Rosebuds

Chapter 12

The days passed painfully fast—too fast—for Rose, and sooner than later, Friday night date night came. Doctor Comfrey made sure Darcy complied with the idea, and she promised him she would find Rose a significant other. Rose wasn't having any of it. She rolled her eyes at the reminder to go out and buy something ostentatious and turned to grab the keys to her apartment.

"Sam!" She exclaimed.

"Mhh. . .yeah?" Poor lackadaisical Sam laid on the couch without a care in the world, mindlessly watching television. He was struck down into a torpid state and didn't even respond when Rose spoke with clarity:

"I'm going out for a few hours, Sam, and when I get back we're going to dinner with Darcy, ok?" Rose walked out the door with no rush at all, but somehow to her, it seemed she was too hasty in leaving Sam alone.

It was a beautiful warm afternoon, and Rose enjoyed the sun's rays on her walk despite the bloody bodies that moaned in the streets. The musical of what was her life at the moment sprung into action and repeated in her mind endlessly. She had a pocketful of sunshine and was never going to let anything ruin her smile. After the boredom she brought down onto herself by self-quarantining—quarantining for no apparent reasoning other than from self-deprecation—the outside seemed more inviting than anything else in the world.

Rose's mind was elsewhere in this heavenly state of the newborn summer. She loved newborn summer: It was the combination of the rain followed by a humid warm day that fluttered in the atmosphere, and Rose was in love. It was a feeling of loving towards herself, and that love projected itself from that fluorescent smile out into the feeling of freedom that newborn summer provided. Summer was just an innocent baby at the time before the heatwave burned everyone into oblivion, and everything turned out to be dying. Daisy believed everything was reborn in the fall, but she was wrong. The most growth occurs only in this specific interlude between the death of spring, and the birth of an innocent summer.

Rose was in heaven along her walk, so it wasn't until she walked into a rack of clothes that she realized she made it to downtown.

"Miss, are you alright?" A young Asian woman hanging dresses gave a paranoid look of empathy toward Rose.

"Yeah, I'm. . .fine." Rose awkwardly began to riffle through the dresses unimpressed.

"Are you looking for something specific?" The woman walked over.

"Uh. . .yeah. . .something formal."

"Well then, this is the summer line we have, but inside we have a blue line of formal wear."

"Blue?" Rose's interest peaked.

"Yes, let me show you."

Rose was able to fully see the woman and noticed how she wore a long, light blue-green, silk skirt, and a faded yellow tank top. Her long, black raven hair flew in the movement of her swift gestures, and down the tall rack of suits and dresses, her skirt licked at the bottoms of pant legs and dresses.

"Here we are." All of a sudden she stopped and the image soon disappeared. "Yes. How about this?" It certainly was a beautiful blue dress, but it was too flashy for her. Actually, she changed her mind, deciding: the hell with it, and went ahead to find something comfortable.

Next to the dresses, Rose found a deep sapphire jumpsuit.

"Ah yes, our jumpsuits, but miss. . .I insist on our dresses for a—more feminine wear." Rose was too astonished by the beautiful blue to hear the lady ramble on about the definitions of feminism and sexuality.

"No. . .This'll do." The woman froze with an irritated smile.

"Sure, I'll ring it up for you." She grabbed the 'dress' and walked around the floor to ceiling rack, disappearing from view, yet her high heels still clicked against the false wooden plastic floor as she walked away. Rose heard the clicking, clacking, and beeping of the woman at the counter, ringing her up, and just as the elegant Japanese lady was doing so, Rose wandered through the aisle aimlessly.     

"Ok miss, are you ready to pay?" The woman's voice projected from the corner behind the racks.

"Yes—yes, I'm coming." Rose walked up to the sleek plastic, wooden rosey counter with a white marble top. She paid for the dress and asked if she could change into it.

"Yes, of course. Our dressing rooms are—just down the hall." Her voice was pitched with a slight attitude and maybe just a hint of anger as she gestured to her left.

"Okay, thanks." Rose nodded and turned down the hall to the dressing rooms. For some unknown reason, the dress fit with ease, and as Rose was walking out of the store, the woman complimented her. She checked the time, saw it was getting late, and briskly walked back. When she got home, the sun was dimming, sending its bloody flames everywhere from behind the horizon. Rose opened the door carefully, expecting Sam to still be depressed on the couch.

"Sam?" The house was empty. That is until Sam somehow appeared in the kitchen. "Sam!" He turned around giving Rose a clear view of his attire: a sapphire silk shirt with black trousers. "Wow, Sam! I—I don't know where you got that shirt from, but damn, you're fancier than me." Rose's eyes scanned him from head to toe and approved.

"Rose, I want to come along too, you know." Rose was still appalled at his ability to put himself together.

"Well, of course. Yes! I need you so Darcy doesn't think of something drastic: Like my wingman of sorts. . ." Rose trailed off. "Well—come on, or we'll be late." She ushered Sam out of the door and out into the twilight.

"Do you know where we're going?" Sam muttered out.

"Of course I do. Darcy is pretty hyped on me going, so I doubt she'd leave me without all the details. We're going to some French cafe," Rose boisterously shouted.

"French? How 'fancy.'" It wasn't that long of a walk, but long enough for Sam to begin rambling on about the French. "I'm sorry—" Sam interrupted himself. "—but where are we going?"

"Santa Rosa, Sam. It's not that far. I swear it's just down this road here." They finally made it to the hole in the wall restaurant, and as they walked up, they found Darcy at the door.

"ROSE! You made it!!" Darcy was herself—as always—but this time her hair was longer than Rose remembered, and she wore a beautiful little black beret to go with her French outfit.

"Good, God, Darcy, are we in Paris or something?" Rose stiffened as Darcy hugged her.

"Rose, hi, oh and I see you brought Mr. Handsome." Darcy swooned over Sam.

"Darcy, I don't know why you ever agreed with Dr. Comfrey to do this. I don't need help with my cancer—"

"Oh, he is definitely your type." Darcy talked over Rose, telling Sam all that she knew, or at least pretended to know.

"—I swear, Darcy, you are simply disgusting sometimes with the whole idea of setting me up with some—" Darcy walked the two in as she and Rose clucked back and forth.

"Look, Rose, he's sitting right there." Darcy pointed to a lonely man sitting at a table for two.

"Oh, good, Lord, you found Sam's long lost brother." Rose pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I have a brother?" Sam clearly didn't understand Rose's sarcasm.

The man was sitting there, casually sipping his coffee, and reading the menu. He wore a classic suit and a vivid dark red tie to contrast his dark hair and dark clothing. He stuck out as the cafe walls were painted a lively blood red. Hell, Rose and Sam stuck out horrendously compared to everyone else.

"Ok. Ok. I'll do it, but Darcy—"

"Yeah."

"—he's French?" Darcy shifted in her heels.

"Well—you'll see."