Opposite of Always(84)

So, plan B.

First, I secure her room number from the information desk.

Then I race to the gift shop and buy ALL THE FLOWERS. The volunteer cashier loans me a cart to transport my flowers. I barely clear the elevator, flowers blooming in every direction. But I make it inside, petals largely intact. The car starts to climb and my stomach churns, only it’s not the elevator motion.

I pause outside her door, my stomach queasy now. What are you doing here, Jack? But then, without my consent, my hand knocks.

“Come in,” Kate calls.

I push the cart inside. I can’t see her and I imagine she can’t see me, the botanical wall separating us.

“I think you have the wrong room,” she says.

I step around the cart and there she is, lying in bed, a book open on her lap, and although she’s staring right at me, it’s clear she doesn’t know me. Which, while expected, is still brutal on a level I’m incapable of articulating.

“You’re not Kate Edwards?”

“Yes, that’s me,” she confirms.

“No mistake then.”

I gather as many bouquets as I can hold, arranging the flowers around the room.

“Who are these from?” she asks.

I set a vase filled with yellow and red tulips on the windowsill. There’s a stack of books there, and movies, too. Short Term 12. We’d watched it together. Well, more like I’d watched it and she’d watched me at all her favorite parts. What are you doing? I’d asked, blushing at her staring. I just want to see your reaction, she’d said. If it hits you the same. Do you want me to stop? I’m creeping you out, right? No, I’d said, don’t stop.

“Is there a card?” she asks.

“Uh, no, ma’am. Not that I see.”

She laughs. “Please never call me ma’am again.”

“Oh, right, sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She points to the cart. “I don’t understand who’d do this.”

“Your boyfriend,” I suggest.

“You obviously haven’t met my boyfriend.”

Okay, I admit, this makes me happy. But also not happy, because she deserves a boyfriend who’d fill her room with flowers. Although, she deserves a boyfriend who wouldn’t abandon her just because things got hard, so I shouldn’t toot my own horn too enthusiastically, either.

“Parents maybe? Siblings?”

“Not their style.”

I study her eyes. I can’t help but wonder if on some deep-down, hard-to-retrieve level she still knows me. Like if she burrowed far enough into her subconscious she might find traces of us. That maybe with the right combination of words, if I moved a certain way, she might remember. But she grabs her phone, taps the screen.

“You figured it out?” I ask.

She glances up, smiles. “Unless someone steps forward and takes responsibility for this flower assault, I think it’s likely to remain a mystery.”

I nod. “Right.”

She goes back to her phone.

“Well, that’s all of them,” I say, purposely saving the last flower arrangement for the table beside her.

“Thanks,” she says, not looking up.

“Sure. My pleasure.” I’m lingering; I don’t want to leave. But if I stay any longer, it’s going to be creepy. Maybe she’ll call security. I stop in the doorway. “Well, you take care. I hope you feel better soon.”

In the hallway, my heart thumps so hard I have to lean against the wall to steady myself.

“Hey, wait,” she calls out. “Hey!”

Could it be? She feels something? Somehow remembers?

I step back in. “Yeah?”

“Phalaenopsis Blume. How did you know?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Phalaenopsis Blume, also known as moth orchids.”

“Oh. Right. The phalen . . . phalanges . . . what you said.”

She laughs. “So, how’d you know these are my favorite?”

“What do you mean?”

She grins. “Out of all these flowers, you put the orchid next to my bed. Who are you, really? Do we know each other? Someone put you up to this?”

“I’m just a hospital volunteer.”

“Oh yeah? Then where’s your red volunteer vest?”

Good point. “Dry cleaner’s,” I say. It takes everything in my power not to slap myself across the forehead.

She stares at me like she doesn’t believe me. “Well, thanks, anyway. You made my day.”

“Glad I could help,” I say, wishing I could say more. That I could pull up a chair beside her. Find out how’s she’s been. Apologize for abandoning her.

But I can’t.

I shuffle out into the hallway, pulling the door behind me. As it closes, I take her in one final time. Kate brings the tiger lily to her nose and her eyes drift toward the window, the smell triggering a memory.

The door clicks shut.

Jillian’s in the waiting room outside her cousin’s room, munching dried cranberries.

“There you are,” Jillian says.

“Is everything okay?” I touch her arm. “Is your cousin all right?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I was just worried about you. You vanished. And you weren’t answering your phone.”