White Peonies

The bottle had been on the counter for weeks. I was never one to get terribly drunk. I barely even participated in casual drinking— besides, I knew what wine would do to me, especially a good bottle of merlot. I could hardly help myself as my nerves were strung too high, my stomach all in knots— just one glass.

I procured a tall water glass from the cupboard, pouring the vessel full almost to the top with the deep crimson liquid. The cup held a full quarter of the bottle. Like I said, I rarely, if ever, drank and did not even own proper stemware. With a beating that rivaled that of a hummingbird’s wings my heart raced, very nearly right out of my chest, as I took a big gulp of the rich wine while meandering back into my bedroom. I peeled through the clothes, pressing the fabrics between my thumb and forefinger to see what felt right until I landed on a sleek black suit, perfectly fitted to my curves, a white collared shirt, simple but tailored to perfection, unbuttoned halfway down my chest and a long black ribbon tied into a loose knot at my neck. I let my dark curls hang down over my shoulders, knowing any attempt to tame them would result in a far worse situation. Downing the rest of the merlot, I wandered into the kitchen to pour myself another glass. The butterflies in my stomach had not yet calmed down and I desperately wanted to feel normal.

By the time I was slipping my Oxford wingtips on and sliding a solid black ring on my finger, half the bottle was gone and I could hardly remember why I’d been so nervous in the first place. Then a text- See you soon - and I was right back where I had started.

7:45pm. I ordered a lyft on my phone, descending the apartment stairs, no handbag as I had plenty of room in my jacket for things like my wallet, phone, and a small pack of wintermint gum.

In the back seat of a little green Honda Civic I noticed in the rearview mirror how flushed and red my cheeks were. I looked like I’d just run a marathon. I tried not to let it bother me as my leg nervously bounced, my fingers dancing across my knee like it was a piano to the beat of the strange folk music playing quietly over the radio.

As planned, I arrived at the restaurant first and sat down at a table I had specifically requested underneath a trellis of blooming wisteria with three white peonies on the table in a powder blue vase. The twinkling lights over head gave everything a soft warm glow. The table was private, secluded from the other guests. It was perfect— planned with everything she loved in mind, from my outfit to the flowers, to the special menu I had requested be made just for us. When you know someone as intimately as we knew each other, it was easy to make something just for them. But this was our first date. We had been best friends for years, caught in a constant flirtation that never amounted to anything when I realized I was in love with her. It hit me one day as we were watching a film together. The characters kissed and I lifted my hands to cover my mouth as I blushed, excited at the prospect of the characters getting together. When I looked towards her, she wasn’t watching the film, but watching me instead. In that moment everything froze- her eyes locked on mine, our legs intertwined on the couch, the glass of water we were sharing balanced on her tattooed knee- and without thinking, without any hesitation, I took her hand in mine, kissed her cold, ink stained fingers, and asked her out on a date.

And then there she was. We had enjoyed meals together for years so there was really no reason to be nervous, but when I saw her standing there at the front door in a Payne’s grey slip dress, a leather jacket I’m pretty sure was mine draped over her shoulders, her shoulder length brown hair curled into light waves, looking for me, goosebumps rose on my arms, my insides fluttered and I felt as though I might float away. As her eyes searched, I stared, downing yet another glass of merlot I had asked the waiter bring when I’d arrived.

You see, once I start drinking, it’s a little difficult to stop. I digress.

She was the very vision of beauty and I kicked myself wondering why it had taken me so long to see it. Adjusting her glasses in the way she frequently did, she looked around until she finally found me, our eyes locking, as she waved enthusiastically. I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my rosy cheeks all the way up to my ears. I lifted my hand just enough to wave my fingers softly towards her. As she walked, I noticed the slit in the dress that split the fabric all the way up to the top of her left thigh, revealing the many artfully drawn tattoos that traveled up her pale skin. She knew how I loved her tattoos, definitely choosing her outfit to intentionally feature them. She knew exactly what to do to twist my gut into knots and make my heart ache for her.

As my mother had taught my brother as a young man, I stood gracefully and pulled out the chair and when she arrived at the table I held her soft hand as she sat, bringing her fingers to my lips, as I had that fateful night, to kiss her hand before taking my own seat. She giggled, certainly at the formality of it all. We’d never been so formal with each other.

“You look rather dashing tonight in that suit, Starlight.”

“Fuck.” She raised an eyebrow at me as I tried to find real words, the right words, to express how I felt in that moment. Thankfully she understood all the different things a simple fuck could mean coming from my mouth. “Uh— thank you. And you— oh my god, just an absolute vision. Look at you. I mean— you’re stunning. You always are, but tonight—“

Blush rose in her cheeks but she didn’t break eye contact. Instead, she reached across the table and took my hand. I couldn’t believe I’d convinced her to go on a date with me. Me! “Darling, it’s just me.”

She was right. Sitting there staring at each other, holding her calloused hand I felt the nerves melt away or maybe that third glass of merlot was starting to kick in, but it felt as natural as anything we’d ever done.

“Now, listen,” she laughed again, a perfect sound, “You see, my best friend is a writer, but I’ve never dated a writer. I don’t know what that’s like— have you already written the story of us? Do you know how it ends?” I squeezed her hand and smirked. Her lips formed a sly smile and her eyes were full of mischief—

“I have and I do, but I won’t spoil it for you.” With that she braced her elbows on the table as she leaned forward over the peonies, her favorite, and for the first time kissed me on the lips, stopping my heart then and there.