Page 8 of Rosie and the Dreamboat
He seems to be thinking. “Dusty plastic. What’s yours?”
“I’ll never admit it, outside of involuntary confinement.”
“I’m leaning closer ... my ear’s on the seal ... I simply must know ...”
“I love peace lilies.”
“I can’t believe you admitted that. Rosie, goodlord. My perception of you has changed.”
“Really?”
Oh.Is this why he’s being so friendly-flirty? If he’s seen Bree, he’ll be disappointed by her understudy. I’m going to crawl out of this tank in a towel looking like the girl fromThe Ring. I already know that he’ll chortle when I do.
I’m pretty sure he has a great smile.
He interrupts the thought. “I have no idea what a peace lily is, but I’m googling it. Okay. What’s so embarrassing about that?”
“They’re the Basic Bitch of indoor plants, but I just like the way they’re so dramatic. You’ll walk by one, and it’s drooping flat. You’ll think it’s just about dead. Run over by a truck, surely. Then you soak it in a sink for an hour, and suddenly it’s upright, saying,I’m fine, I’m fine, I can live.Until the next time it’s nearly dead. They’re the fainting Victorian ladies of the plant world.”
“Your tank’s lit up like a light bulb, so I’m guessing plants are your passion.”
“That’s where I work. A boutique plant store. Nothing as noble as being a first responder. Or a lawyer, or any of the other ‘real careers’ my parents have dreamed up for me.”
“Hey, we have keeping things alive in common. I must have been a peace lily in my past life.”
“Why?”
“As Ma would say, I have my moods. Some days, I really need to be soaked in a sink for a while.”
I can’t believe he’s letting me have this punch line. “It’s highly overrated.”
The metal is a conduit, allowing his electric laugh to pass through into the water, my skin, and my bones. There are those colors again—swirling and oozing, iridescent in the dark.
“I love your laugh,” I tell him before I can censor myself. “It’s got a color to it.”
“What color is it?”
“Milky pastel rainbow.”
“Sensory deprivation has truly kicked in, huh?” More to himself, he adds, “Never had a compliment on my laugh before. Milky pastel rainbow. What’s it like in there?”
“May I complain?”
“Permission well and truly granted. That’s why I’m sitting here. Vent at me.”
“The water in here is so slimy, it’s like lying inside a slug’s stomach.”
He splutters, “Good LORD.”
“The salt stings in the cracks of my lips. Please don’t slap the lid again, because it drips from the lid into my eyes. I keep hitting the walls with my elbows. My bladder is comingonline, and the waiver I signed said that if I pee in this thing, it’s a thousand-dollar tank-cleaning fee.”
“Just before we get it open, empty yourself in that thing like a squid releasing her ink.” Surely, he’s raising a clenched fist, because he used a Viking voice. “A slug’s stomach? Rosie, your mind. Goddamn, your mind.”
“My mind? Your mind!” I start laughing.
“I wasn’t aware I had a mind until about one minute ago. What else? Any other grievances? Don’t have to be tank related.”
“My parents, and all my potential soulmates, look at my sister, rather than me. But that’s okay, she’s the full package. My stomach is growling like crazy. That’s about it. All my petty grievances are officially aired.”
