The Language of Flowers

Pushing open the screen, she reached past the bouquet and wrapped her arm around the back of my neck. I fell against the shoulder Hazel hadn’t claimed, and we stood there, in an awkward embrace, until Hazel began to slip off Elizabeth’s hip. She jostled her back up, and I pulled away to look at them both. Hazel’s face was hidden; Elizabeth wiped tears away from the corners of her eyes.

“Victoria,” she said. She closed her hand around my fingers, and we clutched the bouquet together. Finally, she took it from me. “I’ve missed you.”

Elizabeth held the screen door open and motioned with her head for me to come inside. “Have you eaten? There’s leftover lentil soup, and I made vanilla ice cream this afternoon.”

“I just ate,” I said. “But I’ll have ice cream.”

Hazel lifted her head from Elizabeth’s shoulder and clapped her hands together.

“You had yours already, little one,” Elizabeth said, kissing the top of Hazel’s head and walking into the kitchen. She set her down on the floor, where the baby clung to the backs of Elizabeth’s legs. Leaning from the freezer to the cupboard without taking a step, Elizabeth succeeded in retrieving a metal tub of ice cream, a dish, and a spoon.

“Up you go,” she said when the bowl was full. Hazel reached up, and Elizabeth bent down to scoop her up with one arm. “Let’s sit at the table with your mother.”

My heart raced at Elizabeth’s casual reference to my motherhood, but Hazel, of course, did not flinch.

I washed my hands at the sink and sat down. Elizabeth slid the high chair to face me, but when she bent to put the baby inside, Hazel shrieked and held on to the back of Elizabeth’s neck.

“No thank you, Aunt Elizabeth,” she said calmly, cutting Hazel’s scream short. She pulled the high chair out of the way and slid a chair into its place, then sat down with Hazel pressed against her, chest to chest.

“She’ll get used to you,” Elizabeth said. “It takes her a minute to warm up.”

“Grant told me.”

“You saw Grant?”

I nodded. “Just now. I came here first, but when I saw you out in the garden, with Hazel, I was so surprised I turned and ran.”

“I’m glad you came back,” she said.

“Me, too.”

Elizabeth pushed the bowl of ice cream across the table, and our eyes met. I had come back. Maybe it wasn’t too late, after all.

I took a cold, creamy bite. When I looked up, Hazel had turned. She peered shyly at me, her thin lips parted. I refilled the spoon, lifted it in slow-motion to my lips, and just before taking a bite, turned the spoon to her waiting tongue. She swallowed, smiled, and hid her face in Elizabeth’s chest. Then, looking up, she opened her mouth again. I scooped up a second bite of ice cream and slipped it between her lips.

Elizabeth’s gaze flicked from the baby’s face to mine. “How’ve you been?” she asked.

“Fine,” I said, avoiding her stare.

She shook her head. “No way. I want to know exactly how you’ve been, since the moment I last saw you in court. I want to know everything, starting with where you went when you ran from the courthouse.”

“I didn’t get far. Meredith caught me and put me in a group home, as she’d promised.”

“Was it awful?” Elizabeth asked. There was dread in her eyes, and I knew she was waiting for me to confirm her worst nightmares of what my life had been like for the past decade.

“For the other girls in the home,” I said wryly, remembering the adolescent I’d been and all the harm I’d caused. “For me, it was only awful because I wasn’t here, with you.”

Elizabeth’s eyes welled. In her lap, Hazel banged impatient fists on the table. I fed her another bite, and she reached out, as if she wanted me to pick her up. I looked at Elizabeth.

She nodded, encouraging. “Go ahead.”

With trembling hands, I grasped Hazel underneath her armpits, lifting her up and pulling her to me. She was heavier than I expected. When I set her down in my lap, she wiggled her diapered bottom back against my abdomen and tucked her head under my chin. I dipped my face into the back of her hair. She smelled like Elizabeth: cooking oil, cinnamon, and citrus soap. I inhaled, wrapping my arms around her waist.

Hazel reached into the bowl, submerging her fingers in the melted cream. Elizabeth and I watched her eat, the ice cream dripping onto her bibless linen dress. Her brow, in concentration, was as serious as her father’s.

“Where do you live?” Elizabeth asked.

“I have an apartment. A business, too. I arrange flowers for weddings, anniversaries, that kind of thing.”

“Grant says you’re amazing. He told me women line up for blocks, wait months to buy flowers from you.”

I shrugged. “Everything I know,” I said, “I learned here.”