Forget Me Not

by Julie Soto

a brick building that used to be a horse barn back in the day. I don’t know what day that was, but it was back.

I wonder if she’ll look up The Language of Flowers and figure out I just told her, You are immature and I resent you. Go away.

Cellist at ceremony—Xander Thorne—friend of Hazel

Omg hey

Contact Xander Thorne—don’t go through agent—afitzmusic@aol.com

Omg hey again

Getting it out of me as quickly as possible is all I can do to not vomit. Though vomit may still come. It’s early.

“It’s early” is sending me

“Can you ask him if I can post it?” I’d rather eat glass. “Of course.”

“I don’t eat sugar.” She looks like I just burned down her house.

And she’s right

but hanging over all of this is the knowledge that whatever I dream up…it can be done. I have Elliot Bloom working it.

“In mythology, Amaryllis fell in love with a—with a man who loved flowers…”

And of course she did

“What’s an amaryllis look like?” Hazel says, turning to where Elliot pointed out the calla lilies. “I don’t keep them in the shop anymore.”

Owie

That’s when I see it. Ink. My heart stops. I can’t tell if it’s coming from his chest or his shoulder, but there’s a tattoo creeping out of his collar. A new one.

Its an amaryllis isnt it

She waves at me but doesn’t move to come say hi. Which is fine. Whatever. We’re working.

I’m not in love with her. No. It’s fine.

Her eyes light up when she sees me, and maybe that’s worth it.

“What’s your emergency?” I stare at this beautiful girl I’ve clearly killed and say, “I don’t know, but she’s passed out? She said she has an EpiPen?”

“Did I just kill her with a peanut butter donut?” “Sir, I’m sure she’s not dead, but she needs your help. Can you follow instructions?” I’m thinking of Mrs. Tarico in third grade, who told me I have a terrible time following instructions. “No. Probably not.”

Honesty is A+ rn

I turn to see Ama being rolled out in a wheelchair. I’ve paralyzed her. And before I can start mentally drafting up plans for widening doorways at the shop and installing ramps at my house,

He’s already so down bad. I love him. (He didn’t paralyze her btw)

There’s no formality here for ending a conversation in a hospital after your mouth has given the girl you like anaphylactic shock, so—

And truly how do you respond to that?

They’re getting along like gasoline and a box of matches, and I’m over here sweating.

running her hands over the kadupul tattoo. Her lips follow, curving over to kiss my inked shoulder blade. She’s done this dozens of times now, almost as if she has to say good night to each of them.

And isn’t that just the most precious thing you’ve ever heard

I almost say it. I almost say I love you. But I don’t know that she wants me to. I think we could be together for forty years with twenty kids, and she still wouldn’t want to hear it. So I hold her until her breathing evens out, and whisper it soundlessly, like a prayer.

“Sometimes you just count down the days, the hours, until you can be useful again,” he says. “And if it ever ends, Jackie?” He lowers his voice. “You’re still counting away. The months since. The exact days since. Like a tally of moments you’ve spent not being important to them. But don’t ever think you’ll wake up and not be in love with her.”

I place a condescending hand on her shoulder, like she always did to me. “Whitney, come on. Be a professional.”

I’m giggling maniacally

I look up, up, up a broad chest to a stern-looking, dark-haired guy in a black leather jacket. His lashes are long, and his jaw is perfectly chiseled. Whoa.

Heyyyyy xander (for a third time)

“I kissed him and he ran.” Her eyes widen before she can catch herself. She picks her mug up again. “Okay. Okay, that’s…Okay.” She sips, trying to keep it in. “So that’s actually what you did. Essentially.”

“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.”

GAH

“I’m not going to marry you.” I blink at him and swallow. “Okay.” “I’m gonna date the shit outta you, though.”

I love a good proposal story, but my favorite one I’ve heard? Well, I’ll let you know when he says yes.