Forget Me Not

by Julie Soto

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.

“Maybe someone could talk me into a flower.” Her voice is low. Vowels round and slow. “You already are a flower.” I regret it the second it’s out of my mouth. It’s not smooth. It’s not sexy.

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

“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.” “Oh, that’s beautiful,” Jackie says. “Gotta love the Greeks. All that unrequited love and sacrifice.” “Sacrifice?” a deep voice resonates. His hands are hard at work at a bouquet without our notice. “He didn’t want her, so she carved herself into something he liked, something he wanted.”

“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.”