Petals and Plot Twists (Only Magic in the Building)

by Jenny Proctor

If my life were a romantic comedy, I’m not sure I’d be the main character. I have more of a quirky sidekick vibe. Bubbly, supportive personality. Big hair. A treasure trove of funny anecdotes—mostly dating mishaps—to make the main character feel good about her own life and prospects. I do want to fall in love. More than anything. I just haven’t figured out the secret. I haven’t figured out how to capture that main character energy. Or maybe the problem is that I haven’t found my hero. If he’s even out there at all.

“Maybe the guy you’re supposed to be with isn’t on a dating app. Maybe he’s someone you already know.” He lifts a hand and hooks it around the back of his neck. “Someone you work with, maybe. Or…I don’t know. Someone you met in school.”

As a data scientist, I have a graduate degree that taught me how to analyze information, look for trends, interpret patterns in data, and make projections about what’s likely to happen next. Which is why, when all evidence indicates my emotions will not be returned, it makes no logical sense for me to be in love with my best friend. And yet, here I am.

The more I think about my future, the more I’m coming to accept the uncomfortable reality that if I am ever going to fall in love with someone else, Sophie’s going to have to break my heart first. And that won’t ever happen if I don’t try.

Though I cannot prove as much, my personal feeling is the flower appears when it’s needed. When lonely hearts need a helping hand or lovers need a nudge in the right direction.

Only my mother could start an eighty-day cruise with one man and end it with another. Without even getting off the boat.

It’s always been Peter for me. He’s always been my safety net. I don’t know if I can give that up.

“It’s a bit of a plot twist, actually,” I sheepishly say. “But I actually think I have a crush on Peter.”

“He’s all I have,” I say, voice thick. “Every time my world falls apart, he’s the one who makes me okay again.

you’re stronger than you think you are.” “Maybe. But I’m also a little more broken than I thought.”

“When you’ve dreamed of kissing someone for such a long time, when it finally happens, it takes a moment for the shock to wear off.”

“How long, Peter?” she asks. “How long have you wanted this?” “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “It just matters that we’re here now.” She tugs on my shirt. “Tell me.” I breathe out a sigh. “Years, Soph. Since high school.”

“If the flower doesn’t bloom, we can acknowledge that this was one amazing make out, but we’ll be better off going back to being friends.” My jaw tightens. “Please don’t say that,” I say. “Don’t trivialize what just happened by suggesting we could ever go back to only being friends.”

“Love is never a guarantee, but I’m not sure it’s supposed to be. It’s an action. If we want to be the Hathaways, still in love when we’re old and gray, then we do the work. We make it happen.”

Sometimes people do the work, and they still split up. They still lose each other.” I shrug. “Is that better or worse than never trying at all?”

“That’s just it, Soph. I already know it’s worth it.”

Sophie I love that we talk about our building like it has a personality. Peter It does have a personality. And strong opinions.

“Wait,” I say. “You always thought Peter and me were more than friends?” “Honey, everyone thought you were. That boy looked at you like you were the sun, moon and stars all at once.”

I do deserve the biggest, brightest, best kind of love. And I know exactly where to find it.

“It makes me a little sad to think about all the time we lost.” I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead. “Don’t think about it like that. We were still friends. Maybe we both had some growing up we needed to do.” “But the kissing, Peter,” Sophie says. She lifts a hand to my cheek and guides my lips to hers. “We could have been doing so much kissing.”

The flower is blooming just like expected, just like always, except this time, I see two blooms instead of one. Two blooms.

We took our destiny into our own hands. Love isn’t magic, it’s an action. And we’re doing the work of loving each other.” He kisses me one more time. “Loving you isn’t work, Sophie. It’s like breathing.”

“Should we tell Willa and Archer they can come back now?” I ask. “I’m ready for my cookies.” He holds my gaze, his palms running up and down my arms. “Not yet, actually,” he says, a new trepidation in his voice. “I think…I want to ask you to marry me first.”

“I’ve been in love with you for years, Sophie. Will you marry me? Give me what I’ve wished for on every birthday cake since the tenth grade?”

Peter told me our relationship was too good to be true. It feels that way now, but it won’t be the last time I think so. I think it when my mom walks me down the aisle on our wedding day. When Peter holds our baby girl for the first time, tears streaming down his face. When we buy our first house.