For the Love of Flowers

The day began like any other as the dread of repetition and predictability lingered in the air. Catalina sat at the round table of her spacious kitchen, staring at the stacked bills of cash. Paisley, her Persian cat, suddenly brushed against her leg with a persuasive meow, commanding her out of her lost trance.

Catalina had sat there for what seemed like hours commencing with her deepest fears and unfulfilled dreams.

The fast-paced thoughts ran through her mind asking, How can I keep this money? What if I'm asked where the money came from? Is it enough to invest in my dream?

Then criticism came through as she spoke to herself like a child who had stolen from a cookie jar.

“Catalina, you know you should not have brought this money here!” What were you thinking?” “You should have left it where you found it - you're a thief!”

She stood up and walked out on the terrace viewing the Mediterranean Sea; it was always her favorite place to clear her thoughts and refocus her energy. The evening was still young, and she needed to escape the chaos running through her mind.

Watching people walk towards the beach signaled the kickoff of evening festivities. That meant delicious food, lengthy conversations, sun, and sand. She imagined a recent sand-filled evening of her own with a good friend. She dropped freshly grilled tentacles of an octopus in her mouth with her toes in hot sand, alternating with mangos and dreaming of how she would open her very own floral shop.

Catalina’s love affair with flowers began when her mother was pregnant, giving her the name of her favorite flower.

For as long as she could remember, she would stop to inspect the arrangements everywhere she went.

The words “Catalina leave the flowers be” were echoed in her memory, as her mother often said. Ignoring her mother, she would memorize every detail of the flower, fascinated by how the colors could blend magically with repeated patterns—noticing how one could tower over all the others. While others would droop, seeming to miss its potential but, that intrigued Catalina even more.

Often on that sandy beach, she would watch the passers-by giving them names of her favorite and not so favorite flowers. Seeing people as flowers gave her a special connection without knowing them at all.

Her favorite was a man she called forget-me-not. He was tall with a slender build and thicker legs, noticeable because he would undress on the shore, exposing his muscular calves and fitting speedos. His hair was above his shoulders wavy and black, his eyes hidden by the blackness of his dark shades. As he undressed, he would finger flip his shiny waves catching a glimpse of Catalina as if he was inviting her stares. Then throwing his glasses down on his neatly red fringed towel, never looking back, he’d jog to the start of the salted sea, stop and do a dolphin-type dive.

Catalina giggled every time, as forget-me-not gained his name for his impeccable showcase of invited attention.

Intrigued by “forget me not.” Catalina would wait until he emerged from the blue waters; his caramel skin glistened under the glowing sun.

Detaching from her memories, she recalls the stack of hundreds of bills lying on her kitchen table nearby. Shaking off the reality and fearful scenarios, Catalina decides to head to the beach to clear her mind.

Entering her bedroom, she undressed quickly to escape both the restrictive, tight-fitted dress and the agony of her thoughts. She removed the navy dress with one hand reaching around her left shoulder, unzipping and pulling it down her tired hips and allowing it to drop to the floor. She went into her bathroom and grabbed a cloth soaking it in hot water and her favorite coconut soap. She wiped her body in a hurried motion as if her frustration could dissolve away. Back in her room, she decided on a black bikini and a sheer black cover-up that draped to the floor. She felt sultry and sinful thinking of the money, and black fits the color of her seemingly dark soul.

Catalina rubbed coconut oil through her long black curls to freshen her look. Exiting the room, she glanced in the mirror, and her reflection appeared with a sense of curiosity and judgment.

Out loud, she said, “Who are you?”

It was 7 pm, and the nightlife in Spain was only beginning. The crowded beach is filled with intimate gatherings of lovers, families, and friends. Tonight was just another day of pleasure and familiarity for everyone else, Catalina thought resentfully.

Walking in the sand, she thought of the money on her round table. Attempting to tame her wild thoughts, she speaks to herself again.

“Why did you take it if you were only going to guilt yourself?, confusion is delusion Catalina, just STOP!”

Seeing a secluded area, she stretched out her golden tapestry sheet wide and straight.

Freeing her skin from the black cover-up, she laid arching her back to relive the strain she felt. Legs bent and arms to her side, she closed her eyes. The sound of the sea was always her heaven on earth. The sound soothed her soul, body, and mind like no one and nothing. Entering the tide’s trance coming in and out. She began to think the only thing, unordinary about this day was that money- lots of money, was lying exposed on her table at home.

The day had been as typical as any other, with her arriving at work with a hibiscus tea in hand 15 minutes early. Her clients were not familiar people. They came to see her for as many reasons as there were problems. Catalina was a florist who created bouquets of unique arrangements. With her particular interest in flowers since childhood, her communion with the fragrant and sometimes unruly plants made her happier than anything. She called the many customers clients because she worked her magic for every person who came asking in a frantic, excited, or sorrow-filled emotion for a floral arrangement.

Under the disappearing eight o’clock sun, Catalina thought of her friend Monte. She met him two years ago when she was teaching a horticulture class. He was a man of many values anyone would honor. He spent much of his time flamed with charitable endeavors, but he was also very structural. A man with that much compassion for the world around him did everything with intent. The distant thoughts brought her full circle to why she was at the beach guilting herself over her selfish desires.

Limiting her Wednesday ritual of fun under the sun, Catalina stood up and dusted the sand off of her skin. Packing her untouched dinner of fruit and leftover chicken into her wicker basket, she noticed a glimmer of black color sticking out from the sand.

Dropping to her knees, she reached her hand below the surface of the blackness— revealing a notebook midnight black in-depth journal-sized. Immensely curious, Catalina untangled the elastic, tightly fitted band that kept the pages free from sand and turned the pages. It was empty. Ready to toss the book imagining another sun worshiper had accidentally left the notebook and would return to find it. Catalina began to lose interest until the words in a bright iridescent blue commanded her attention.

The words read:

“Time is but,

life unfolding in

split seconds of passion.

Your moments are like flowers

seeding and blooming.

Choices are what stars

are made of

—shining in the darkness.

You will discover

the depths of your very own galaxy

when faced with a choice.

What will you do?

At that moment, Catalina’s heart filled with an overwhelming sense of knowing what she needed to do. It was a sign, and the little black book had saved her.

In her apartment, she placed all of the money back in the bag she found it in. Throwing on a lightweight sweater with the money bag packed tight in another bag strapped securely over her shoulder, she told Paisley she'd be back soon, locking the door.

Using the key Monte gave her, she opened his door. His house revealed the dream most Americans visioned about elaborate Spanish homes nested in the Ibiza mountains. Monte came from a lower-class family in a rural town of California. He once told Catalina about his humble upbringing raised by his single father with three sisters.

She always knew that her and Montes’s friendship was pure because he was habitually aware of others’ needs as much as his own. It was no wonder he became a multi-millionaire, worldwide investor.

Catalina’s guilt felt sickening as she recalled how pure he was in character. She entered an oddly empty guest room, placing the bag of money securely in the spot she took it from—immediately finding comfort in the words of the little black book and the choice she made.

While he was in the States, she had been watching over his house. Catalina was relieved, knowing he would never know she attempted to steal from him. She had convinced herself it was only borrowing, and because he wouldn't return for two months in September, she would have plenty of time to pay it back.

Catalina walked down the round staircase and almost fell as she said, “MONTE!” “Bon dia.”

With laughter in his voice, he says,

“I didn’t mean to scare you, Catalina, I closed all my deals, and I’m back early.”

“That’s great! I’m so glad to see you.”

She was shaking in the fear he could have discovered what she was doing a minute earlier.

The balcony insight was where they went to share Sangria updating each other about their separated days. Without warning, Monte jumps up, running upstairs, and returns with the bag. Feeling anxious, Catalina adjusts the cushion beneath her and leans further back, dipping her fingers into her empty glass to pull a slice of orange.

“Catalina, we have been great friends for a long time, and I appreciate you looking over my home while I am away time after time. I never have to worry, thanks to you.”

He slides the bag across the table.

“This is for you.”

Genuinely lost in the surprise of knowing what was in the bag, Catalina giggles. “What is this, Monte?” She pulls out stacks and stacks of cash. It seems to be much more than what had been at her kitchen table earlier.

“It’s $20,000; I want you to open your floral shop with the money.”

Monte says genuinely.

In tears, Catalina says, “Seriously?

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Monte, you are amazing!

“I am forever grateful to you!”

Three weeks later, Catalina stood outside of her very own floral shop, happier than she had ever been. She was waiting for Dahlia. The night Monte gave her the money, she inspected the little black book in greater detail back at her home. The front page detailed the words, “In case of loss, please return to” Dahlia Natalie with a phone number and email. Without hesitation, Catalina sent an email to Dahlia, excited to return her little black book that seemingly changed her life for the better.

Dahlia responded to Catalina two weeks later due to the message lost in spam, agreeing to meet in person the following week.

When they met, Dahlia attempted to give Catalina a cash reward for her kindness. Catalina refusing to accept the money and instead expressed her gratitude.

“I found your notebook on the beach in the usual spot I often visit to lay under the sun coincidentally, and your poem was like magic helping me make a choice that resulted in my floral shop, a dream I’ve had forever!”

It seemed as if they knew each other their whole lives sharing their love of flowers. Continuing to chat, Catalina couldn’t help but realize that dahlia flowers symbolized lifelong bonds between people, and she knew it was the beginning of a meaningful friendship.