Catching Rainbows

2

The flower show was all weekend, but I wasn't planning on going Sunday because it was Mother's Day. Two years before I'd made my mom a dumb card that said I'm happy to be yorchid, which she had loved, and we'd gone as we always did.  

A year ago she'd been gone.

Chloe and I had still made plans to meet because what the hell was I supposed to do? Rescind the invitation after I saw she had a boyfriend? Awkward. So instead, I would go spend half the day with her, getting to like her more and more when I had no chance.

Why was I like this.

Half of me hated myself and the other half spent way too long trying to figure out what to wear. 

And so I sat in the car Saturday morning at five to ten, compulsively checking my perfect makeup and waiting for the minutes to creep by so I wasn't early. Imagine Dragons' Polaroid was playing and the sun was bright and kind of relentless. The weekly flea market was also going on in the large parking lot, a maze of cars and people and dogs. 

Then I saw her crossing the parking lot and my heart skipped a beat. "Oh my lord," I said out loud. She walked like a dancer, and heads turned. The day was already warm, typical for California in May, and her shorts were short. Not to mention nicely filled out. "I am dumb as hell," I said in wonder, and got out of the car.

A guy in his thirties held the door open for me, and I tried to ignore the leer. I said "thanks," coolly as I passed through, because I have manner, then stepped aside and paused while my eyes adjusted to the dim lobby. A large card table was set up with two elderly dears behind it, all wrinkles and wispy white curls and flower sweaters. 

Chloe stood with her back to me, holding her hand out for the stamp. She turned to scan the room, amused at something the grandmas were saying. Her eyes met mine and her smile widened as she waved, even though we were only fifty feet apart. She gestured for me to join her and I did. 

"Hi! I got our tickets, you just need to get your stamp. Here she is," she said needlessly to the ticket ladies.

Oh my God, how cute was that. "Let me pay you back," I said, reaching into my purse for my wallet. 

She motioned me away. Her eyes were definitely an amber brown. "No, I'm happy to."

"Then thank you." I held my hand out for the circle stamp, trying not to stare at the woman's crepe paper neck and slightly smeared orangey-red lipstick.

"You girls enjoy," she said in her creaky voice to us, and we thanked her in unison. 

"I love your makeup," Chloe said as I held my hand out for her to go first into the main room. We both flashed the decrepit woman at the door our stamps, though she'd just watched us get them. "I could never make mine look that flawless."

"Good thing you don't need to," I said truthfully, trying to remember where the line was between flirting and being nice and not caring too much if I did cross it. "And you don't have freckles to cover." Not to mention acne scars.

"Shut up, freckles are cute," she protested. Her tank top was red with a scooped neck, her earrings little green turtles with sparkling eyes. "Ooh, look, I love these tiny butterfly ones!" And we were off.

The thing about orchids is there are more than 28,000 kinds, and many of them were just plain cool to look at. The cannabis cookie I'd consumed was kicking in and giving me just enough of a high to truly enjoy the curious flowers, as well as dull the sadness about my mom that kept trying to creep up. It also kept me from getting bored.

I had a short attention span.

At one point one of the more serious vendors asked her not to touch one of the blooms, which was shaped like a bee. "They're very delicate, the Ophrys apifera," the old timer said primly, moving the pot a few inches away from us. "One mustn't touch."

She was irked at being corrected. "Such a pretty name for something the ancient Greek's called 'testicle flower'," she said with mock wonder.

He looked like he was sucking on a lemon. "That is because of the double tubers which some of the plants have," he informed us in a long-suffering voice. 

"I personally prefer the middle English 'bollockswort'," I dead-panned. "Meaning 'testicle plant'."

He was turning red. "Orchidaceae is the preferred term, because anyone with half a brain can see there is nothing testicular about them!"

A few people turned to stare.

"Jeez, settle down, Alfred," she soothed him. 

I swallowed a smile and stepped back with my hands up. "We don't want to talk about testicles with you, sir; you're making us uncomfortable."

"It's really just inappropriate," she added, as a few old biddies nearby frowned and shook their heads. 

I thought Alfred was going to have an apoplexy. "You--you!" he spluttered. "Stay away from my display!"

We continued the charade and then ducked down a side hall, dissolving into giggles. "That was so mean," she said. "But I hate people telling me what to do. I wasn't going to hurt it."

"He'll be alright," I assured her. "You want a snow cone? They make really good ones for at the flea market going on outside."

She was nodding before I was finished. "Oh my God, yes, and something to eat because I totally have the munchies from the edible I had before I came." She stole a glance at me to see what I thought about this confession but I just smiled. "My preferred anxiety medication."

Girlfriend material, right here.