Page 36 of The Things That Hold Us

I take a sip of my wine.

It's ok that he didn't come. I’m sure he had a busy night, or something came up, or he just didn't feel like coming, and that's ok.

I look out over the town. Everything is so much quieter up here. There's no car noises, no lights beaming down on me. Just quiet, fresh air, with soothing music in the background.

I close my eyes, breathing in the night air.

“Sorry I’m late,” says a deep voice behind me.

I freeze, hearing his voice bringing butterflies to my stomach.

“You’re very late.” I tease.

I hear him chuckle under his breath, and hear his footsteps come closer.

“Really though. I planned on getting here earlier, but the meeting ran late, and then when I got home my sister had cooked for us.”

“You don’t have to explain, really. It’s ok.” I tell him.

“I know,” he says, and I feel the warmth of his body come up next to me.

We stand for a minute, both of us enjoying the quiet, until he speaks.

“Why are you up here tucked away by yourself?”

I turn and look at him, his eyes already on me.

“I just..I needed a minute of quiet.”

He nods, and I can tell he understands.

“I brought you something.”

As he says it, he pulls a small bouquet of marigolds from behind his back.

“I know it's not much, but I wanted to bring you something, and I saw these and thought of you.”

My heart twists, and something inside of me stirs.

Hesitantly, I grab the flowers.

“Did you pick these out on your own?” I ask him as I look at the beautiful orange flowers in my hand.

“I did. I passed a flower stand earlier, and when I saw them I just had to get them for you.”

I feel his eyes on me, assessing my reaction to the flowers and trying to figure out if I like them or not.

“Are they not ok?”

I look at the flowers. Marigolds. My favorite flower in the entire world. How. How did he know?

I feel tears start to prick my eyes, and I hate that this is making me emotional. It’s this stupid night. My birthday, the memories, theflowers.

I try to blink them away, then look up at him and see his expression drop when he sees my eyes.

“They are perfect.” I tell him, wiping at my eyes.

These emotions are not a good combination, and I hate that I’m tearing up in front of him.

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