Forget Me Not

by Julie Soto

And he was right. They only needed light, water, and attention. But it’s not as simple as that. Because you need to know how much light, how much water, how much attention. But if you can get it right—if you can crack the code—flowers are infinitely better than people. Because you can find a person’s ratio of light, water, and attention, and it still won’t be enough. For flowers, it’s enough.

He’s twenty-nine now, but he’s always looked twenty-nine. He’s always been on the brink of something. Always a hair’s breadth away from a change, a definition.

And I almost hope there was someone after me, someone who broke him differently. Because I’m not worth three years of someone’s life.

I’m sorry that your words had the same effect on me as a bee swarm. Was it terribly difficult to break down your mom’s reception without me? Such a professional.

“In mythology, Amaryllis fell in love with a—with a man who loved flowers…” I think this is where I’ll die. I think I’ll just lie down and wait for death. He can use me to fertilize the flowers. I can’t look at him, but Hazel is smiling at me with a romantic haze in her eye. “What’s the myth?” she asks. “Well…” I hesitate. “She stood in front of his house every day, carving a golden arrow into her heart. On the thirtieth day, a crimson flower sprouted from her chest. And he finally noticed her.”

“He didn’t want her, so she carved herself into something he liked, something he wanted.”

I feel like this car now. As Elliot stomps around, turns over the engine, shoves the seat back a full foot, and shakes his head at my little Camry, I feel like maybe nothing’s been working right for a while.

It hurts to know that there’s a tattoo I can’t look at or touch. That I can never ask which extinct flower lives on his skin.

“You look nice.” And so dies my focus and confidence, in one fell swoop. I run a hand through my hair nervously. It’s just a plaid button-up and my best jeans, but the fact that she noticed anything means it’s too much.

She squeezes my arm, and before I can wonder what she’s doing so close to my face, her lips peck my jaw. She’s gone before she can see the heat spread across my neck.

She’s yelling her thank-yous and apologies after me, and some sick part of my brain wonders if she’ll kiss my face again when it’s done.

“B-because I want to know you. I want to know what you like, what you hate—even if it’s me.” I start pressing a second finger inside slowly. “Fuck fuck fuck—I want to love what you love, even if it’s extinct.”

And in the afterglow, he’d looked at me like no one else had ever in my life. Like he agreed. Like my words meant something to him, instead of just pleasurable mumbling. It made me question if it was just mumbling, or if I’d meant it.

She pulls out her calendar. “Where’s the wedding?” “The Four Seasons.” “The hotel? Or Total Landscaping?” I snort. “Don’t pretend I didn’t double-check ten times.”

There’s a flower in my chest, just now starting to meet sunlight, finally blossoming.

“You are more important than the wedding, Ama.” He’s wrong, but it still fills my chest with butterflies and my head with lovely thoughts.

“How do…” He stares down at the Bluetooth sheepishly. “How do I use this thing?”

This made me laugh/snort! 😂

The first guests—assholes—have arrived twenty minutes early.

As a wedding vendor, I feel this in my soul.

Why begin, when it will end?

This time when we kiss, it doesn’t feel like goodbye, or a mistake, or something to overthink in the morning. It’s just…starting.

“It’s…It was never about extinction. The tattoos…” He blows out his air. “They’re ones that I—that I can’t have. Ones that can’t be used in arrangements, can’t be kept in the shop.” He looks up to me. “Ones that are likely to disappear before I can love them.”

🥹🥹🥹

I like to gather up Lady Cat-ryn in my arms on Elliot’s grumpy days and drop her from a height over my head onto his stomach.