Absolute Beginners(83)

“If I pick out some flowers, can you make them into a bouquet?” She nodded and smiled. It wasn’t the first time that I’d bought a woman flowers, but usually I would just choose a ready-made bouquet. I hadn’t ever made one myself. I started grabbing whatever I thought Julia might like. Some pretty pink flowers that reminded me of the color of her lips, some purple ones that smelled incredible, just as she always did, and some white ones with silky soft petals, like her skin. I kept picking out flowers whenever I found one that made me think of her and finally handed all of them to the florist, who gave them a dubious look.

“Are you sure these are the ones you want?” she asked gently.

From her expression I could tell that I was probably committing what would be considered a major faux pas in the world of floral arrangements, but I didn’t care.

“I’m sure,” I said confidently and watched as she turned them into a bouquet.

When she held it up for me to see I smiled. It was Julia in floral form. Seemingly mismatched colors and shapes that became beautiful when you put them all together. Julia was anything but ordinary, color-coordinated, and safe. She was wild, passionate, and bursting with life, just like the bouquet. It was perfect for her, and she was perfect for me. I paid and didn’t even care about the ridiculously high price. I just hoped that it would make her smile. I gave the woman Julia’s address and enclosed a card with the bouquet.

“Dear Julia, thank you for forgiving me. I miss you and I cannot wait to see you on Tuesday. Sincerely, Stephen.”

I wanted to write “Love, Stephen,” but I knew that I couldn’t do that. I left the shop feeling much better and I hoped that Julia would call or text me when she got the flowers the next day.

But she didn’t. The weekend passed without a single word and she didn’t update her Facebook page, either. To say that I was miserable would have been a gross understatement. I didn’t understand what she was thinking and doing. Did she enjoy torturing me? Why would she kiss me passionately one night and then ignore me afterward? I didn’t understand at all.

On Tuesday I was excited and anxious to finally see her, but she didn’t show up for class. I tried calling her after I returned home, but it went straight to her voicemail. I flopped down on the couch, feeling frustrated, angry, and most of all hurt. For the first time in years I felt moisture beginning to pool in the corners of my eyes and I wiped them angrily.

You’re a grown man, for God’s sake.

I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the pain in my chest, until I finally curled up in a ball and fell asleep.

* * *

I woke up when I heard the doorbell ringing. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, surprised to see that it was almost dark outside. I had slept for several hours. I walked to the door and the second I opened it I was attacked. Warm, soft lips pressed against mine, kissing me hungrily, and small, eager hands explored me all over. It took me a second to register that Julia had practically jumped me in my hallway.

What is she doing?

“Julia! Julia!” I choked out between frantic kisses.

She pulled back for a second and I caught a glimpse of her eyes. They were red-rimmed and teary. She launched herself at me again and her hands were everywhere. Everywhere.

Oh God, I have to stop. She feels so good, but something’s wrong.

Somehow, I found the strength to gently push her off me. She groaned in frustration and whirled away from me, stomping inside my apartment. I was temporarily stunned and needed a minute to collect myself before I followed her into the living room, where I hesitated to approach her. She stood with her back to me, smoking a cigarette. I didn’t say anything about it; frankly, I couldn’t have cared less in the moment. Something was clearly going on with her. I noticed that she was wearing a black dress, much more conservative than her usual style, and her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. She looked different than I’d ever seen her.

“What’s wrong?” I finally plucked up the courage to ask.

“What makes you think anything is wrong?” she shot back, taking another angry pull of her cigarette.

“You’re smoking. You only smoke when you’re partying or if you’re upset about something.”

“You think you know me just because I let you fuck me a few times?”

I inhaled sharply. How could she be this cruel to me? Then, her shoulders slumped and I noticed her hands were shaking.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. “I don’t know why I said that. I should go.”

She turned to walk past me, but I held onto her shoulders and made her look up at me. Her eyes were filled with unshed tears and she looked like she hadn’t slept since I saw her last.