My face heats.
“Girl, your cheeks are the color of this flower. What does it say? And who sent it?”
I swallow around the strange lump in my throat and glance back at the plant. “His name is Zebb.” My voice isn’t more than a whisper as I stare at the pointed leaves. “We went to high school together.”
“And you saw him the other night?” Zaleya’s voice rises in hope.
“We talked.”
“Old flame? Spark rekindled?” she teases.
I stroke a finger down the silky red petals, luxuriating in the feel of it while shaking my head. “He wasn’t a boyfriend.” He’d been so much more in a sense. A secret lover. A new experience. I’d given my virginity to him. “Did you know a poinsettia is a funeral plant in Mexico? It’s a sign,” I say, pulling back my fingers from the vibrant flower.
“We don’t live in Mexico. And a sign of what?” Skepticism fills Zaleya’s round face.
“Death.”
“Eva!” Her hands fist at her sides as her eyes widen.
“Or a sign to leave the past where it should be. Buried behind me.” I pause, staring at the festive holiday bloom one more second before looking at my co-worker. “What’s that saying about rearview mirrors? No sense looking backward.” I place the card back in the envelope and lay it on my desk.
“Honey, what I wouldn’t give for one more night with my Harold.” Zaleya had been married thirty-six years when her husband passed away. She speaks of him fondly but has moved on in her own way. “Girl, where are your daydreams and wannabes?”
I had them. I just didn’t share. I couldn’t think about it yet. I had a ten-year plan, and I was only at year seven.
“Wishes are for fools,” I whisper. The statement isn’t intended to hurt her but a comment on my own hopes.
“Eva, while most people want to forget their pasts, and that’s probably a good thing, the past can also hold some of the best memories. Moments in time we carry with us as a reminder that we lived, we loved. We hurt.” She clasps her hands together and clutches them to her chest. “There’s no shame in remembering as long as it doesn’t harden your heart. We learn from the past. We know things from it. Good things.” Her voice softens as her expression shifts. “You can shut the door on some things, but you need to open a window and let in the fresh air. The pleasant memories. The ones that molded you into the person you are.”
I huff. Only bad things molded me. My mother disappearing. Then reappearing. My father leaving after I returned. Failed relationships. A forgotten business plan.
“Eva.” My name brings me out of my thoughts. “That fresh breath of air is waiting in the makeup department.”
“What?” I blink, uncertain I understand.
“Zebb, you said his name is? He’s downstairs.”
+ + +
I didn’t exactly run from my office, but I did briskly walk to the elevator bank and jab the down button more times than necessary. I smoothed my hand over my emerald-green wrap dress, another nod to the season, and straightened my name tag. When the doors finally open, I rush inside and turn to face the mirrored wall, double checking my hair. I should have applied more lipstick.
Then I stop myself.
I didn’t need to primp for Zebb. I had no idea why he’d send flowers to me. Why he’ddeliverthe plant himself and write a personal card. But it didn’t mean anything.
Tis the season, he’d said the other night. People were overly generous this time of year.
As I finally arrive on the first floor, I realize I hadn’t asked Zaleya which makeup counter. Several more minutes pass as I wander around the maze of holiday decorations and display cases, some areas more congested than others. I’ve gone from one corner to the next and don’t see a man in a flannel shirt looking like a youngish Santa. Then I turn to a man dressed in a navy blue, short-sleeve button up uniform shirt, signifying he’s a fireman. He’s admiring something in one of the cases as I approach.
“I’m not certain pink is your color.”
His head pops up and his gaze scans my body. “Green is certainly one of yours.” His teeth pin the corner of his bottom lip a second as he looks up at me.
“Do you know how impossible it is to get a manager in this place?” His hot-chocolate eyes sparkle even in the bright florescent light of the store.
I slowly smile. “Thank you for the flower.” We stare at one another as we did the other night. It’s hard to believe he’s standing in Ashford’s. How many times has he been in the store, and I’ve walked right past him? Or has he been in here with a girlfriend, a wife even, and ignored me?
Then again, he was surprised to learn I worked here.