10 Days [Brallon]

Ç'est Merde

[I took a botany test for a college course and I got a B which is rLLY GOOD and I thank this whole book for teaching me nothing also convincing me to hate flowers,, and extra credit points if yknow what Ç'este Merde means]

Valentine's Day.

It was Valentine's Day and I was sitting on the countertop inside my shop, having Tyler and Patrick help me make baskets for last minute procrastinators. Very last minute, considering the day was nearly over. Nonetheless, there was still a steady flow of people wandering in and out, the numbers beginning to dwindle at last as the sun began to disappear behind the mountains.

For the 16th time that day, Tyler called out "Wait, yellow roses mean what?"

"Friendship." I yelled back, grabbing the basket from a confused Tyler as he rounded the corner. He stumbled a few steps, taken aback by 'friendship'.

"Wait, really? Shit, Patrick told me that they meant love."

My other friend popped out from around the corner, children's safety scissors looped between his fingers. "The chart says-"

"The chart says that lilacs mean death, Patrick. I told you when I got it that it was wrong, not to mention the billion times this morning!" Sadly, I was right too. That chart was off a dozen or so flowers, correct on only about half of them. It was the best I could purchase without starting a fund jar all on its own for a stupid flower meaning chart. International shipping was a bitch.

"Oh my god, do you want me to help you or not, cripple?"

The bell above the door rang and Brendon was there, adjusting the strap on his complicated leather jacket. It was a drastic change from last night, for better or worse I didn't care because he looked great either way.

"Happy Valentine's Day, baby!" He cheered, swiping a Clorox wipe across the counter before sitting down next to me. That was the first time he'd used a name like that since I told him to never say it again.

"Well, aren't you happy tonight?"

"I'm just excited. I've got big things planned, Dallon." Brendon smiled and winked, lightly kicking his feet as if we were on a swing. He glanced over the the clock ticking on the wall and hopped down to the ground, holding out his hand for me to take. "We could go now, if you'd like."

"I'd like that."

<><><><><>

We turned the corner only to be met with a line. Not a short one, but after a few minutes of walking it was discovered that it stretched all the way around the block - which sent Brendon into a panic [shh].

I struggled to keep up with him as he sprinted to a restaurant called "Ç'este Merde". I never knew what it meant, but it sounded fancy. And fancy it was, for the better or worse I couldn't tell. Every night it was booked, sometimes even months in advance which was absolutely insane. It didn't even look that good. They probably served the portions that are as big as a dime and cost a hundred thousand of them. That could also probably pay off the rent for that stupid little flower shop. There were always lavenders (devotion, love) and Arbutus (the phrase 'I love only you'), so that was cool.

I hate flowers.

"Brendon, slow down-"

"You stay right there and don't move. I'll be right back, okay?" He pressed a finger to my lips in the middle of my sentence and carefully squeezed his way to a bouncer standing at a podium with a list in hand.

From a distance, the guy didn't look that much bigger than Brendon, but as soon as he neared the podium, Brendon was outmatched by easily a hundred pounds of muscle and another foot or so of height. And as soon as he realized it, Brendon puffed his chest out like a narcissistic little bird and stood on his tip toes to reach the base of the paper.