I love Emily. She has a way of helping me put things into perspective.

She sends me a text in the middle of my year two Animal Sciences lecture. Normally, my phone is on mute during class, but it’s on vibrate as I’m on campus all day today. My plan was to check the dogs using the app, listen for any unusual alerts, and only go back to the condo if I have to.

Emily’s text changes all that.

‘So? How did it go? OMG those guys were hot!’

I reply with, ‘I’m in class. Talk later?’

‘Ok, but you’ll miss out.’

‘On?’

‘The best news ever! Plus I made you lunch. I can bring it to your mansion in the sky! Please say yes.’

I’m tempted to turn her down. My lunch hour won’t give me much time with her, but then I start to like that time restriction. It means I can stuff my face with food while she tells me her good news, then take the dogs out for a quick stretch, and if I’m lucky, I’ll have to leave for my afternoon lecture before she corners me for details about the shitty night I had.

‘Can Rose come too? I haven’t seen her in ages.’

‘Probably not. Her killer internship isn’t going so hot.’

‘Oh, okay. See you at 12:15. Don’t be late, k? Got classes.’

‘I’ll be there! Whipping up your favorites.’

* * *

Emily’s early. I cross the kitty corner to the condo building entrance to find her opening the food container that’s in her hand. She’s offering the concierge a sample of whatever she prepared for me. Thankfully, her food bowl is just one of several in the cooler bag slung over her shoulder, so I’ll still get my fill.

“Hi, Dahl!” she greets me, wrapping her free arm around me when I make it over to her.

“Hi, Em.”

She pulls back and quickly studies my face. “Are you all right? You look like hell.”

“I didn’t get much sleep,” I tell her, keeping it short.

“Oh?” She grins. “Hot after-party with your billionaire bad boy?”

“No, not really.”

“Gosh, I can’t wait to hear how things went after you left. Did I mention how much I envy you right now? By the way, is this how our lives are gonna be? You, gracing the event that I’m catering? I can picture it now. Dahl’s center stage while little old Em slaves away in a tiny, hot, poorly ventilated custom catering kitchen in the back, covered in ingredients and smelling like garlic and two-day-old salmon fillets as she whips up the finest delicacies ever tasted by Manhattan’s upper crust…”

Emily rambles on while we make our way up to Vivian’s place. I don’t mind. The more she talks, the less she’ll ask. Works for me. She updates me on Rose, our other roommate. Rose is also at Columbia, in her last year of a business degree, and plans to do her MBA this coming fall. Although the business school is a couple blocks away from where most of my pre-vet courses are, we rarely see each other. Which is something I need to work on, because she’s one of the few people I know and really like here in the big city. Emily explains that the internship Rose was assigned to for her work term hasn’t been panning out. Something about her boss being a jackass and an unethical fuck, but with the long night I’ve had, my attention span for retaining details is dismally small.

Then we both get the wind knocked out of us as we step inside the foyer of Vivian’s place.

Flowers.

Dahlias, to be precise. Some are lilac colored, but most are bright pink.

They’re everywhere.

“Holy crap, Dahl! These are gorgeous!” She places her cooler bag and food container on the floor, and buries her nose into the floral arrangement closest to the front door. “I’ve never seen this many flowers in one place. Not even at those ritzy weddings I helped out during all of last Spring.” She tilts the vase to one side and pulls out the card sticking up between the blooms. “You should take a look at this note.”

“You go on ahead and read it,” I tell her, because I can already guess they’re from Jackson.

“It says ‘Sorry I overreacted, doll. I’ll make it up to you, starting with these. JK’.” She turns to me, intrigued. “What’s he sorry about?”

“Nothing important,” I say dismissively, and head through the practical forest of bouquets toward the kitchen—where even more dahlias await. I’m met by an enthusiastic Sheba, followed by Daisy and Bailey, who must have heard us walk in.

“I know these rich dudes can go overboard, but all this?” she waves her free arm around the kitchen, “It can’t just be about nothing. Spill.”

Slumping down on a chair, I reach down for the dogs, petting Bailey, who’s closest to my leg. “It doesn’t matter. They’re all going back.”

Shaking her head, she finds her apron from a side pocket of the bag and puts it on. It’s new, or at least I haven’t seen her in it before. It’s a white one, with the saying ‘I Keep the Best Desserts Under This Apron, so Don’t Ever Trust That Other Chef. You Know? The One with the Slim Hips…’ written in red across her chest. Which is kind of funny because Emily is the skinniest chef I know.

“Hey, I’m starved,” I tell her. “Can we eat? And I want to hear your news.”

“What?” she persists, pulling out containers from her cooler bag. “Oh no. I want details, Dahl. My little update doesn’t hold a candle to whatever went down after you left last night.”

“You’ve been so good!” I baby-talk to the dogs, ignoring Emily’s question. “Vivian trained you guys to stay away from her flowers, didn’t she?” Stretching my arm to the sealed treat jar on the counter, I open it and hand out treats to Bailey, then Sheba and Daisy. “Good girls. And you too, Sheba. You’ve been so good.”

Emily turns on the oven and one stovetop burner, and starts to warm up our lunch. “Come on, Dahl. Tell me. Give me something at least.”

“You first,” I insist. “What’s your news?”

Shaking her head, she finally relents, and her expression brightens. “Blair Rasmus hired me in his kitchen!”

“That’s amazing. Congrats hun!”

“Thanks. It’s part-time, but this isn’t just a solo gig, Dahl. It’s three evenings a week at his Gauche, his Soho restaurant.”

“Wow. That place is super expensive.”

“Upscale, hun. Not expensive.”

“Right. Got it.”

“But do you know what that means? It’s a dream come true, Dahl! There isn’t an item on his menu under three hundred bucks. This is the big leagues for me. Everything I wished for is starting to happen…right in front of my eyes.”

“I’m so happy for you hun!” I say with as much enthusiasm I can bring to the surface.

It’s not that I’m not ecstatic for her. I am. I just can’t feel much of anything since last night. Not even with all these goddamned flowers that Jackson got for me. In fact, they’re making it worse. They’re more reminders about what could have happened and didn’t. About a rejection so big that it leaves me at a loss to understand why Jackson reacted that way. Being a virgin at nineteen isn’t that huge of a deal where I’m from, but he acted as though it was the plague, or worse. A part of me wishes I didn’t tell him at all. The night wouldn’t have ended so abruptly if I hadn’t, and this anti-climactic morose wouldn’t keep me feeling so numb.

And I wouldn’t be a virgin anymore.

But no, I confided in him, and paid a worse price than if I’d let Sheba crap all over his balcony.

“Dahlia?” Emily shouts to get my attention.

“What?”

“Where’d you just go? You’re not yourself, hun. Didn’t you hear that? Someone’s at the door.”

“I’ll get it.”

“No, let me.” She passes me a plate of her dill cucumber and tomato bites. “Here. You need to eat. Start with these.”

Emily is gone and back in under a minute, but she’s not alone. It’s the last person I want to see. Jackson, standing with his friend with the glasses from last night. Dylan, I think.

“Someone’s here to see you,” she says, giggling like a schoolgirl as she motions over at them and returns to the stove.

“Hi Dahlia,” Jackson says to me. “I’m not sure if you remember Dylan from last night.”

I nod politely. “Yes. Hello again,” I say to Dylan across the room, but he seems a hell of a lot more interested in what Emily is working on. It’s just as well, because I’m not in the best mood. Being in the same room with Jackson isn’t a good idea. I pop a cucumber bite in my mouth and get to my feet. “My lecture’s starting in fifteen minutes, so this isn’t a good time. But Emily is here. She just made lunch. Feel free to stay and eat.” I turn to Emily. “I’ll leave you the keys. Can you give it to the concierge desk after you lock up?”

“Definitely. Thanks for letting me stay,” Emily chirps.

“Can we have a word in private?” Jackson asks me, following me out of the kitchen.

There’s purpose in my steps as I hurry to get my things at the door. “Unfortunately, I’m out of time. Have some lunch. Emily’s cooking is fantastic. You saw her at the gala last night, I think. Oh and thanks for the flowers, but I’d prefer if you take them back. Ideally, before I get home from class this evening.”

“I came here to apologize,” he says to me. “Last night was…I …you threw me for a loop, okay? It didn’t feel right—”

“Look, you don’t need to explain, and you really don’t have to try and make me feel any worse. I get that it didn’t feel right to you.”

“That’s not what I mean. If you’d let me finish, I can—”

“Oh, you want me to let you finish. Right. Please. Not another word.” I snatch up my backpack. “Emily, can you make sure you put the dogs back in their room upstairs before you go? I’ll talk to you later,” I shout.

“Will do. See you!” she answers from the kitchen.

“Dahlia.”

“No. And do not follow me,” I say through gritted teeth.

I don’t give it a second thought as I pull the door closed with Jackson standing inside, and head to the elevators. A wave of satisfaction comes over me during my ride down the elevator. There’s a new edginess inside me that I didn’t have before. An assertive power I’ve never tapped into.

And it’s as cold as ice.

I can thank Jackson for unleashing this new side of me.