THE FLOW

Issue #002

A fresh bouquet of flowers sits at the edge of my desk, earning me a few extra interested peeks as my coworkers walk past my office. The mystery is amped up. My being single as Pringle has created a case for myself to investigate. I don't have a clue who's sent me these flowers. The bouquet is beautiful, a perfect pop of color that coincides with my office's color scheme. Such a thoughtful choice in shades leads me to believe the culprit has been here before but I can't say for sure. I don't know where the hell these came from. No card, no signature, nothing. I'm as stuck as anyone else.

Eyes narrowing in on my reflection as I check my lip liner in my compact mirror, I jump at the knocking on my office's door. I snap it shut as I mentally fight to reclaim my peace. Mary, my main co-writer, enters with a bagel in her hand. Standing six inches above a solid five-feet, her legs are elongated by her three inch pumps. My eyes scan her skirt for length, ready to apply pressure in response to the possibility of her disobeying the exact dress code her outfits manage to create every quarter. Though I sigh in relief at the length, I quickly find myself gawking at the perfect tailoring of her blouse.

"What are you all dressed up for," I tease, watching her fully enter my office.

Mary's brunette bob shifts to the right as she drops her head to examine my flowers. "One on one with André Leon Talley to talk about his time at Vogue. I refuse to pick up his memoir in five years and learn I'd been singled out for a wrinkly, ill-fitting top."

Laughing, I point my pen at her. "You, my darling, were thinking with your brain."

"Yeah, well, now I'm thinking with my nose." Mary leans forward, holding her bagel to her lips, peering at my vase as if she's looking for a clue herself. "Where'd you get these?"

I shrug my shoulders, playing it as if I am satisfied with not knowing who sent them. "No idea," I state.

"The banker from Boston?"

"That was a two night kinda thing," I loosely remind. "Never saw him again... Even after he kept calling."

Mary's lips twist up as her thinking cap sits atop of her head. She bites her bagel as her free hand pokes around the bouquet. A satisfied hum buzzes in the room as she shrugs. Remaining curious, she asks a different kind of question. "Is there anybody you want these to be from," inquires Mary. "Maybe the man that visits you on lunch every Thursday."

"Who, my friend? Jared?" I don't mean to play dumb. It happens naturally, something I couldn't control if I wanted to. She's caught me too off-guard. "Oh, no." My head shakes, lips buzzing as I wave her off. "He's not that kind of guy."

"Says who?"

My smile holds back the laughter building in my chest as much as it can. "Says someone who knows him," I quip. If only she knew Jared as Jared rather than the man I always eat lunch with. She'd save herself a lot of time.

I don't have any issues admitting we've grown closer in recent weeks. In fact, I'd love if Jared were to buy me flowers. Since the night he drove Adrienne and I back to my place, I've seen him a little differently. It all started in the way my hands clammed up when he looked at me. Now, the smell of his cologne gives me butterflies and I giggle when I hear his voice. I may be mistaken, but a part of me thinks he feels something between us too. Regardless, Jared may have changed but he's still Jared at the end of the day. A kindergarten crush isn't enough for me to loose my good sense.

Jared's not a bouquet gifting kind of man. A year younger than DeVante and three years behind his developmental stage, I can infer that Jared won't be that type for another five years. He's just not wired that way. He'll need to be taught this way of life. I've been catching him reading some of the female perspective articles we produce but I see that as pure entertainment. I, too, like to read a White woman's thoughts every now and then. He finds them funny, poking holes in every dramatic hyperbole used. I can't blame him.