Grey Hearts and Flowers

The Birds and the Bees

"I found the love note in her bag," I say, pacing the floor at Flynn's office, recalling the scene that played out last night with Ana in our bedroom—the shock, the betrayal, the knife through my heart. "We were going to take a shower and she asked me to grab her a hair tie..." I run a sweaty palm through my mop. "I couldn't find one on her end table, so I reached into her purse to look and there it was—a damn declaration of love from some fucker named Michael G."

"Did you confront her about this?" Flynn asks, with his pen propped against his lip.

"Yes,..." I put my hands over my face. The pain too great. "She said she knew I'd go crazy, so she was trying to spare my feelings by hiding it. She tried to stop me from reading the thing, but I had to see with my own eyes." I hold my clasped fist to my lips.

"What did the note say?" He shifts in his chair, focusing intently on me.

"Bee Mine," I say, those two words seared in my brain until time's end. "The first word appropriately spelled like the insect it was from." I pick up my pacing. "And there was a little bumble bee fucker on the front of the card with his stinger sticking out and smiling at a flower with these big cartoon pop eyes like he was some kind of a garden rapist." Flynn hands me a little bean bag ball for me to squish out my rage. "How can they sell that kind of pornography at the Hallmark store?"

Squish, squish.

"And what's worse is that wasn't the end if it," I say, digging my fingernails into the squish. "There were four more stuffed down in her bag from others—a Timmy and a Sam and a JJ and some fucker who signed it Romeo, but I'm still not sure if that's really his name or just his intention."

"What did Ana say to all of this?"

"She said I shouldn't be so upset and I should expect it. That it was Valentine's Day." I squeeze the ball with both hands and nearly rip it in two. "But, who the hell expects their four-year-old daughter to get all those Valentine's cards?"

I look over to him—lost, afraid, my heart breaking—and I think he's fighting a smirk.

"So, Ana isn't alarmed?" he asks.

"No, she thinks it's normal and innocent. Cute even. But, what's innocent about a bee wanting to stick his thing into a full bloom flower?" Christ, what's going to happen when we actually have the birds and bees talk? All she'll think of is that horny one.

"Christian, I have to agree with Ana here."

"Of course you do. You always do. All of you mentally stable people stick together!"

"Phoebe's four years old. I don't think she's going to take up with any of these other four year old boys just yet." He laughs. Of course he mocks my pain while he charges by the minute.

"See there, you said it— just yet. Which implies that it may not be happening currently at the moment, but it's coming—like a tsunami. You think the water's all peaceful, then wham! Dad's guts are slammed against some rock and swept out to sea." I fist my hand around the ball. It's no longer a squish, it's a full blown squeezer. "First, it's cute little heart doilies with stickers and glitter, then it's "hey let's watch Netflix and chill while my parents are in Waikiki and we can lie to your father about it," and then, it's "Dad, I'm pregnant and I'm dropping out of high school."

I flop onto his couch and throw my head back, discarding the ball on the table. The fucking thing's not bringing me any relief. Only the cracked skull of Phoebe's future boyfriend would do that. We're quiet for a moment, which only leaves my thoughts to pound my head.

"I see this as a positive," he says, finally breaking the silence.

"Of course you would." He loves when things get my emotions all stirred up. If Flynn could come back as a kitchen appliance, he'd be a blender.