Chapter 3: The Peony and the Past

At the end of the flower-viewing party that day, Mrs. Parker let everyone pick flowers to take home.

The backyard smelled of lilacs and citronella candles, fireflies blinking over the lawn chairs. Strings of golden fairy lights glowed above as the women drifted through rows of blooms, laughter mixing with the chirr of crickets. It felt almost unreal, like a scene from a Hallmark movie.

Miss Grace came up to me.

“Magnolias are elegant, just like Caleb’s character. This pot is blooming beautifully, Natalie, you should take it home and put it in Caleb’s study.”

Her voice was soft, practiced. I caught the pointed look she gave the magnolia, then me. It wasn’t really about the flower. It never is.

I looked at her strangely, then remembered someone at the party had mentioned she hadn’t talked about marriage these past three years—she must have been waiting for Caleb. So I hinted to her:

“But I don’t like magnolias. I’m a simple person, fond only of bright and flashy things. Thanks for your kindness, Grace, but I’ll pass.”

I set my eyes on a pot of peonies, hugged it in my arms, and said this casually, but it struck a nerve with Grace. She stood in front of me, her voice trembling as she twisted the strap of her purse, struggling to hold herself together. Her eyes welled up, and she blinked hard, like she could keep the tears from spilling.

The tears seemed too heavy for such a simple exchange—her face twisted in that way that makes you feel like the villain in someone else’s story. I realized, too late, that the peony was a symbol for something neither of us wanted to name out loud.

I was still confused when Grace lifted her eyelids slightly. “Natalie, can’t you really give it to me?”

“What?”

“It’s just a pot of flowers. What does it matter to give it up?”

I followed the sound and saw Caleb hurrying over from the garden walkway, wearing a crisp red tie and suit, clearly coming straight from city hall to Mrs. Parker’s house.

His shoes left small dents in the grass, his jacket still smelling faintly of new car leather. He looked every bit the rising star, the sort of man who’d make the society pages.

Caleb took the flowerpot from my arms and handed it to Grace’s friend.

“There are already plenty of peonies at home. You don’t need this one. Right?”

He startled me.

I’d thought Grace truly wanted the flower from me. If I said no, it would seem I didn’t care for it; if I said yes, I would look spineless.

So it was about giving up the person, not the flower.

I looked at Caleb, then at Grace, and finally at the pot of peonies.

“Take it.”

It shouldn’t matter—it’s just a flower. But my arms felt suddenly empty, like I’d handed over a piece of myself without meaning to. Grace’s smile trembled, her hands tight around the ceramic pot.

Grace’s eyes were red from crying. She thanked Caleb, “The poetry collection you sent earlier this month had a wonderful peony verse. When I saw this flower, I thought of you, Caleb, so I had to take it away. Natalie, you won’t be mad about this, right? Otherwise…”

Caleb smiled, easy as ever. “Natalie’s not the jealous type. Go ahead, Grace.”

His laugh was smooth, practiced. It sounded like something he’d said a hundred times before, each word as carefully chosen as his tie.

They chatted for quite a while. Smart guy and pretty woman, talking and laughing; I didn’t pay attention to their words.

Just now, Caleb had snatched the flower from my arms, and I wasn’t angry, but now I felt an emptiness inside.

Caleb had given the birthday gift I gave him to someone else.

I’d only thought Caleb loved reading poetry, so I went to great lengths to find books for him, forgetting Grace also loved those things.

So, when leaving Mrs. Parker’s house, I called out to the man about to get into his car.

“Caleb, when we get home, I have something to say to you.”

My voice was steadier than I felt, echoing across the drive where the cicadas had just started up for the night.