‘FLOWERS, TEA, COFFEE ... OR BOOKS?’ The words rolled off my tongue like I’d never left the flower store while I entered data into Gram’s accounting book. In the two weeks that I was back on the base, I had managed fall deeply into analysis and design. My happy place. Somehow, flowers weren’t so exciting ... or tea, or coffee, or books.

‘Yolande.’ It was a man’s voice, deep and strong, caressing the letters of my name. I looked up. Xander stood before me, his lips curled into a smile.

I took a deep breath to calm my erratic heart. He was the colour of blue. A mesmerising blue like the sea, reminding me of summer holidays and salty air, sand between my toes, running along the beach and kicking up cool water.

‘Alexander ... Gram’s not here. She’s unwell again.’ I sighed.

‘I know.’

I frowned. ‘How?’

‘Everyone in town knows when she isn’t well.’

‘Is it a grape vine of town gossip?’ I asked, my voice more abrasive than I intended.

‘No ... your grandfather stops singing,’ he said and winced.

I held my breath to stop the hurt from cutting through my heart. Gram’s Meniere’s disease—it didn’t just affect her, it affected everyone around her. Including me. I let out a broken breath.

‘How can I help you?’

‘I need to buy some flowers.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘I thought you never bought flowers. Let me recall—“No. Never in fact.”’

He looked down and grinned. ‘It’s true. I usually harvest them ... from gardens.’

‘You mean steal?’

‘Yes.’

‘So, who are they for—the person must be important if you’re purchasing them.’

‘They’re for a partner.’

‘He?’ Like Josh? I wanted to ask, but didn’t.

‘She,’ he said, and lowered his chin.

I raised my eyebrows. I thought he and Josh were together.

‘What would you like?’ I asked.

‘That’s why I’m here.’ He put his hands into his pockets and gave me a coy smile, sending that curious heat rushing through me.

‘Hmmm ... would she prefer flowers by colour, perfume, or by type of flower?’

‘See, this is why I don’t buy flowers!’

‘So ... when you steal flowers from gardens, how do you choose which to take?’

‘Colour.’

‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’

‘Flowers for ... friendship ... a favourite ... a fixation ... a flame ... fondness ... friends ... sex?’

He gave me a look of horror. ‘Sex? People buy flowers for sex?’

‘Correction ... men buy flowers for sex.’

‘No way!’

‘Yes way!’ I was confused. Josh had bought flowers for Xander, twice, hadn’t he?

He smiled and pulled his hands out his pockets, and threaded his long fingers together. ‘It’s for dancing.’ His voice was gentle.

‘Nice. Let’s see what I can rustle up for you.’

‘Well, I hope she’s my dance partner. I haven’t asked her yet.’

‘So, the flowers are for persuasion?’ I raised an eyebrow at him.

‘I guess so ... if you were to receive flowers, what would you like, hypothetically speaking?’

I frowned at him and pressed my lips together. ‘Hmmm ... if I was to receive flowers ... I would prefer the wild garden variety that bloom without competition with the others. They smell much nicer. For your purpose though, flowers from Flowers for Fleur is necessary. Do you trust me to create something special for you?’

He smiled and crossed his arms. ‘You? Andi the pretend florist?’ He cocked an eyebrow at me.

‘Yep!’ I said. ‘Fake it until you make it!’

He looked down at the floor and then lifted his eyes to mine. ‘Okay ... how bad could they be? They won't be flying flowers, will they?’

I narrowed my eyes at him, ignoring his comment, resisting the urge to pick up the nearest flower and throw it at him. ‘What type of dancing?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Yes—for instance, hip-hop dancing flowers would be different to say ... classical ballet flowers ...’ I was testing his reaction to classical ballet. Gram was right, Xander did look like the principal danseur in Swan Lake. He didn’t flinch or react in any way at the mention of the words.

‘I hadn’t thought of it that way. I was only thinking of my dance partner, well ... hopefully my dance partner ...’

‘So what type of dancing?’

‘Ballroom.’

I raised my eyebrows at him, surprised his answer.

‘What?’

‘I just never pictured you as a ballroom dancer!’

He shifted his weight onto his other foot. ‘Me neither. But I’m giving it a go ...’

I nodded my head at him and narrowed my eyes. ‘I’ve got it!’

‘Got what?’

‘I have a vision of the bouquet you need to persuade the woman to dance with you.’ They were roses, peonies and ranunculus—orange, light pink and dark pink, with some dark green foliage.

‘Really? Just like that?’

‘Yes. Simple really, as compared to avionics, or potential dangers of new aircraft technologies...’ Had I said too much?

He cleared his throat. ‘Yes. When you put it that way—simple really ...’ His penetrating gaze probed.

My heart skipped a beat. ‘Look around the store to see if there’s anything else you’d like to add for power of persuasion, while I gather the blooms for your dance proposal.’ I breathed out his energy travelling through me.

‘You’re good at this, aren’t you?’

‘Good at what?’

‘Selling.’

‘No ... I’m just trying to get rid of you so I can create your magical bouquet filled with the word “yes”.’

Xander grinned at me and I whooshed him away with my hand.

At the workbench I opened Gram’s Book of Fantastical Flower Designs to see if she had anything fancy in her flower journal. I ran my finger down the list and stopped at the word “flattery”. He needed to flatter the woman he was targeting as a dance partner to persuade her to dance with him. I turned to page 28, and looked at Gram’s illustration and list of flowers and greenery. Her design was similar to my vision, but she also added a couple of gerberas.

I closed the book and went to the cold room and gathered the collection of blooms, then returned to the workbench and constructed the bouquet of persuasion. I tied pale pink ribbon around the stems then wrapped them in brown paper and added a bow of natural hemp twine. It was sure to impress.

Xander was at the bookshelf flipping through a book.

‘Sir, your order is ready.’

He turned and faced me, his blue eyes capturing me.

I took a calming breath. ‘The “yes” bouquet will work wonders. When she sees you with your hands behind your back, her heart will soften ... but when you reveal the flowers, her heart will melt, and she will say yes to anything you suggest. That’s what flowers are—persuasion,’ I said in a theatrical voice, and took a bow.

Xander raised an amused eyebrow at me and took the flowers, his fingers exquisitely brushing against mine. ‘How much do I owe you?’

I rubbed my hand where his fingers had touched mine. ‘Nothing ... and the story that goes with the “yes” bouquet is free.’ I smiled a little and battered my eyelids at him for dramatics. I wanted him to take the flowers and go. He made me uncomfortable. I wanted to run from him.

‘Do you always talk so much?’

My cheeks warmed. ‘Only when I want to get rid of someone. Is it working?’ I stiffened to stop the sting of his criticism.

‘Yes.’ His blue eyes caressed mine, drawing my soul closer to his.

I took a deep breath. ‘Good luck,’ I said, and walked away as I built a fortress to protect my mind and heart. I added him to my mental list of people I never wanted to see again—him and Dr Jones.

I wrote the bouquet off as a loss of in Gram’s accounting book, then busied myself in the store, tidying and replenishing, breathing out the Xander potion that chipped away at the fortress around my heart.

Three minutes later, Xander appeared before me, with his hands behind his back.

I pulled the top of my dress up higher over my scar, even though I knew it wasn’t showing. My skin burned with anxiety.

‘Did you need something else?’ I wanted him to go away.

He took a step towards me and looked towards the floor. When he lifted his eyes to mine, he held the flowers out towards me; his eyes soft and vulnerable. ‘Yes ... will you be my dance partner? You did say you did ballet at my mother’s garden party.’

‘Oh.’ I put my hand on my forehead and looked down at my steel-capped work boots. My insides clenched with dread while my heart raced. I felt a little faint.

‘Please.’

I walked to the window and focussed outside. I hadn’t danced for three years. Not since I let go of Mia’s hand. He did ask what flowers I would like if I was receiving some ... and here they are. I had just fallen into a net.

My eyes started to burn, so I looked up and blinked to stop my tears from falling.

Xander stood behind me. Today he smelled like a spicy blend of cedarwood and cocoa-vanilla. It reminded me of carefree hot summer days, wearing groovy sunglasses, arms outstretched and looking up at the blue sky. He was so close I could feel his body heat. And right now, I was lost. Utterly and completely.

I snapped out of his potion. ‘Did Gram put you up to this?’ My voice wavered.

‘No.’

‘My mother?’ I asked.

‘No.’

‘What would I have to wear?’

‘A ball gown, designed to how you wish.’ His voice was gentle.

I reached up and fingered my scar through my florist dress. Ballroom dancers were beautiful. Blemish free.

An empty feeling filled my stomach and I tried to control the panic that crept through my veins. I breathed out—slowly, steadily, and gently, until my last drop of breath was released.

‘You won’t need your work boots with me. I’ll look after you.’ His voice was tender.

My eyes filled with tears again.

Can I dance again? Can I enjoy my life when Mia can’t?

‘Please,’ he whispered.

I wiped my tears, turned around and faced him. He lowered his chin and gazed into my eyes. Deeply. He really wanted this.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. ‘I’ll consider being your partner, but there’s one condition.’ My stomach started to quiver, but I ignored it.

‘Being?’

‘That you forgive me for waffling on with nonsensical unnecessary words.’

‘What if I like your nonsensical unnecessary words?’

I shook my head at him. ‘I’ll make mistakes ...’

‘We all make mistakes.’

‘I’ll forget steps ...’

‘I’ll help you to remember them.’

‘I’ve never done ballroom dancing ...’

‘Neither have I.’

I shook my head in the slightest of movements, scared of being vulnerable.

‘Please,’ he said again. His blue eyes seemed to glow with light, a light I wanted to capture and inject into my heart.

A heatwave flooded my body and I inhaled a slow, steady breath. The warmth was as thrilling as it as it was frightening, flashing through me like an electrical storm. I closed my eyes and opened them again. ‘Yes.’

What have I done?

*~*~*~*~*

The regular chair still had the imprint of my butt on it. 

The door opened without one sound of complaint. Dr Jones was dressed in a long dark blue skirt and jacket with a white button-up blouse. Her black ankle boots were stylish, unlike my steel-capped safety boots.

‘Yolande.’ Dr Jones’s voice was calming, like having my Gram’s arms wrapped around me. She was on my list of people to never see again, but somehow, here I was.

I nodded before I stood, then followed her into the room. Dr Jones put a light hand on my shoulder. ‘Would you like to sit on the sofa, or lie on the couch today?’

‘The sofa ... thanks.’ I made myself comfortable and hugged a cushion. Dr Jones went to make of pot of tea. I heard the boiling water and the chink of the china teacups and saucers. I closed my eyes and knitted my fingers together before I placed them on my stomach. I still couldn’t believe I was back in this office. I needed to talk about something, but I wasn’t sure what. Well ... I had an inkling ... of something ...

At the sound of approaching footsteps, I opened my eyes. Dr Jones placed two teacups and saucers on the table. I reached over and picked one up. The warmth of the brew touched my lips when I sipped it and I relaxed a little. Aah ... tea. I was reminded of a Chinese Proverb—a hasty man drinks his tea with a fork. Such an odd thing to say ...

‘What brings you here today, Andi?’

Our session always started like this. Predictable. Safe ... I guess. ‘Xander asked me to dance with him.’

‘How does that make you feel?’

As if I didn’t already know. But saying it out loud took away its power, apparently. ‘Anxious ... terrified.’

‘Of dancing, or of Xander?’

Xander. ‘Dancing.’

‘Why do you think that is?’

Make it up. ‘Because I haven’t danced since ... you know ...’

‘It’s okay to enjoy your life again.’

I feel like I can’t. ‘I know.’

‘Do you think Mia wants you to miss out on enjoyable moments in life?’

Mia ... does she always have to mention Mia? ‘No.’

‘You were an exceptional dancer, once. I believe you’re more than capable of being Xander’s dance partner. What type of dancing is it?’

‘Ballroom.’

‘Is that a problem for you?’

No. ‘I’m not sure ...’

‘Yolande ... is your anxiety more to do with Xander?’

Yes. ‘I’m not sure ... I think that’s why I’m here.’

‘Let’s explore that more ... is it Xander himself, or the fact that he’s male?’

I let out a deep breath. Truth ... ‘I don’t think it’s Xander, because I’m 50% sure he prefers men, so in that regard, I feel safe with him. But, on the other hand, he is male ...’

Dr Jones wrote at speed on her notepad. She looked up at me. ‘Yolande ... are you scared of men?’

Yes. ‘No. I’m angry with them.’

‘Putting aside what happened to you and Mia on that day, what other reasons could you be angry with them?’

‘Well ... the male dominated power structure and the fact that some men don’t think rules apply to them, and they think they can do and say anything to women that they like, without considering the emotional, physical or psychological repercussions ... and, I distrust them and what is behind their intentions. Since that day ... I can’t trust any man whom I do not know. I look at them and think they are lusting after a woman—women to be used and discarded after they have had their wicked way combined with their power trip.’

‘Do you know any good men? Good in the way that they treat women with respect?’

‘Yes—my father, my grandfather, my brother, quite a few men at the base ...’

‘Do you know what signs show that a man is respectful of a woman?’

‘I’d like to think I do. But I feel like my vision is tainted forever, after ... you know ...’

‘Observation is the key. You need to observe him and whether he looks at your face and listens when you speak. Does he treat all people and animals kindly? On the other hand, a man you must avoid is one who looks at your chest, speaks down to others, or gives you very personal comments without knowing you.’

‘That’s exactly what I know, but I analyse and over-think and build my walls to protect myself, even with the “good” men ...’

‘Yolande ... go with your intuition, your gut feeling, the colours you see, and if you’re not sure, ask someone you trust. Your grandmother has met Xander, hasn’t she?’

‘Yes.’

‘Perhaps a conversation with her about Xander would be wise. She may be able to give you more information about him. Do you consider your grandmother to be a good judge of people?’

‘Absolutely.’

Dr Jones gave me a slight smile. ‘I think this ballroom dancing opportunity will be good for you. There is no doubt you’ll have to step out of your comfort zone, but you can do it. You have your Cognitive Behaviour Toolbox at your disposal, anytime of day or night. Print out your CBT Alternative Action Formulation to list your coping strategies, and journal your emotions. You have made significant progress from the first day we met, Yolande. I believe you can do this ... and I know Mia will approve.’

I finished the last of my tea and gazed out the window. There were no warning bells sending shrills of anxiety through me. Dr Jones was right. I had everything I needed to cope with the anxiety, and feelings of guilt.

If only I hadn’t let go of Mia’s hand ...

*~*~*~*~*

One soft light was on at Gram and Grampapa’s house when I arrived. It was in the bedroom on the second floor of their Gothic Revival home. I rested my bike against the hedge near the gate of the house I loved to visit.

Every. Single. Time.

It was filled with beautiful memories, and warmth, and unconditional love, and hot chocolate, and baking cupcakes.

I looked up at the familiar steep-sloping roof, decorated barge-board, cross gables, and Gothic windows, then walked up the four steps to the porch and knocked on the wooden door with the stained-glass panels.

And waited.

I knocked again. I heard the squeak of the internal steps, and after a moment more, the door opened, a little, and Gramps peeked through the crack.

‘Gramps. It’s me ...Yolande.’

He opened the door a little wider. My breath stopped when I saw his face. His eyes were swollen and red. He was the colour of midnight blue; a profound sadness that rattled the bones.

Filled with dread, I pushed hard on the door and stepped inside.

‘Go home, Landi ... Gram isn’t well.’ His voice cracked as his eyes watered.

I shook my head at him and made my way up the steps to their bedroom. Gram was lying on her side on the bed, staring at the wall.

‘I can’t do this anymore ... I can’t do this anymore ... please, make it stop ... I can’t do this anymore ...’ She sobbed between phrases of words.

I knelt on the floor in front of her, out of her line of vision, filled with utter and complete devastation.

‘Gram.’ I had no other words. What do you say to someone who is debilitated, unable to move? I reached over to her hand and held it. Take my hand ...

‘I’m sorry, Gram. I wish I could make it better ...’ Tears filled my eyes and I let them fall, unbidden. ‘This is so unfair. Bad things aren’t supposed to happen to good people.’

Gram vomited. Violently. And although she had nothing to expel, she continued to vomit, so what she spat into the container was nothing but white froth. I handed her a tissue and she wiped her mouth and dropped it into the container.

‘I hate this ... I hate this damn disease—’ Gram vomited once again.

I sat on the floor, holding her hand. ‘How long have you been like this, Gram?’

‘Five and a half hours of the room spinning around me and vomiting, of staring at the same place on the damn wall to try to stop the bloody vertigo.’ She took short breaths, breathing them out forcefully between pursed lips. I knew what she was doing. She was trying to stop the nausea. ‘Five and a half hours of absolute, bloody hell ... I’m so tired, but I can’t close my eyes ...’

I squeezed my eyes shut as Gram vomited violently. When she stopped, I looked at her, and was rattled to the core by her wide eyes filled with fear.

‘The most ridiculous thing is ... I know the room is not spinning, yet, everything in my damn body and mind tells me it is. It’s such a lie ... a lie!’ Her voice broke.

I squeezed Gram’s hand and shut my eyes. ‘Dear God, please take this wretched disease from Gram, and give it to me—’

‘NOOooo!’ Gram yelled.

I jumped.

She was furious. ‘You can’t have it, Yolande!’ she cried. ‘I would NEVER wish this upon anyone, not even my worst enemy.’ She made a high-pitched noise, and vomited, but nothing was expelled from her stomach. She went limp as she wept with a stuttered despair, still staring at the wall.

I stroked her hand with a gentleness from within. ‘Gram ... I’m worried about dehydration. I need to take you to the hospital?’

‘No ... don’t take me there! I can’t move. I don’t want to move. It’ll make me spin more and I’ll vomit again. Please ... no ... just let me lie still, here ... in my own home ...’ Gram’s voice was husky, probably from the relentless vomiting.

‘Fleur, my love,’ Gramps said, standing at the doorway of the bedroom. His voice was gentle, but filled with pain. ‘I’ve already made the call for the paramedics. Your signs of dehydration are verging on dangerous.’

Gram gave a loud sob. ‘I can’t do this anymore ...’ She released a breath like it was her last.

Heavy, silent tears rolled down my face. This scene before me was unbearable. Grandparents are supposed to age with grace, smiling with a gentle knowing of everything, like they had figured out life, and had decided that indeed it was good, even after all they had seen and done.

The flashing blue and red lights of the ambulance intruded the bedroom. Within moments the paramedics were talking to Gram.

And then she was gone.

Exactly where she didn’t want to go ...