Brittle Rose

Dominique always enjoyed gardening, it brought her a sense of peace she couldn’t find elsewhere. Her prize plant was a rare order of orchid—nicknamed the Brittle Rose—she labored over for six years. It was the envy of all the horticulturists in her online group. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the attention and thinly veiled jealousy. Not many in her group could say they could cultivate and nurture a Brittle Rose to maturity and vibrancy. It was more than a point of pride for her, it was a symbol of how far she’d come.

When she moved into her San Medina neighborhood she was aloof, choosing to keep her guard up after the ordeal she went through only months prior. She needed time to break down and build herself up again. But by the time she was ready to be a member of society again, the welcome wagon had soured on her. And the last person she would want to piss off was the head of the wagon. Laurel was the head of the homeowner’s association and the president of the local chapter of the National Horticulture Society. If Dominique was to fully be herself again she needed to join the chapter.

Luckily, Laurel couldn’t deny Dominique membership if she were to win the annual San Medina Best in Grow competition. She decided as delicate as the Brittle Rose was, she would risk it to make sure she won. On the day of the competition, it took her an hour to move the flower from her garden to her car. Then another 30 minutes to make sure the special container she fashioned in the trunk was not going to move an inch. Her neighbor, who was always suspicious of her, watched from a window and debated calling the “See Something, Say Something” hotline.

As Dominique turned into the parking lot her worst fears almost came true. Someone backed out and almost hit her car. She had to slam on the brakes, causing the car to jostle violently. Without thinking she jumped out of the car, opened the trunk, and held her breath. All the years she spent nurturing “Nicole”, the months it took designing the transport container, and the time it took getting her to the venue, was all worth it. Nicole didn’t have a scratch on her. Dominique turned her energy on whoever nearly cost her her dreams.

Kevon had been apologizing profusely for the past few minutes, but Dominique couldn’t hear him. When she finally realized he was standing there, she tore into him.

Dominique: You could’ve killed us!! How did you get a license!? Did you have someone take the test for you?!

Kevon: Whoa, whoa, whoa. Calm down please. I’ve said I’m sorry. I realized I left my Dahlia Pinnata, and I have to go all the way back home. Wait, us?

Dominique: My-y-y Brittle Rose is in there. You're in the competition?

She stuttered, taking in how attractive Kevon was.

Kevon: Yes, and I’m running out of time. Can we please figure this out later? Here, you can hold on to my wallet as collateral. Well, except for my ID, which I got after only three attempts thank you very much.

Within seconds, Kevon was in his car and speeding down the street. Dominique comes to her senses and gets back in her car. Not willing to risk any other mishaps, she asks for assistance from one of the volunteers. Together they gingerly loaded the container onto a dolly, rolled it into the ballroom, set it on the designated table, and then allowed themselves to breathe. She decided to keep the container closed until right before the judging to prevent any mishaps. As she started to feel some relief, she noticed the table across from her was labeled “Dahlia Pinnata ~ Kevon Jackson”. A flood of anger and lust washed over her. Just then, Kevon burst into the ballroom with only a few minutes to spare. He set up and sat on the floor for a bit to catch his breath.

By the time he realized he was across from Dominique the judging had begun, and he couldn’t talk to her. He gave her a puppy dog look followed by a sweet apologetic smile. She hated that it was working on her. They spent most of the judging making eyes at each other and trying not to laugh at his mocking of the judges. It was the most fun she’d had in years. Her smile went away when she realized she was up next. She got serious and prepared herself to open the container. She knew if she did it wrong she could ruin everything she worked for. Taking her time, she carefully unlatched the sides and lifted the lid.

Only two hours had passed since she last saw Nicole, but she thought the plant was more beautiful than ever. The judges agreed, awarding Dominique “Best in Grow”. Dominique accepted the award gracefully, but inside she was freaking out. She wanted to rub it in everyone’s face, especially Laurel’s. But she still needed Laurel to make her membership official, so she held back. And since she won, she wasn’t at all mad at Kevon anymore.

They had a good time goofing off and she could understand why he was a bit reckless; she would’ve done the same thing if she had left Nicole at home. When she got back to her table Kevon was waiting for her, but acting like he had to gather his things. She noticed and smiled to herself.

Kevon: Congratulations, you deserved it!

Dominique: Congratulations to you as well, Best Dahlia is a hard category.

Kevon: Yeah, not bad for a farm boy who used to enter tomato competitions.

Dominique: Really? I have to hear about that. Oh, here’s your wallet.

She goes to hand him his wallet, but he pushes it back towards her.

Kevon: How about you hold on to it and give it back to me tonight.

Dominique: Tonight?

Kevon: When I take you out for a celebratory dinner.

Dominique: Can my husband come too?

Kevon: Oh, umm, sure.

Dominique: I’m just kidding. I’d love to, but I feel bad about how I treated you when we met. How about you come to my house for dinner?

Kevon: That sounds great. You’re not worried I’m a serial killer or something?

Dominique: Are you?

Kevon: No.

Dominique: Then it’s a date.

Kevon: I’ll be there.

Dominique couldn’t believe she won “Best in Grow” and got a date with a gorgeous guy on the same day. She loaded Nicole in the car just as delicately as she had done before, dropped her off, and headed to the grocery store. While picking out the perfect tomatoes, she noticed Laurel and another woman heading to the health food aisle. She decided to go over and thank Laurel again, but when she got to the aisle she overheard their conversation.

Laurel: If I could I wouldn’t let her in. I don’t care that she won.

Candice: She doesn’t seem that bad.

Laurel: She’s not one of us. And did you see how she was all over the new guy? Gross.

Candice: The one with the hot accent?

Laurel: He doesn’t have an accent.

Candice: I’m pretty sure I heard a Scottish accent when he was on the phone before the competition started.

Laurel: That wasn’t him then.

They move to a different aisle, presumably still talking about Kevon. Dominique wouldn’t admit Laurel hurt her feelings, but she did. Instead of dwelling on it, she decided to focus on making a great dinner. The only thing left on her list was a bottle of wine. She grabs a bottle that was recommended to her, checks out, and heads home. The whole drive home she kept thinking about Laurel and Candice’s conversation, trying her best to ignore it. When she got home she knew she would have to do something about it.

She spent the next four hours prepping and preparing dinner, hoping the date would go as well as their time during the competition. Kevon showed up right on time holding a bottle of wine and a bouquet. “My mother told me to never show up empty-handed,” he offered. Dominique smiled and showed him in. She told him to make himself at home while she put the flowers in water and put the finishing touches on dinner. He looked around, admiring the art and decor. Then the smell of roast lamb directed him towards the dining room.

Dominique set the table with the Brittle Rose as the centerpiece. Kevon marveled at how beautiful everything was, including Dominique. They bantered as easily and playfully as they did in the ballroom. It was like they were old friends. They talked about everything from 90s music to 13th-century Italian architecture. After what she went through, she didn’t think she could let herself like someone again. She was right.

When they were finished eating, they cleared the table and adjourned to the living room. Dominique poured them another glass of Merlot. Then she put on Bach’s The Art of Fugue and watched for Kevon’s reaction. Sure enough, she noticed him pause before he took his next sip. She was certain.

Dominique: Do you like Bach?

Kevon: I’m more of a Haydn man.

Dominique: Interesting. Because members of The Chamber like to play Bach when they torture people. Did they send you from Scotland?

Kevon: What are you talking about? What’s The Chamb...

Kevon tries to move his hand, but he can’t feel his fingers.

Dominique: I guess they didn’t tell you everything about me. I’ll make this brief. I was their little secret weapon, creating untraceable poisons for them. They told me it was for research, but when I found out what they were really doing, I couldn’t be a part of it. So they figured some light torture would set me straight. I escaped the first chance I got and took my best work with me. They’ve been hunting me ever since. The Brittle Rose is actually the key to my finest poison. Cultivating it allowed me to nurture the Paphiopedilum rothschildianum, the rarest plant in the world; that happens to contain a poison undetectable by any tests. Don’t worry, it’ll be quick. After you lose feeling throughout your body a blood clot will form in your temporal lobe, and you’ll have an aneurysm. You’re lucky, the other guys didn’t fare as well. I enjoyed our short time together, I wish things were different.

Dominique put Kevon’s wallet in his pocket, composed herself, then called 911. As the EMTs put Kevon’s body in the ambulance, Dominique noticed her neighbor glaring from their window. She waved, flashed a smile, and closed her door.