s funny, it’s one of those things in life. I’ve brought her flowers a million times and I’m quite certain I never told anything about Benito’s Flower Shop. I said, “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you about Benito’s Flower Shop.”

She shook her head.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you about Apace either.”

“Who’s Apache?”

My eyes began to water.

Time for a Joke:

How does a flower whistle?

By using its tulips.