Promise Me

This man just keeps coming back like a flesh-covered boomerang. I hope he’s not crooked too.

Beth Cardall’s Diary

I was glad for the holidays to be over and for things to get back to normal, whatever that was these days. I was pressing suit coats when Teresa minced her way back to my station. Teresa was Prompt’s token bombshell, a stunningly beautiful nineteen-year-old blonde—former homecoming queen, head cheerleader, you know the type. Roxanne opined that Teresa’s main purpose for existence was to remind her of how old and undesirable she’d become.

Teresa had pulled her Walkman’s earphones down around her neck, and her face was bent in a wide smile. “Beth, someone sent you flowers.”

I looked up from the press. “Me?” I couldn’t guess who would be sending me flowers.

“Yes, you. They’re beautiful. And, by the way, you can keep the flowers, I’ll keep the deliveryman. He’s hot. I told him he could just leave the flowers with me, but he said he needed to deliver them personally.”

The dry cleaner had a two-way mirror behind the front counter so that when we were shorthanded we could work in back and keep an eye on the lobby. I looked around my rack of coats to see this deliveryman she was talking about. Matthew was standing at the counter holding a vase of sunflowers. I went back to the suit coat I was working on, lightly sighing. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Teresa looked at me in astonishment. “Aren’t you dying to find out who sent them?”

“I know who sent them. They’re from the man holding them.”

She looked at me incredulously. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Nothing. So, are you coming or should I send the Disney Prince away?”

I hung the coat I was pressing on the rack. “I’ll be right there.”

“Then I’ll give you some space. Have fun.” Teresa ran off to the bathroom. I looked back through the glass. Matthew stood patiently, swaying a little to the lobby’s music, the large blue vase clasped in his hands. I shook my head then walked out to the front. He smiled as I came through the door. “Hi, Beth.”

“Hi.” I put my hands on my hips. “I told you—”

“I brought you these,” he said, thrusting the flowers toward me. “I told you I wasn’t going to give up.”

For a moment I just looked at them, unsure of what to do. Taking them was counter to what I had convinced myself was right, but when you’ve been on a diet sometimes you just have to have a little chocolate, if you know what I mean. Besides, I rationalized, what kind of woman rejects a man offering her flowers?

“Thank you,” I said, taking the bouquet and setting it on the counter. “I love sunflowers.”

“I know.”

“How would you know that?”

“You just seem like the kind of woman who would. Roses are pretty but sunflowers have meaning.”

I looked at him quizzically. That was something I had often said to Charlotte. Sunflowers look to the sun, I told her. They mean hope.

“What do sunflowers mean?” I asked.

He looked at me and a knowing smile crossed his lips. “Hope.”

As I looked at him, I couldn’t help but think how handsome he was. My eyes moved back and forth between him and the equally beautiful bouquet of flowers. Finally, I sighed. “What do you want?”

“Just one date. If you hate it, or me, I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

“Okay,” I said.

His eyebrows rose with surprise. “Really?”

“Well you’re not going to give up until I go out with you, are you?”

“No.”

“Then what choice do I have? One date. When?”

“When’s good for you?”

“My babysitter is usually only available on weekends.”

“How about Friday?” he asked.

“This Friday?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Babysitter willing, Friday it is. What time?”

“Seven P.M.?”

“Friday, seven P.M. I’ll plan on it.”

He smiled broadly. “Great.” He started to leave, then turned back. “I don’t know your address.”

I pulled a sheet of paper from the order pad by the register and scribbled my address on the back. “It’s the home with the blue door.” I handed it to him and he looked at it, then folded it up and shoved it in his pocket.

“See you then.”

I watched him leave, then I carried my flowers to the back. I was such a sucker for flowers. Always had been. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if I had done the right thing.

Roxanne was standing next to the press waiting for me. Teresa had alerted her to my caller, and the two of them had watched the exchange from behind the mirror. “Now I know why you didn’t want to come over on New Year’s.”

“What are you talking about?” I set the flowers down on the counter behind the press.

“You’ve been holding out on me, girl. I’ve been telling you to get back on the horse and you’ve been bronco busting all along.”

“Bronco busting?”

“I saw that man. Why didn’t you tell me about him?”

“There was nothing to tell.”

“Nothing to tell? How long has it been going on?”

“We just met.” I went back to work, putting a coat on the press.

“Where?”

“At a 7-Eleven.”

“Wow, all I ever get there is Diet Coke. Who made the first move?”

“Who do you think?”

“What did he say?”

“If you must know—”

“I must,” she inserted.

“He head-butted me.”

“What?”

“It was an accident. I dropped my gum.”

“I don’t care. A man that fine can head-butt me up Main and down State. So why aren’t you acting thrilled about this?”

“Because I’m not thrilled about this. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Because of Marc?”

“Yes, but it’s more than that. I mean, look at this guy.”

“Yeah, I saw him. He’s gorgeous. What’s the problem?”

“Have you ever been sitting in the stands at a ball game and someone turns around and waves at you and you smile and start to wave back when you realize they’re waving to someone behind you?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s how I feel.”

Roxanne rested her hands on her hips. “Well, girl, look at those flowers. He’s definitely waving at you.”

“It just doesn’t feel right. He’s younger, painfully handsome, and nice.”

“What a nightmare . . .”

“Come on, Rox, you have to admit that it doesn’t make sense.”

“No, you need to admit that it does. Why can’t you just accept that someone might find you desirable?”

I frowned. “I don’t know. Probably because I feel like damaged goods.” I went back to pressing. “Besides, my heart tells me not to trust it. It’s the first rule of love and money—if it sounds too good to be true, it is.”

“You’re too cynical.”

“I’m just trying to be smart for a change.”

“If running from happiness is smart, then I’d rather be dumb. Better dumb than lonely.”

“Well, I’m both.”

“Just give it a try, Beth. You’ve had a rough year. Have a little fun for a change. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

I looked up at her. “I could like him.”