16 November 2015

Our First Seven Months: Month Two


I hope you enjoy the continuation of Gia and Ethan's story as we enter month two!



Month Two: Tulips


“Kaitlyn, can you get that?” I called from the bathroom. My brown hair dripped down my back as I toweled myself off. I was expecting Ethan any minute, and I was prepared to make him wait a while. It wouldn’t take me long to get ready, but I surely didn’t need to answer the door in a towel and with wet hair.

I heard a muffled exchange and figured she had let him in.

“I just need fifteen minutes, E.”

“It wasn’t him,” Kaitlyn said. “Open the door.”

She handed me a large vase of creamsicle-colored tulips that curved in all directions. Heavy glass cut with jewel-like precision sparkled beneath the flowers, and I reached for the card.

I cleared my throat knowing Kaitlyn would demand to see what it said anyway, and read:

Rose are red, but a bit overdone. Happy one month! Are you ready for fun? — Ethan

“Oh my God, Gia. He’s so sweet,” Kaitlyn exclaimed as she clapped her hands and jumped up and down.

Ethan and I spent hours together over the past month, laughing, talking, getting to know one another. And kissing. Lots of kissing. His lips were the perfect color pink and softer than the petals on the flowers I held. I’d never known a guy could have lips like that.

“Blame my addiction to Burt’s Bee Balm,” he said when I told him how much I loved his lips. “My sister got me hooked on it in eighth grade after she split my lip.”

“Sucker punch?” I asked loving how honest he was with me.

“Of course not.” Mock disdain and shock played on his face. “It was a lacrosse ball.” He smiled and grabbed my chin in his hand, leaning forward to kiss me quickly. “But I’m all better now.”

“I see that.” I leaned into him, kissing back, deepening our connection, and prolonging our night by at least thirty minutes.

Now I sat on the edge of the bathtub staring at my flowers and reliving the hot sweetness of that night.

Ethan seemed to truly understand me. I know that’s what everyone says when they meet someone, but it seemed meant to be. We were compatible on so many levels. We both had two siblings and didn’t have pets as children. We were into the same music and action movies. Even our astrological signs were compatible, Cancer and Capricorn.

And he was gorgeous.

He had chiseled cheekbones and a jaw that could cut steel. His dark hair swooped to meet his stormy blue eyes. They weren’t clear blue like the summer sky. They were a dark, cloudy blue, like the sky before the rain.

And as hokey as it sounds, I really believed he used those lovely eyes to see who I actually was. As far as I was concerned, he cut through all my bullshit. He could tell when I was uncomfortable, or shy, or nervous. And when he sensed those feelings, he did what he could to make me laugh.

It was love.

While neither of us had said it, I knew that’s what it was. Maybe tonight would be the night I finally let him know how I felt.

As I pulled a dark purple sweater over my head, I considered the flower arrangement.

When he’d sent the bouquet of red roses, I’d been thrilled. The expensive blooms surprised me the same way he had the evening before with his quick sense of humor and good looks.

Lovely as they were, however, red roses had never been my style. And when he called later that day, I wasn’t sure what to say.

“I know you got the flowers. Did you like them?” he asked.

I took a second before answering, considering the best way to explain my position on roses, especially red ones.

“Thank you so much, Ethan. They’re gorgeous. But it’s too much. That bouquet was probably more than my car payment.”

“So you didn’t like them?”

“Who wouldn’t like them?” I tried to avoid further explanation.

He sighed. “What is it, Gia?”

“Nothing. I mean, it sounds so ungrateful. And I truly did like them.”

“But you didn’t love them. Are you allergic?”

Laughing a little at his question, I finally confessed. “No, nothing like that. It’s just, well, the roses were gorgeous. But they were roses.”

I could almost hear his stunned confusion. “Yeah, red roses. The most romantic flower out there.”

“But that’s the thing. WE aren’t romantic. Well, not yet. And red roses are what guys send when they don’t know you and want to impress you.”

“Ya got me there. I wanted you to know how much I liked you.”

“They certainly made a statement. It’s just that I like things a little more unusual,” I explained. “Not that roses aren’t lovely. I mean they are. And they smelled beautiful, too. But they’re kind of usual. Expected. I’m a lot more chaotic than roses.”

“More chaotic than roses,” he repeated, almost as a question. “So, what’s more chaotic than roses?” His laughed quietly into his phone.

“Wild flowers, daisies. Oh, tulips. Tulips are much more chaotic. They never know which way to go after you cut them.” I smiled thinking of his reaction on the other end.

“Okay, wild flowers, daisies, which are a weed by the way, and tulips. Noted. I’ll see what I can do next time around.”

Fixing my hair, running my hands over my dress, and grabbing a jacket, I gave the bouquet a last look. He’d done a much better job this time. Tulips were just chaotic enough month two.
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