Unkind

Apologies and Peonies

The bouquet of amaryllis and daisies in his basket hops along with the vehicle when Chris encounters a bumpy path. He fixes the sweater around his neck, secured its arms in a knot. His dark curls emit an auburn effect under the sun as it dances against the gust. Whilst his other hand steers his bicycle down the road, passing by the pond where an awful lot of geese stayed for a pit stop – maybe another time, he thinks as he avoids the general direction of the flock.

A few more turns until Chris reaches a suburban village. Maple trees cast shadows on the street while the houses' yards tucked in an orange sheet of leaves. The usual angry blare of the sun eases down at this time of the year, and it tells enough that the season of white and cold is nigh. Though he enjoys the heat more, snow in Sydney is quite uncommon, so it is something that Chris is raring to experience here in Vermont.

Until then, he's going to have multiple orange hues to feast his eyes with.

Stretching his head in search for a certain raven-haired girl, Chris doesn't spot her until he heard someone call him from behind. Oops, he's gone passed it again. He laughs to himself and maneuvers his bicycle around, greeting the girl in a purple Sunday dress with a flashy grin. "Looking good, McGrath!" he tells her.

"Not bad yourself, Christopher," she laced a suggestive undertone in her words as she crosses her arms over her chest, while Chris has taken it as a cue for something they'd be doing later.

He brings his bicycle to a stop and places it gently on the pavement, grabbing the bouquet on his way up to the girl. The girl's face warps into a pleased expression. She reaches out for the flowers while Chris closes the distance between them, pressing his lips on hers into a chaste kiss.

"You shouldn't have," she coos when Chris pulls away, her eyes now set on the flowers, and her fingers brush against the amaryllis' red petals and the daisies' white ones. Chris chuckles, his shoulders shrugging along his low boffo.

"I probably should after I rudely left you alone in the morning."

She laughs, her voice small and bubbly, "besides that, you're so sweet, you know that?"

"Well... err, I've got my ways with the ladies, especially with the one named Olivia," Chris teases to which the girl – Olivia – playfully slaps his chest.

They soon enter the house together, Olivia dumping the flowers in a vacant vase on the kitchen isle. Chris takes a quick glimpse of the other flower vase on top of the refrigerator – peonies tied by the stem, wilted, and water turned into a greenish muck. Those were the flowers he brought her the other time. "How come the peonies didn't survive?" he raises his concern, concealing it with a faint laugh.

Olivia doesn't look up from putting away the new flowers, "what's that?"

"The flowers I gave you at Jisung's party."

"Ahh, that," her gaze still hasn't risen from the flowers, "mom must have forgotten to throw them."

That wasn't the answer to his question, but Chris decides to not press on it. It's just flowers. She can throw them any time she wishes to or could have dried them up to keep them. It wasn't an issue. Chris doesn't mind. At least, she's appreciated it.

"Are you upset?" Olivia's voice rings his ears – more likely, the question flushes his face.

Chris scoffs, "what? No, no... I mean, why would I be?"

"It's no hard work to read your face, honey – are you upset that I let the peonies die?"

"No, it's okay. It's not your fault."

Olivia places the newly filled flower vase on the island in full display. She offers the boy a weak smile whilst she inches toward him. Chris stays put in his spot, his back against the wall. Olivia's lips slowly morph into a roguish grin, and her eyes now hooded and risqué. As she intertwines her fingers with Chris', she rests her head on his chest and looks up to the boy from there. Chris retrieves his hands and snakes an arm around her waist, placing the other below Olivia's jaw to push her face up for him to kiss.