In the Language of the Flowers

| 17 |

✾ Gardenia ✾

"I'm in love with him," I said. "I'm in love with him. I'm so in love with him."

Amory stared at me. I'd approached him mid-cupcake batch in the kitchen of the bakery. His hands had little smudges of icing all over them. He straightened. "I know." 

"But how did you know?"

He shrugged. "You don't make it a secret." 

I clutched either side of my head, mussing my hair and cannonballing into a pool filled with self-doubt, vomity anxiety, and fear. "Oh no." 

"So," Amory said. "Who is he?" 

"My roommate," I said. "Ren Amano. He's..." I sighed, closing my eyes. I could feel my heartbeat accelerate just thinking about him. "He's the most generous person I've ever met. He's got a huge heart, cares about other people genuinely." I opened my eyes. "And he's so hot. The room literally goes up a few degrees when he enters." Amory chuckled. "He has this...this way of walking where the world just moves around him, not the other way around. I can't explain it. And he's an artist. I've never seen any of his work, but I'm sure he's really talented. I can't imagine him being bad at anything."

Amory shook his head, focusing on icing his cupcakes again. "You've got it bad." 

I frowned. Why hadn't I seen any of Ren's art before? "What do I do?" 

"Ask him if he feels the same," Amory replied like he hadn't just suggested the most terrifying thing in the entire universe. More terrifying than standing on the tip of the Empire State building. More terrifying than a pit of scorpions. More terrifying than the zombie apocalypse, or spontaneous combustion, or necrotizing fasciitis. 

"What?" I said. What?

He looked at me. "Ask him if he feels the same. You can do it." 

"No." I shook my head. "Nuh-uh."

"It's just words, Beau," he said. He never called me beautiful anymore, with that accent of his, but I didn't miss it. Beau was fine. But if Ren ever stopped calling me Copper, I'd suck in one last panicked breath and then promptly expire. "I asked you, remember?" he pointed out.

"And look what happened!" 

"It won't always work out like it did between us," he said. "And besides, I'm fine. I didn't die." 

"It won't work out at all," I said. "Ren is straight. And I'm not you." 

He froze mid-cupcake. "What does that mean?" 

"I don't know." 

He stared at me. "What does that mean, Beau?" 

"It means that I'm not you! I can't just say what I feel all the time. I'm just me, and nobody wants me." 

Amory plunked the bag of icing down on the table. He put a hand on his hip and scowled at me. "Do you think it was easy for me?"

I scoffed. "Yes." 

"It wasn't." He shook his head. "Actually, it still isn't." 

A swarm of guilt engulfed me, stinging me all over. I was talking about the man I loved to the man who, though probably not loved, at least had a crush on me. 

"Yes. It is scary. Of course, it is. You're putting yourself out there to potentially get hurt. But if you don't get shot down, you only go up and up, all the way to heaven."

"Heaven," I squeaked. I imagined, if only for a moment, what it would be like to hear those words. I love you, too. Heaven is about the right word.