Time's Forbidden Flower (8 page)

“Yeah, right,” I snicker. “You’ll cave to that the day he goes
into
the closet.” I pull back and feel flush at the glorious display, now noticing more of his attempt at decoration. Bright icing ribbons scroll and splatter throughout the pans. He even tried piping a heart on one of the cakes, but it looks more anatomically correct than iconic. “Speaking of which, wow, you really don’t have a gay molecule in your body. This is incredible.”

“Sorry, it’s a bit of a disaster.”

I try to disguise the depths of emotions that reside in my words. “Honestly, I’ve missed you so much that I don’t mind the tsunami of icing.” Keeping one arm securely around him I run a finger through a sugary ribbon then stick it in Donovan’s mouth. I relish in his eager glow, only to be struck by a wave of remorse for the action that occurred without premeditation.

“I’m starving,” he claims. “Let me take you to breakfast. I almost grabbed a fork and started attacking everything in the fridge. I’d kill for some chocolate mousse right now.”

Dear God, he’s not the only one. Sadly, what I define as exquisite chocolate mousse is wearing a suit and is completely off limits. He needs to fasten those alluring top buttons.

Forcing my eyes off of the drool-worthy man they return to the display of aluminum confections. “I shouldn’t. I didn’t schedule time away, and to leave people with this and have to compensate for my not being here is unfair.”

“Come on,” he pleads. “It’s your do-over birthday.” His hand rises to my cheek, his thumb gracing just under my lashes, as if wiping away the tears shed the day I turned seventeen and felt abandoned.
 

I nod to him and force an excuse to pull away. “I need a picture of this before we go.”

“Here,” he says, pulling a phone out of his back pocket. Pressing the on button, the screen illuminates with an extreme close-up photo of his daughter sporting a silly, and slightly spitty, smile.

“You old softie,” I chuckle as he poses in front of the counter. “Oh, no. You need to sit up there among the carnage.”

“You’re not going to yell at me? Your rant from six Thanksgivings ago still rings in my head. ‘Get off of my counter! I don’t know where your filthy butt has been, and I don’t want to know!’ ”

My eyes narrow despite my amusement. “Shut up and get up there. You being able to quote my past is both endearing and annoying as crap.” He bounces up and I snap a quick shot before his smile becomes too posed. I then step back to get the full glory in frame, but the array of destruction is too wide. “Hey, slide that one on the end towards you a bit.”

“Why?” he asks.

“It’s not in frame.”

“You don’t need it to be. Take the picture, and let’s get out of here.”

“Fine! I’ll do it myself!”

Donovan jumps up to protest, putting his hand out, waiving me to retreat. “It’s fine, Lil. Just take the picture.”

Crap. There’s a reason for his laziness. I go for the pans and find my attempt to shove the tower is futile. “You
glued
my pans to the counter? You rat bastard!”

His eyes crest, “I’m diabolical, not cruel. I used industrial-grade high tack.”

“Dear God, how much did you use?” I ask, trying unsuccessfully to get the stack to budge before moving on to the next one and encountering the same problem. I push harder, then shake the table. Nothing happens—not even a flutter.

“Umm…” Donovan runs for the back door, just like he did when he was twelve and stole my diary. “Meet you at the car.”

Grabbing a bag of icing I run after him with the intent of pin-striping his suit. That jerk!

Anna is an enigma. Our forest of distance has roots that extend beyond the awkwardness felt regarding her relationship with the man who is a complex part of my life. Today I hope to yank up a couple of trees.

We detour by an eclectic coffee shop while shopping for Donovan’s office decor. Before we order, I pull a twenty-dollar bill out of my wallet and place it on the counter. “On me,” I insist.

“Oh, it’s fine. I’ve got it,” she rebuts.

“Nope. Let me take care of my sister. Order away,” I say with a flourish of my hand.

Her lips part upon hearing the word, sister. She then gives a little nod before turning to the barista. “One large cup of hot water.”

I fight the urge to rattle my head in confusion. The barista hands her a steaming cup like the request is common before he nods to me. “A regular Borgia, please,” I order. The barista makes my drink as I subtly watch Anna take her cup to a table. Her head taps like she is humming to a silent beat while she extracts a hand-filled tea sack from her purse and plops it into the cup. I understand wanting to stay skinny and the health food kick, but bringing her own tea bag seems a little nuts.

Grabbing my coffee, my eyes catch sight of a yellow piece of paper on the floor. I swipe up the enrollment form for Anna Beckett in Intermediate Taekwondo lessons, listing her rank as blue belt. “Hey, Anna, you dropped this,” I say, handing her the slip. Her face firms as she looks at the paper, then pulses a smile while cramming it into her purse. “I enrolled Sunshine in a Karate class. Donovan’s going to kill me if he finds out,” she says like it’s a secret, shifting her eyes and hushing her tone. “He thinks his daughter should be dainty.”

I fake a smile. “Don’t worry, I saw nothing of the like.”

We head across Melrose on our way to an odd little art shop. As Anna steps into the sunlight, her modest and billowy white dress sways in the breeze, pressing against the curves that hide beneath. I have always been jealous of her luscious figure, but today I turn catty, thinking she is too skinny and wondering what the hell Donovan sees in this woman who has a body type for which he has always expressed extreme distaste. I don’t like that my jealousy is on the rise, and I force it out of my mind as we enter the shop.

“Hey, check this out,” I say, holding a vase that was upcycled from a discarded Scooby-Doo lunch box thermos. “Donovan would love it.”

“Hmm…” Anna raises a finger to her lips, seemingly taking a moment to think of a polite way to tell me the idea sucks. “If your therapist had a vase like that, would you feel comfortable because he has a sense of humor or ill at ease because he may be wackier than you?”

“Point well made.” I’m totally coming back later and buying that for him. “Any word on your California credentials coming through?” My eyes wander the shop. “Wow! Check out this glass box with a bat skeleton. I’m going to bury it in the bottom of his drawer just to mess with him.”

“Yeah, now that I’ve secured a job it’s just a waiting game.” Anna’s deepened voice, hard-tapping foot, and staring at the rows of shelves before her like they are one giant blur tells me she’s bored out of her skull. “The break gives me time to get the house settled and find daycare for Sunshine.”

“Oh, I mentioned to Donovan that, since you’ll be working near my house, you should consider adding Sunshine on to my part time nanny. Then, if you get stuck at work, Christopher and I can lend a hand.”

Anna turns to the table of wares between us. She caresses the edge of a rose quartz geode with diminutive strokes. Suddenly she seems gentle and timid, like the Anna I’m used to. “Did Donovan like the idea?”

“Yeah, he thought it was great.”

“Okay,” she subtly nods. “Donovan always knows what’s best.”

Finally I brave the question I’ve wanted to ask for years. “Sunshine is a very pretty name. How did you decide on it?” God, I hope that didn’t sound flippant, but really, Sunshine? It’s like they were destined to live in Los Angeles.

Anna’s eyes drift over a display case, her boredom returning. “She made me aware that no matter how bad things are a new day always dawns. You know, that Scooby Doo vase would be perfect,” she claims as if seeing it for the first time. “Let’s get that and head home.”

The enigma continues.

“Duck!” Robert yells as he passes me with a stash of yellow Princess Cakes, the tray nearly braining me.

“Damn it, Robert!” Cindy chews him out as she marches behind him to open the door of the walk-in.

“Well, she was in the way,” he snaps.

“You could have dodged her or asked her to move by politely saying, ‘Excuse me.’ I swear, one of these days your laziness is going to lead to someone’s demise!”

Lord! How is it that I can have a kitchen staff of eight, yet The Bickersons make all the other players fade into the background?

My mind again drifts in anticipation of the lunch that lies ahead. I’ve been dying to go to Osteria Rossi for months. Apparently they have the best Venetian food in all of Los Angeles County, and I finally have someone I don’t work with who is willing to dive in.

“Excuse me,
please
,” Robert huffs as he again blazes past while glaring behind at Cindy. He’s so busy being Mr. Bickerson that he bumps the now empty tray into a speed rack whose wheels have been locked. The tray flips up and smacks him in the forehead, making me almost wish the cakes were still on it.

I try to focus on going about my day as a buzz emits from the breast pocket of my chef’s uniform. Pulling out the phone, Donovan’s face pops up on my caller ID. “Hi,” I answer brightly. “Give me a second to get to someplace less ridiculous.” Dashing off past the far end of the kitchen, deep into the storage area where my desk resides, my butt plops into a chair with such enthusiasm its wheels send me sliding. “Hi,” I repeat into the phone.

“You’re in a good mood. I must have caught you at a great time,” Donovan says.

My feet loft onto my desk. “Anytime you catch me is a great time.”

“You have no idea how happy that makes me.” I sense his smiling, his grin then crashing. “Listen, Lil. I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I need to postpone our lunch date. A new client is having some major issues. I now have someone coming in from twelve-thirty to two, which annihilates almost our entire slot. Can I make it up to you?”

My gut sags at the news. It may just be the cancelation of lunch, but I feel as if I’m a rotten fish being gutted. “Of course you can,” I force with a brave voice. “Tomorrow is wide open.”

“Unfortunately it’s not for me,” Donovan laments. “Neither is the day after, but Friday works.”

It feels like forever since I saw him at dinner on Sunday night, but the least I can do is not add to his guilt. “Friday is fine. In fact, it’s actually a little better. Same plan?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Lily. I’ll see you then.”

“Bye, Donovan.” My face droops as I say it.

“Bye,” he says, and then pauses. “Oh, hey, wait.” A beat of silence passes. “I’m really sorry.”

I lightly snicker. “It’s fine, Donovan.”

“Yeah, but—it’s going to be a long three days. I’ll see you later.”

His image on the phone’s screen fades as the call ends. It’s not going to be another three days. We’ve already been absent from each other’s lives too long. Missing people sucks.

Clutching a large, brown paper bag, I abruptly halt just shy of grabbing the knob to Donovan’s office. My heart shouldn’t be revving right now. If all I am doing is bringing lunch to a friend, why do I feel so much anticipation? My head drives me in conflicting directions between departure and staying in hopes of learning how to live with this situation. After ditching my glow of infatuation, I place my hand on the doorknob, hoping Donovan hasn’t already taken off to grab a sandwich. To my delight, the knob turns. Again my heart revs.

As I breeze into the vacant lobby, Donovan’s muted voice emanates from his office. Not knowing if it is safe to interrupt, I take a seat that is nestled near the corner on one side of his door. My knee bounces and my lungs exhale deeply as I fight the urge to check my makeup, reminding myself this is my friend and there is nothing to get worked up over. Finally a hand touches his doorknob, the jingle rattling my anxiety. Donovan pushes the door open to let the visitor out.

“Love you, too,” he says. My heart sags. “Thanks for lunch.”

Anna emerges, and suddenly I feel like a nine-year-old fool who has a crush on the most popular boy in the senior class and stupidly brought him cookies in hopes of getting his attention. I start to scamper under the reception desk but realize the futility as soon as my feet take flight. Instead I act as if the situation is perfectly normal. It is, right?

Anna heads for the door, barely noticing me. However, I caught Donovan’s attention the second he stepped out, stopping him dead in his tracks. His eyes shoot to Anna.

“Oh, hi, Lily,” is what Anna says through her feathery voice, but my guilt hears it as a crass, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Hi, Anna. I heard Donovan was stuck working, so I thought I’d surprise him with lunch.” My hands point to the bag, proving my words.

“That’s really sweet,” she says, gently smiling. Her body dips as her fingers ripple out a little wave to Donovan. “Bye.” She repeats the cute gesture, her tall figure peering down at me, yet her eyes not meeting mine. “Bye, Lily.”

I wave back, but her eyes are focused on the door. My hand goes down as I surrender to being ignored, and it accidentally brushes against her. She flinches at my touch, and I feel like I’m scum. “Sorry,” I utter.

Donovan follows and shuts the door behind her. Spinning back, he looks to the corner of his eye as color blooms in his cheeks. His focus wavers between the door and me. “I—I’m sorry,” he utters, scratching his head before looking to his hand then dropping it as if he doesn’t know what it’s for. “I had no idea you were coming.” He gives up and sticks his hand in his pocket. “Anna called right after we talked and was afraid I wouldn’t have time to pick up anything so she, uh—”

Why is it so hard for him to tell me his wife brought him lunch? “What did she bring you?” I ask, scrunching my eyes, scrutinizing her actions.

“Tempeh on wheat,” he groans, “hold the flavor.”

Retrieving my contribution, I stroll to him with it behind my back, then pop it out with a bounce and the gleam of a toothpaste spokes model. “Lamb Korma, Vegetable Biriyani, and fresh Naan.”

“No way!” he exclaims as I nod vibrantly. He swipes and hastily opens the bag as if it contains a bomb he has mere seconds to defuse. “God! It smells divine! You’re amazing!” The dazzle of his rising gaze almost blinds. “Come on,” he says, grabbing my hand and tugging toward his office.