Rosanna lay still in my arms throughout the entire day as she slept. Even when I moved, she didn’t. Although lying with me was meant to restore her strength, it did me good too as it’s nice to experience touch with another, especially when it’s been so long since you’ve felt affection. I get why people have cuddle therapists. Maybe I’d like to have a job like that, being a cuddle therapist. But who, other than perverts, is gonna seek the embrace of a child that isn’t their own? If Craigslist still had all those shady sections, imagine if I posted an ad for my services that included my photo. I wonder how many sickos would reply. Probably the police would get involved. Oh well. No cuddle therapist career for me.
It was almost 11 a.m. when someone came up the walk, rang the bell, knocked, and then deposited their delivery on the doorstep. I could smell the scent of roses. A florist delivery. Undoubtedly for Rosanna, likely from Bruce, but it wasn’t something to wake her for. She needed her rest and it’s not like we could go outside during daylight to retrieve them. She fell asleep so quickly when she came home that I didn’t get the details of her date. Was the message behind those flowers left on the doorstep “Thank you for fucking me last night.”? Or did they mean, “Will you please fuck me soon?” Fucking Bruce. I hope your fucking flowers are wilting under the sun.
At sundown Rosanna stirred and I let her know about the flowers waiting for her and I got out of bed and went to the kitchen to pour a big scotch. I drank half of it before Rosanna came out of Yelena’s bedroom yawning and went out the front door. She came back smiling bright and was holding two objects—a box of flowers and a big fat book. To my surprise, she said, “They’re for you, Orly.”
And indeed, the card inserted between the tines of the plastic pitchfork thing they stick in bouquets read: “To Orly, Sorry I missed the lecture.” The big book was a dictionary.
Obviously they weren’t from Bruce.
Technically, it could be anyone who saw Grace’s IG post of us at UCLA, but I was pretty sure it was the guy who showed up at the Otoboke Beaver concert, allegedly to see me. It seemed like the kinda move he’d make. Is it creepy, sending me something to my house when I never gave him my address? Good looking people get away with way more shit than plain looking people. That’s for sure. They’re forgiven for whatever. And here I am all excited that he reached out, that our connection isn’t dead. Had I forgotten him as I said I would, I figured since I was reminded of him by he himself, it was totally justified for him to be back front and center on my mind again.
The card wasn’t signed and Rosanna asked me if I knew who they were from. I described the guy with the dark messy hair. She kept smiling. She was genuinely happy for me, but I felt it was too early and too uncertain for happiness just yet.
“What do blue roses mean?”
She shrugged and then hurried back to the bedroom and came back with her phone, already typing. She looked up and said, “Mystery, unattainable love, ecstasy, and fantasy.”
“That’s all over the place. You said “mystery” first though. That’s probably the main meaning and what he means, because he seems to like playing games and being mysterious.” I told her it was annoying, but I didn’t really mean it.
“Why a dictionary?” she asked.
“I assume because we went to that lexicography thing,” I answered, but then I noticed one of the pages had a Post-It note sticking out from it. I turned to the page and on the Post-It were the handwritten words “Surprise me.” The top border of the note was underlying the word “rendezvous.” I knew what the word meant, but peeled the note off anyway to read the full definition to make sure I wasn’t missing anything. I read the definitions aloud to Rosanna.
rendezvous
noun: a meeting at an agreed time and place, typically between two people; a place used for a rendezvous; a place, typically a bar or restaurant, that is used as a popular meeting place.
verb: meet at an agreed time and place.
“So he wants to meet, but didn’t pick the time and place like in the definition of the word he frickin’ chose!” Rosanna exclaimed. “I hate when guys do that! Be a man and figure all that stuff out and invite us!”
“I’m supposed to surprise him.” I rolled my eyes.
“So smooth.”
I stuck the Post-It back on the page, covering the word, and threw the dictionary across the room, but truthfully I was feigning annoyance. Someone wants to meet me. Someone cute.
Rosanna laughed when it crashed on the hardwood floor.
“Oh hey, did you fuck Bruce?” I asked.
Then she blushed. I love her.
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