Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 24266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
“Please don’t make this harder than it already is.” Her voice cracks. “Please. Stay.” She starts to walk away, but I follow her outside.
“I’m not a goddamn dog.” I grab her elbow and spin her around to face me. “I’ve been with you through fucking everything—good, bad, tragic, and the least you can do is tell me what you’ve done that […] means we have to be over.”
“I love you enough to let you go.”
“Dahlia…”
“Fine. There’s someone else.”
"No, I don't believe you," I say, shaking my head back and forth. "Tell me the truth."
She stands there with tears in her eyes before releasing a heavy breath.
"It is the truth, Everett. I’ve been bored of our routine. I felt like I was starting to go crazy, so I went to Nashville, and I ended up meeting someone. It wasn't on purpose.”
“You’re lying.”
“We had an instant connection. I'm sorry that I hurt you, but that’s why I'm telling you now. We would have broken up eventually…”
Her words hang in the air for several seconds before settling against me and stabbing pieces of my heart.
I can’t think of shit to say. “Thank you for telling me.”
“You’re welcome.”
Our breakup was a gradual unraveling.
We kept things cordial in front of our mothers; I still stopped by the garden to help her for a few more Sundays, but I immediately agreed to take the job in New Jersey.
I stopped sending her more flowers or notes; she stopped calling to tell me about her day.
It hurt to hear her name, to see her face.
I shared my first flight away from home with Leo and my mother and furnished my apartment in dull shades of grey.
I didn’t want to see a single flower or any colors that might remind me of Dahlia.
The first year without her was the hardest.
The second was easier.
The third was when I met Carmen and tried to convince myself I’d moved on.
SIXTEEN
Dahlia
Tonight was a big night in Eads River.
The most lavish “engagement party” this town had ever seen was at the soon-to-be Mr. & Mrs. Andersons’ ranch-style mansion. Everyone in town was invited to “dance, drink, and wish the future homesteaders well.”
I wasn’t upset with my staff for going. Even Aunt Gertrude was stopping by—albeit “with a plan to see what bad taste this man has in women,” but still…
Maybe Everett was giving her a second chance, and I'd utterly misconstrued those flower orders.
Either way, I chose to stop thinking about it.
I needed to move on in more ways than one.
It was time to rip off the Band-Aid and start my next chapter, so I finally tore open my mother’s letter.
My Dearest Dahlia,
You always asked me the same question during planting season in the fall: “What’s the point of planting tulips in the fall when you know the blooms only last a few weeks in the spring?”
That question made me laugh every season you asked it, but I never gave you the answer.
Until now, that is…
Everything in life can’t be permanent. Some of our memories are moments that won’t last forever. That doesn’t make them any less special, does it?
Tulips are like that, too.
Just like most perennials…
They mimic the best of life, and on our worst days, they remind us of the beauty that could come tomorrow.
You put up with the worst of the winter to see them bloom in the spring.
When you were sixteen years old, I told you that I would pay you to work in the garden or you could get a summer job elsewhere. Do you remember what you said to me?
“I’ve put in sixteen years of my life into this place. If you’re offering to finally pay me for it, why would I ever look for a summer job somewhere else?” you also said, “Plus I get to nap in the shade out here…no other boss would let me do that.”
I can almost picture your confusion when the will was read to you, but I promise I did it in good faith. I put you in charge because I know that everything we’ve worked for since the day you were born will flourish under your hands.
With time (and with Aunt Gertrude’s insistence), I believe this place will become a love for you, too. Trust me.
Also, I received an order from Everett a few weeks before I was admitted into hospice, and I didn’t get the chance to tell him that we were full (or any of the other 'not interested' excuses we have), so please forgive me. And please forgive him for making the biggest mistake of his life.
Hopefully, whenever you two join me here (which I hope is a long time away), you’ll be together as you should be.
I love you, my darling Dahlia.
Keep blooming,
Mom
P.S. Don’t let your Aunt Gertrude take my favorite thuja trees. Plant them near my grave if you have to because those are MINE.