The Frog and The Beast

The Frog Chapter 3

The hibiscus—a tropical flower symbolizing happiness, sunshine, good fortune, friendship, and love—held a special significance for my family. My mother wore a red hibiscus in her hair on the day she met my father. It was summertime in Fiore, and when Mom tore the strap on her sandal, she walked into my dad's shop to get it fixed.

Dad immediately noticed the vibrant red hibiscus tucked behind her ear and felt an instant attraction. He repaired her sandal in mere minutes, but they ended up talking for hours. That single encounter blossomed into a beautiful love story, leading to my existence and that of my sister.

From that day on, hibiscuses became a staple in our home. They adorned the kitchen table, thrived on the windowsill, and were braided into Wendy's hair. Mom even bought me a hibiscus corsage to give to my date. I wasn't sure if Minerva would appreciate it; most girls preferred fancier flowers for big dances, but I didn't want to hurt my mom's feelings.

Mom was thrilled when she learned I had a date for the dance. She often worried about me not socializing enough, not making friends, or going on dates. I suspected she harbored a secret fear that I might never marry and give her grandchildren—that's what Wendy said, anyway.

"What do you think, Happy?" I asked as I dressed for the dance that night. "Should I go with the tie or the scarf?"

Happy was my cat and my closest companion. I found him as a kitten, rummaging through garbage—one of those unfortunate souls people abandoned to fend for themselves. It was sickening. I took him in, nursed him back to health, and we became inseparable. He was a better friend than any human; cats don't judge you based on looks, wealth, or your father's profession. As long as you treat them well, they'll be your friend for life.

"I should probably go with the tie, right?" I mused. "That's what people typically wear to a dance."

Happy yawned and hopped down from my bed, batting at the end of my scarf, as if to suggest I should wear what I liked rather than conform to expectations. That's why he was my best friend.

"You look so handsome," Mom said, smoothing my hair to tame any unruly strands. "As handsome as your father."

"Are we going to meet this date of yours?" Dad asked.

"I don't think so," I replied. "She wanted to meet at the dance instead of being picked up."

"That's odd," Dad remarked. "In my day, the gentleman always escorted the lady."

"Well, I have a feeling she's not one for convention," Wendy chimed in.

Wendy was skeptical about Minerva. All week, she had voiced her distrust, convinced Minerva was just waiting for the right moment to pounce on me, as if I were a naive teenage girl and Minerva some male predator.

"Girls can prey on guys too, you know," she warned. "It happens more than you think."

"I doubt that'll happen at a high school dance," I countered. "Not with hundreds of witnesses around."

"What if she tries to take you back to a motel or something, and your hormones get the better of you?"

"Wendy, relax! Stop acting like you know everything."

"I know a lot more than you."

"Just because you watch the news doesn't mean you're an expert. Half that stuff is bull shit."

I suspected Wendy was just jealous. She had been the only girl in my life, and now she feared Minerva might take her place, even though this was just a casual date—nothing more.

"You show that girl a good time, son," Dad said.

"But remember to be a gentleman, dear," Mom advised.