Full Bloom Quotes

“You know it is a myth that women lose their power as they age. A lie invented by men afraid of being challenged. Youth has currency, but not power. Every perfumer knows you do not pick green buds. A flower’s scent, its power of attraction, is most potent on the cusp of decay.”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom: A Novel

“There was one social rule even dogs understand: Don’t shit where you eat.”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom: A Novel

“If Madame Rapacine had taught her anything, it was that if you wanted to capture a time, a place, a feeling, you needed to make it into a perfume. Iris understood, Rapacine hadn't destroyed the home she loved--- she had bottled it.
But for those few passersby who resist the dissociation the city begs of its residents, those who are more in touch with their bodies, or sensitive to whimsy, or at the very least not in a terrible rush, they had a surreal experience. A Pilates instructor and former principal dancer with the Alvin Ailey company walked by and smelled the water and was reminded of the glamorous patrons at her first professional dance gig, opening a new club called Studio 54. A Japanese chef on holiday passed by and thought it smelled like the yuzu and rosewater cake he once baked for his sister's wedding. And a small child simply thought it smelled like her mother when she was going out for the evening. The perfume that poured from the brownstone could evoke a different memory for every person in New York. But all of them were beautiful.”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom

“Iris didn't have the perfume, but she had something more powerful: self-knowledge. She knew she had the strength and the courage to face the ugliest parts of her lived experience. That trauma was a part of her, but not the defining note. She would not disconnect from the body or the world that had once hurt her. She couldn't heal without connection, first to herself and her body--- that was her first home. She would trust herself first, and then others. Her gut instinct, her heart's desires, her mind's memories and fantasies, fully integrated and embodied. Getting there would be an ongoing process, forever, for everyone.”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom

“Wolff's offer must have been rich!"
Iris chuckled. "Stock shares, baby."
"Oh!" Nate pantomimed a dagger to his heart.
"It pays to do the right thing. You should try it sometime.”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom

“She took the box; it was too heavy to be muffins or croissants, and the cardboard bottom was so warm, she felt the heat on her thighs through her sheets. She shot a puzzled glance at Gabe, who remained impishly silent, and pulled the cotton string. She opened it to reveal a fresh-baked whole pie, releasing a mouthwatering aroma of toasty, buttery pastry and a caramelized berry sweetness that was bubbling through the golden-brown crust in dark veins of sticky sugar.
Her stomach growled in response. "Do you have a knife? I'll cut you a slice."
Gabe produced two forks and handed her one. "Who needs slices anyway? This is just for us."
He stripped naked and jumped into bed, bouncing her as she giggled and kept the pie upright. They cozied up next to each other, sitting up against the headboard, and dug in, Gabe first. It felt sacrilegious to defile a pie this way. But it simply smelled too good to resist, and she too poked her fork in the center, shamelessly breaking the sparkly sugared crust and digging into the soft, steaming blueberry filling. Her fork was no match for this glorious pie, and each juicy bite sent a few blueberries tumbling like black pearls, dotting the box and bedsheets in royal purple. The sweet ink of a delicious memory that would excite Iris for years to come.”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom

“I recently started the process of freezing my eggs."
"What, why?"
"Asks the guy who dumped me in my mid-thirties.”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom

“The second course is a soft-shell crab tempura with miso rémoulade, fresh peaches, and lovage."
"What's lovage?" Jen asked.
"It's what I have for you," Peter replied.
Chef smiled. "It is an herb, like parsley. Only more zesty."
Everyone oohed and mmmed over first bites. The lovage lent a crisp note of citrus and celery to the deep umami flavor of the miso and crunchy fried crab's creamy inside, while the peaches picked up the sweetness.”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom

“He kissed her neck and she bit his shoulder. His skin was like a salted caramel, and she didn't want him to rinse off before she got a taste. Even the piquancy of his sweat appealed to her, and as he reached overhead to adjust the sputtering showered, Iris kissed a path up the side of his torso to the softness of his underarm.
He pulled the strings on her bikini top and she undid the tie of his board shorts. Seeing him outside, in daylight, naked and aroused, awakened every inch of her body like the cool breeze on her wet skin. Their transgression laced her desire. She couldn't help grinning as he kissed her, and their teeth clicked like pearls. The shower water was warm by now, and they ducked into the stream together.
They kissed and caressed each other as the water made their skin slick with soap and sunscreen. Gabe ran his hands up and down her sides, then gripped the soft curves of her hips to spin her around and pulled her backside close. She leaned into his chest and felt his hardness thump between her thighs, her buttocks, slipping on her soapy body, and she teased him, swishing back and forth like a cat. He reached one hand around her breasts and slid the other down her stomach. When his fingers found between her legs wetter than water, he swore in her ear--- an exclamation and declaration of exactly what he wanted to do to her.
Iris glanced up toward the house, where the fear of someone seeing them had morphed to thrill, then fantasy. Unbidden, the image of Jonathan watching them from a window flashed behind her eyes, and then it was Jonathan's tan arm crossed over her collarbones, his hand making her ache. The first wave of pleasure made it hard to hold herself up. She opened her eyes and braced against the wall, her fingernails making fresh yellow scratches in the soft silver teakwood.”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom

“They closed all space between them, melting into one another until every edge was smoothed, their two bodies a mirrored reflection of shared passion and desire. When they came together, the heat they generated was so bright that it obliterated any walls between them, and there was nowhere they didn't meet.”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom

“They ordered a parade of tapas and shared everything: petal-pink yellowfin tuna with bright orange habanada peppers drizzled in olive oil and sprinkled with sea salt crystals the size of snowflakes; melt-in-your-mouth clams drenched in butter, white wine, and a confetti of parsley, and when the clams had been eaten, Gabe read her mind and ordered extra bread to sop up the sauce; a small bouquet of crispy shrimp heads--- at first glance Iris recoiled at their black eyes unseeing beneath a heavy dusting of red spice, but Gale dug right in, crunching as carelessly as a lion. Iris stalled and hesitated over trying one, laughing as Gabe cheered her on, yelping when the whiskery antennae tickled her nose, until she finally gave one a hasty chomp. Gabe was right, it was delicious--- a riot of different textures and tastes such that she savored her next bites--- even if she did leave the eyes uneaten. And finally the piri piri half chicken, the aroma alone evoked a future longing before the first bite was taken.”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom

“You know what they say about why girls love horses?"
Iris knew exactly where he was headed; she had always hated this joke.
Jonathan looked wearily at him. "Careful, Bill, this is my daughter we're talking about."
She hated this rejoinder too. It was a scummy way to talk about any young girl, the ones with fathers and without.
"All right, Allegra excluded. But Iris know what I'm talking about. The friction...?"
The heat radiating off Iris's blotchy chest sent a waft of the perfume up to her flaring nostrils. "People who think riding horses gives women orgasms don't know how to do either thing right.”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom

“It felt easy, natural, unthinking, but the thrill--- there was the proof it was a first kiss, the first kiss, as if she had never kissed or been kissed properly by anyone before. Every sense was heightened in a swirl of pleasure; the woodsy smell of his skin, the bittersweet Campari on his tongue, the warm envelopment of his presence even as he touched only her lips and her elbow, the sight of fireworks behind closed eyes, and the sound of the world falling silent. A cyclone of sensation overloading her system, and the two of them, alone together in the eye of a beautiful storm.”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom

“Sometimes Iris experienced her emotions like shifts in lighting and the man across from her glowed, golden and warm, like someone holding a giant buttercup under his chin. His dark eyes creased at the corners as he met her gaze smiling, with a bottom lip so ripe it made Iris bite hers just for looking. Longish black hair that fell soft around a jaw sharp enough to cut glass, the sparkle of stubble making it look like it already had.”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom

“She was clothed in something more luxurious, a silk kimono slipping off her bare shoulders. With her eyes still closed, she caressed her body, imagined someone else doing the same, finding her skin smooth, supple, and delectably creamy. In her mind's eye, she saw rumpled white linens, glowing skin, and a vase of flowers on the bedside table, filling the room with their delicate fragrance. With a deep inhale, the body she touched was no longer flabby, it was soft, yielding, and beautiful.”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom

“I've put a month of research and work into this concept that was a 'jumping off point' to you just last week. I did the legwork, and it showed."
He smirked. "Legwork. Is that why you brought high heels in your bag?"
Her flush turned to anger. "I didn't invent professional attire for women. But yeah, I bring a change of shoes. You try running up subway stairs in heels and get back to me.”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom

“You know why pollen is so bad in the cities? Male trees. Female trees drop fruit, which requires municipal resources to clean up. So urban landscapers plant only male trees instead. But males spread their seed, in this case, pollen, and with no female trees to receive it, the excess causes allergies."
Nate's lip curled. "I have botanical jizz in my eye?”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom

“She passed a fruit smoothie stand as one of its workers chopped up a whole pineapple using a hand ax with mesmerizing speed and skill, releasing atomized juice with each whack; it was glorious to catch wind of the tropical sweetness. She sniffed her wrist again, noticing new fruity facets of the perfume. Though that was just one of the riot of aromas that surrounded her: fragrant steam billowing from the sizzling cooktop of a Cuban sandwich vendor, carrying the mouthwatering scent of pulled pork; the peaty, mossy smell from a vendor selling potted plants and bonsai trees; the earthy patchouli of the CBD head shop; the buttery, slightly sour notes from racks of leather jackets and purses; all laced with the piquant odor of sticky summer bodies moving slowly past one another.”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom

“There is a touch of cumin to bring harmony to the floral chord, a carnal romance at the heart of the fragrance." Rapacine reached for Iris's arm and smelled the fragrance on her; a satisfied smile spreading on her face. "And at last, a sensual and animalic base: ambergris, salty and erotic; sandalwood, milky and sacred, and... I couldn't resist an iris note, but iris is a mute flower, the bloom will not give its scent---"
"That tracks, I'm a mute flower at work, too."
"No, you misunderstand. Live iris has a scent, but its scent is impossible to extract like other flowers. Iris guards its fragrance fiercely. What I used in the base is orris, a material that is made from the iris root, which takes years to mature, that is tender, powdery, and intimate. You are named for a rare and precious fragrance, one whose character is both ethereal and yet rooted in soft earth."
Iris was in awe.”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom

“In addition to the aquatic freshness of lychee fruit, the head has neroli, the flower of bitter orange. It is delicate, a little green, and more aromatic than citrus, and known for its purifying qualities."
Iris thought the neroli must be the juicy nectar and the lychee the rosy pop.
"Then a voluptuous floral heart. Tuberose, la fleur charnelle, the carnal flower, whose narcotic femininity was once believed to be so powerful that it could send young women into spontaneous orgasm if they smelled it after dark. Next, the flower that raised me, jasmine, a tiny white flower with an enveloping sweetness, warm and resonant as a cello line. And Osmanthus, what the Chinese call the flower of wisdom, whose scent evokes an apricot's velvet flesh, at once blushing and innocent yet strapped with a leather nuance.”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom

“Iris pssp-pssped and Chéri's marmalade head popped up in slow-blinking wakefulness from a large wicker basket on the living room floor. She found them both curled up inside, Chéri, the orange tabby boy, and Jasmine, a deaf white female, still asleep, the two of them forming a Creamsicle yin and yang. Jasmine felt her brother's movement, and soon both were yawning and stretching, emerging from the basket like pulled taffy.”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom

“His cinnamon muzzle, now sugared with age, quivered with a dream. One of his ears was turned inside out, showing the faded blue number tattooed inside. Before Iris adopted him from the beagle rescue, Hugo had spent his early life as a test subject in a laboratory. Iris named him in homage to Victor Hugo's Les Misérables, because like the hero of that story, he didn't let an unjust imprisonment corrupt his pure soul. He was the sweetest baby.”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom

“Scent speaks in every language. It is made of flesh and personal impressions. It is tied up with the need to feel alive, a need everyone senses from an early age. The need to live is also a need for perfumes and scents. Inescapably. They are the depositories of our deepest secrets, whether we like it or not.

--- Master Perfumer Dominique Ropion, creator of such iconic fragrances as Givenchy Amarige, Mugler Alien, Calvin Klein Euphoria, Lancôme La Vie Est Belle, and Frédéric Malle Portrait of a Lady and Carnal Flower”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom

“Iris had recently learned there was a word for the scent of rain: petrichor, a pleasant, refreshing note with a cool mineral glint--- but this rainwater wasn't running through green grass or skipping over smooth river rocks.”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom