Page 4

“ L otte, please stop.” “No, you stop! Stop following me, that is.” Claire and her freakishly large, unfairly handsome, hockey captain brother, have been hot-on-my heels since I left the office. In all thehoo-hait took me a while to place the face but, now I’m certain. Noah Petterson, the big guy on campus, was the one who called me a cutie. Yes, the word blinker was attached, and yes, I was tarred with the same weirdo brush he correctly applied to my colleagues, but still.

He thought I was cute.

Various therapists I have seen over the years would tell me to focus on that more than my embarrassing but predictable reaction to the cake, and the surprise and the whole cute, blinky thing. It’s definitely up there. I can hear his voice say the words so clearly, he could be whispering them into my ear as his shiny brown locks tickle my cheek, but who am I kidding? This is me. I’m going to wallow in the negative for weeks.

And why shouldn’t I?

One lunch. One cake. One surprise party. One cute boy.

Four things.

Four stupid, every day, insignificant-to-most-things brought me undone. The humiliation caused far greater than the sum of their parts and is exactly why I don’t do people.

When I, or rather, we - since I’m still being followed - make it to my block and then my building I’m faced with a dilemma. Though Claire is now a co-worker and Noah is her brother, they are essentially strangers.

Do I want them to know where I live? Is it safe for them to know where I live?

And I don’t wonder that purely because of the always stab, stab, chop stranger danger fears my neurotic mother drilled into me. These two are siblings. Apparently close ones, but they’ve bickered the entire walk. True, I don’t have a brother or sister myself, and have lived an isolated kind of life, but surely that’s not normal … is it?

There’s a chance they are as unstable, possibly more so, than me. Do I want to invite more crazy into my life?

After a brief pause at my door I decide that no, I don’t, and continue walking, which is the last thing I actually want to do. I’ve had more tics today than I have in months and despite my hour-long nap in Claire’s truck. I’m exhausted.

“Lotte, please stop. I know that’s your building.”

“How?” I say, spinning on my heels. “How do you know? Oh my … you really are a—”

“I’ve heard you mumbling to yourself, I’m not a stalker,” she laughs. She laughs! “It was Mr. Bowe. He felt so bad he had me send some flowers to your apartment.”

“Sure. That’s what they all – You sent me flowers?”

“Pink ones.” Claire nods, as I realize I’m bouncing on the balls of my feet.

“Oh. Well. I should probably go in then. I don’t want them to die before I see them.”

“They won’t be dead, Lotte. I promise. Haven’t you had flowers delivered before?”

Suddenly interested, Noah, who’s been quietly observing our exchange, pops his head over and rests his chin on his sister’s shoulder.

“Um. I can’t recall at present.”

“You can’t recall?”

“That’s right. I can’t. But tell me just in case, what does one do with flowers when they’ve been delivered? I don’t think I have a vase. Can I put them in a jar? Will tap water do? Do they need to sit in the sun or shade?” Sweat begins to drip into my eyes. “Shit. I can’t deal with this. Cake and flowers. It’s just too much.”

Just as she did in the kitchen at work, Claire places her hands on my shoulders and gently squeezes. “It’s okay, Lotte. If you trust me to, I would love to come up and show you how easy it is. I am not dangerous, and neither is the twit with his head on my shoulder. Yes, we fight a lot but that’s just how we are. It’s how most brothers and sisters are. I promise.”

Two sets of kind, hazel eyes watch over me as I exhale. “I don’t know why you have a calming effect on me, but you do. And more importantly, I believe and trust that if I take you inside, you’re not going to chop me into pieces and feed me to your dog.” I run a skeptical eye over Noah. “Him, I’m not so sure of.”

“Hey.” Noah rears back and screws up his face. It’s not cute at all, and I don’t keep picturing it in my mind as I lead the duo inside and up the four flights of stairs to my apartment.

“Don’t you have an elevator?” Noah whines halfway up the second flight. “I already trained and it was leg day today.”

“Yes, of course, I do, but unlike some with year-round access to Boston College’s rink and gymnasium, I’m forced to stagger up the stairs on eighty-seven-degree days for my exercise.” This is part sarcasm part truth. We do have an elevator, I simply refuse to use it because I would rather not suffocate in, or plunge to my death, in a metal box. Both Claire and Noah come to a halt so rapid their shoes squeak.

“How do you know I go to BC?” he asks. I should be relieved this has distracted them from my infantile fear of elevators. But I think this is worse.

“Um.”

“Is that where you go?” Follows up Claire. “Do you recognize Noah from campus?”

Say no. Lie, Lotte Lie. “Ahh. Yes, I do go to BC and yes, I recognize Noah from school. Even for someone like me, it’s impossible to go there and not know the captain of the hockey team. His face is plastered all over campus.” Great job lying, dick.

“It’s true,” confirms Noah, radiating smugness. “I’m kind of a big deal.”

“Really, bro? Is that what the nurses at the health clinic call you? I thought it was, The Spreader.”

“Ahh, good one, sis . Not sure if that’s supposed to be an insult or not, but when I hear the word spreading in relation to sex, all I think is positives.”

“Ugh. God you’re such a pig.”

They continue to bicker until we reach my floor, and I pause before exiting the stairwell. Even then, I’m sure the only thing that stops them fighting, is the obvious sheer terror seeping from every pore in my body. “Hey. It’s okay. This is normal.” Claire says, pointing back and forth between them, “We’re normal.”

“Yes, but maybe I’m not, so before we go in and I lose my shit over the pretty flowers, that may be waiting for me, I need to tell you something.” With eyes wide, both lean in. “This was my Gran’s apartment. I came to live with her when I was fourteen, have lived here by myself since she died, and I’ve never had someone over. Technically the building is meant for people over sixty, but the super let me stay because I was so neat and quiet, and because I do so much for them. My neighbors think I’m their cleaning lady. I’m going to stop talking now because even though I’m looking at my feet and not your faces, I can still see the harsh judgment in your eyes. Oh, and if you’d like to leave now, I understand.”

Without looking up, I turn, open the door, and stomp into the hall.

Because my eyes have yet to shift from the carpet countless slippers have shuffled across, pink peonies in a glass vase sitting by my door, are the first thing I see. In my haste to see, smell, and touch them I leave my guests for dead and break into a sprint, dropping my bag as I go and swooping them off the ground and into my arms. “I thought my cake was pretty, but these, these are …” I shove my face into their silky petals and inhale like it’s my last breath. “Lord, if pink has a scent then surely this would be it.” I caress each petal, study each shade, locking the memory of their velvety softness away with the scent just in case I should never receive another gift like this one again.

Claire and Noah’s eyes are on me the entire time. I feel them burning into my over-sensitive skin. “I’m aware this is entrenching my weirdo status, but who can care for such insignificant things when I, Charlotte Elizabeth West, have flowers of such beauty within my hands.”

“You like them, then?” The smile I hear in Claire’s voice tells me she already knows the answer.

“Claire, you’ve known me for less than twelve hours and I have been blessed with an infinite improvement to my life. No one has been so kind to me in a long time. I’m not quite sure how to thank you.” I look up from the bouquet to find them observing me like people would a skateboarding ape at the zoo. All confusion and amusement.

I’ve talked too much. Been too honest. Made a fool of myself again. The cruel taunts that scarred my mother flood my mind. “No one wants a girl with the devil in her heart.” Those bullies may have been right. I may well be a daughter of some demon overlord, but my desperation to hold on to the bursts of joy I’ve experienced today wins out over inter-generational shame.

I shake my head, juggle the flowers in my hands, and fish out my keys. “Would you like to come in?”