Birds of Paradise

April 24th, 2010

Birds of Paradise

By Kay Darali

April 24th, 2010

Elea picked up the purple and pink flower again, comparing it with the color's sample. It wasn’t exactly the right tint but the fushias were definitely prettier than the strelitzia, at least for all intent and purposes. She sighed heavily, running her hand over her head and played with her ponytail. Usually, she wore her brown hair down. It wasn’t because she was a more mellow person, it was because of the cover they offered, the way they could hide her face from the rest of the world. She wasn’t ugly, per se. She had inherited the Italian nose—never as big as her mother's had been though, but at least her mother always had a way to proudly present herself—her skin was too pale and not exactly flawless, her brown eyes were hidden behind glasses, her lips weren’t full and pouty. As a kid she had been pretty, as a young adult, she was only nice.

            A knock came at the door. Elea wasn’t expecting anyone today. Her best friend, Marilyn, had gone to a spa for the day to look her best and Elea was stuck here, trying to figure out this flower problem.

            When she saw who was at the door, her face immediately brightened. She had no power over that reaction. She had become used to it over the years. She doubted it would ever change.

            She opened up the door, taking in the six feet three inches tall underwear-model-looking-man standing in front of her. His lips were missing their usual lazy grin and he had the shadow of a bear with hints of red in it. Elea had always found it amusing how even though he had dark brown hair he had those glints. It matched with the freckles on his shoulders. It was one of the many little things she loved about him. “You are a life-saver!” The giddy woman grabbed the confused man’s hand and towed him inside, dragging him towards the kitchen, while he followed, confused.

            When she finally stopped, Liam pulled his hand out of hers. He took in the room, or more exactly the table, covered with flowers and color samples and pieces of cake, invitations in fancy paper, pictures of center pieces, vase of flowers. Wedding things. For his wedding. “Elea, we need to talk.”

            She ignored his serious tone. “I know! Look, come here.” She motioned for him to come closer. He reluctantly did and she could smell his cologne. It was an intoxicating smell and whenever she hugged him, she would still smell of him for a little while. “I know the bird of paradise are your favourite flowers but please, look at this. You think it fits?” She shook the orange flower for emphasis. “Not at all, and they’re pricey and I know you want everything to be perfect and I know you want your lady happy and the lady wants fushias and the fushias are prettier.” She picked the two flowers, showing him. “They might be a little harder to get for this particular occasion but I’m a miracle maker and honestly, I know my flowers, I’ve been working with flowers for over five years now, and I know you can hardly come across anything that’ll make her happier,” she ranted.

             “Elea, stop.”

            She frowned, puzzled. “What? Look how pretty they are,” she crooned teasing him, lightly brushing his face with the tips of the flower. “I know you don’t care about price when it come to this but trust me, fushia is the wise decision.”

            “When were you going to tell me?”

            “That fushia was the right decision?” she asked perplexed and scratched the top of her head, trying to smooth her hair down.

            “That you loved me!”

            At first she didn’t speak. Actually, she didn’t even breathe. She thought she might have actually stopped thinking, or even being alive. Time stopped for breathless seconds. One second, two… twenty. “What are you talking about,” she enquired quietly, looking at the flowers, at the table, at the invitations, at anything but at him.

            “I know!” He took a few steps around, not looking at her either, pulling at his short hair. “When were you going to tell me!?”

            “I wasn’t,” she replied just as quietly.

            He turned abruptly and faced here. “Why not?”

            “Because it was never going to be me, it’s never going to be me.” She loudly slapped her hands on the table, making one of the vase filled with water and flowers drop and spill on everything. “I’ve known it all along. There was never any doubt in my mind and that’s why when I’m going to walk down the isle, I’m going to look at you and I’m going to smile, but not the kind the bride offers to her future husband, the kind that shows how happy a woman is that the man she loves is happy, even if it’s not with her.” She smiled at him while saying this, her eyes filled with tears. “And at the end, I’m going to turn and I’m going to take my place on the side, and I’m going to keep on smiling and I’m not going to cry and I’m going to applaud when you kiss, and at the reception I’ll be the perfect bridesmaid, I’ll do everything the bride wants of me, the way your bestfriend is supposed to. I’ll dance with her, but I won’t dance with you. And at one point I’m going to go sit at my table, and I’m going to stay there with a glass of wine, or something stronger, and I’m going to look at you two, and I’ll see how happy you are and I’ll know I did the right thing. And I’ll go on living with my life, and you two will too, and I’ll probably stay single for the rest of my life because I’ll never find anyone as good as you. But I’m never going to tell you that I love you.”

            “Elea…” he breathed, taking a step towards her.

            She backed away from him, her hands raised, her breath shallow and her eyes watery. Too much, it was too much. “Excuse me,” she whispered and pushed past him, ran past him.

            She ran outside, leaving the door wide open behind her and he stayed there, in front of the table, the water from the vase falling on his shoes, one drop at a time. He grabbed the fushias in his hand and squished them between his fingers.