The Language of Flowers

“Elizabeth?” Meredith called. “Victoria?” She walked through the living room and into the kitchen. Her footsteps traveled around the table and paused in front of the window over the sink. I held my breath, imagining her eyes traveling over the leafy vines, looking for signs of movement. She wouldn’t find any. Carlos had taken Perla camping again, for their annual trip. Finally, I heard her turn and walk up the stairs. “Elizabeth?” she called again. And then, quietly: “Elizabeth? Are you all right?”

Creeping up the stairs, I stopped on the top step and leaned into the wall, out of sight.

“I’m resting,” Elizabeth said quietly. “I just needed a little rest.”

“ ‘Resting’?” Meredith asked. Something in Elizabeth’s voice had angered Meredith, and her tone had turned from concerned to accusing. “It’s four o’clock in the afternoon! And you missed your court date. You left the judge and me sitting there staring at each other, wondering where you and Victoria—” She stopped midsentence. “Where’s Victoria?”

“She was just here a minute ago,” Elizabeth said, her voice weak. Hours, I wanted to yell. I was there hours ago; I’d left her bedside at noon, when I knew for certain we were not going to court. “Did you check the kitchen?”

When Meredith spoke next, she sounded closer to me. “I checked,” she said. “But I’ll check again.” I stood up and began to tiptoe down the stairs, too late. “Victoria,” Meredith said. “Come back here.”

Turning, I followed Meredith into my bedroom. I had changed out of the dress and into shorts and a T-shirt earlier in the day, and the dress lay across the top of my desk. Meredith sat down and began to run her fingers over the top of the velvet flowers. I snatched the dress from her, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it under the bed.

“What’s going on?” Meredith demanded, her voice as accusing as it had been with Elizabeth. I shrugged.

“Don’t think you’re going to stand there and say nothing. Everything’s going great, Elizabeth loves you, you’re happy—and then a no-show for your adoption proceeding? What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!” I shouted. For the first time in my life, it was true, but there was no reason for Meredith to believe me. “Elizabeth’s tired, you heard her. Just leave us alone.” I crawled into bed, pulled up the covers, and turned to face the wall.

Exhaling a loud, impatient sigh, Meredith stood up. “Something’s going on,” she said. “Either you did something horrific, or Elizabeth isn’t mentally fit to be a mother. Either way, I’m not sure this is a good placement for you anymore.”

“It isn’t your place to decide what is or is not good for Victoria,” Elizabeth said quietly. I sat up and turned to look at her. She leaned heavily against the door frame, as if she would fall over without its support. A pale pink bathrobe crisscrossed her body. Her hair fell in tangled bunches over her shoulders.

“It’s exactly my place to decide,” Meredith said, stepping toward Elizabeth. She was neither taller nor stronger, but she towered over Elizabeth’s wilted figure. I wondered if Elizabeth was afraid. “It wouldn’t have been my place anymore if you’d appeared in court at eleven a.m. this morning, and believe me, I was ready to give up control of this child. But it seems that isn’t to be. What did she do?”

“She didn’t do anything,” Elizabeth said.

I couldn’t see Meredith’s face, couldn’t see if she believed her. “If Victoria didn’t do anything, I’ll have to write you up. Give you a written warning for missing a court date, for suspicion of neglect. Has she eaten anything today?” I lifted my shirt away from my skin, where streaks of peanut butter remained from my snack, but neither Meredith nor Elizabeth looked at me.

“I don’t know,” Elizabeth said.

Meredith nodded. “That’s what I thought.” She moved toward the bedroom door, stepping past Elizabeth. “We’ll finish in the living room. Victoria doesn’t need to be a part of the conversation we’re about to have.”

I didn’t follow them down the stairs, didn’t want to hear. I wanted everything to be as it was the day before, when I believed Elizabeth would adopt me. Rolling to the edge of the bed, I reached underneath until I found my wrinkled ball of a dress. I pulled it into bed with me, squeezing it into my chest and pressing my face into the velvet. The dress still smelled like the store, new wood and glass cleaner, and I remembered the feeling of Elizabeth’s arms underneath my armpits and tight across my chest, the look on her face as our eyes met in the mirror.

From downstairs I heard snippets of an argument: Meredith mostly, her voice raised. She has you or she has nothing, she said at one point. It’s bullshit for you to say you want more for her. An excuse. Didn’t Elizabeth know that she was all I wanted? That she was all I would ever want? Huddled under the comforter, I found the summer heat thick and suffocating. I struggled for breath.