Young Jane Young(24)

“Orchids?” I said.

“Well,” she said. “I see you have one over there on your windowsill. And the thing I like about it is, it never dies. It has looked exactly the same every time I’ve come in here. And, I don’t know, there’s something comforting and homey to that.”

I had never heard someone refer to an orchid as homey. “They die sometimes,” I said. “But as long as you keep watering them, eventually they come back.”

“Oh, I love that,” she said. “I don’t know if it fits with the elegant rustic theme —”

“Everything fits with that,” I said.

“But I was wondering if we could use potted orchids as centerpieces and then people could take them home with them. It would be so elegant, but also… what’s the word?”

“Rustic?” I filled in.

“I was thinking ‘green.’ That’s something that’s important to both Wes and me. Well, at least it’s important to me. I don’t know, maybe it seems more special than roses.”

I took Franny to Schiele’s. Eliot Schiele was the florist I went to when the wedding couple wanted something unusual. He was the most serious florist I had ever met. I don’t mean to tar him with the word artisanal because that has a particular connotation, but it would not be wrong to refer to Schiele’s flowers as artisanal. He was a perfectionist, a tad obsessive, and also pricey.

Schiele said, “Winter wedding? The only difficult thing will be getting them from the truck to the space. Orchids do not love the cold.”

“But people will be able to take them home?” Franny said.

“Yes, as long as you tell your guests not to dawdle in the parking lot. Also, I could print up booklets with care and handling instructions. You know, how often and how much to water, when to start fertilizing, where to cut the spike, how to repot, how to select potting medium, how much sunlight. Franny, did you know that orchids like it when you touch their leaves?”

“Neat,” she said.

“I never touch my orchid’s leaves,” I said.

“Then I bet your orchid is feeling pretty blue, Jane,” Schiele said.

“What kinds of orchids are there?” Franny asked. “Jane has a white one that I love.”

“Jane has your typical, beginner, grocery store phalaenopsis. No offense, Jane. And we could definitely do that, no problem. But there are thousands of orchids. You shouldn’t settle down with the first orchid that catches your eye.”

“Hey, Schiele,” I said. “That’s my orchid you’re talking about. I’ve had it since college.”

“It’s a great orchid, Jane. It’s a solid starter orchid. But this is a wedding. This is the beginning of young lives! We can do better.” He got out his big binder of orchids.

She chose the brassavola, which looked like clusters of delicate calla lilies.

“Ah,” said Schiele, “the Lady of the Night.”

“It’s actually called that?” I asked. “Or is that your weird pet name for it?”

“It releases a perfume in the evening,” he said. “Don’t worry, Franny. It smells great.”

Schiele said he would run estimates for how much it would cost.

A few days later, he sent his estimate to my office, along with another orchid, a purple one with leaves that looked like bamboo shoots, and a note: “My name is Miniature Dendrobium. I want to be friends with your grocery story phalaenopsis, even though he is incredibly pedestrian. He is very lonely and longs for companionship.”

I called him on the phone. “My phalaenopsis is a girl.”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “And actually, I think you’re being quite sexist. Not every flower is a girl.”

“I didn’t say that. I only said mine was a girl. Do flowers have sexes?”

“Didn’t you take biology in high school?” Schiele said.

“I didn’t pay attention.”

“Pity. Some plants have all flowers of one sex. Some have flowers of both sexes. You have to consider each flower and each plant individually. And in point of absolute fact, most orchid blooms, including yours, are hermaphrodites, and many flowers are bisexual.”

“But I stand by my original point,” I said. “My phalaenopsis, whatever her sexual presentation or preference, is a girl. For you to insist otherwise is to confuse gender and sex.”

“Maybe we could have coffee sometime to settle this matter? I’ll examine your orchid for you.”

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that.”

“The orchid won’t feel a thing.”

“No, I meant the coffee. I don’t drink coffee,” I said.

“Tea then,” he said.

“Schiele,” I said. “Just to be clear, this isn’t a date.”

“No,” he said. “Of course not. But it’s good for us wedding business folks to stick together, don’t you think? Anyway, I’d like us to be friends. I know you use Maine Event Blooms more often than me, and I’d like to be your number-one flower guy.”

“It’s not personal. Maine Event Blooms is cheaper,” I said.

“And they do have that pun,” he said. “Who can compete with that?”