Page 4 of Because of Her

As a florist who specialises in weddings, Saturdays are a valuable trade. Especially now, as the wedding season nears its end. It was insane, and a little concerning, that I had today off in the first place to be able to make plans. And when a last-minute opportunity came up to help another florist, saying no had been a difficult decision. I had thought things with Mike would go well, and after my string of bad dating luck since returning to Melbourne, I couldn’t say no to the one guy I thought had potential.

I even closed the boutique for the day, and although Ishouldgo open up and hope for a few walk in customers, my mood is now far too sour.

“Why were you so keen on him, anyway?”

I pause, because in truth, I don’t really knowthe answer. Sure, we got along well enough while we were chatting online, but we didn’t share a heap of interests or have the same life goals. There was nothing special about Mike besides his stance on children.

I wanted it to go well like I want anything to go well. I want someone to call me after a stressful day, I want someone to snuggle up to on cold winter nights. But most of all, I want someone to buy me flowers for a change. It feels ridiculous to be this hung up on wanting to find love, and I’m pretty sure the reason I can’t find it, is because of how hard I’m looking.

Every terrible date makes me wonder a little more about what I did to deserve ending up here. What I did to deserve the heartache, and the gut wrenching break up that followed.

Things had been going well with Blake for years. After meeting and dating at university, we moved interstate so he could follow his dream of being a national journalist. As our relationship progressed, and the hard questions became more important, we realised our lives no longer aligned as well as we had hoped. It’s not that I never wanted children. I always had a picture in my head of how my life would go, and eventually the idea of being a parent forced its way out of the image. No matter how much I once wanted one, a baby wasn’t in my future. And I grew to accept that. Blake told me he wished he could say the same, but he couldn’t.

Despite his career ambitions and all the goals he was smashing in the journalism world, he couldn’t picture his future without ‘fathering an heir’. He had said it with a mountain of seriousness, but I couldn’t help cringing at his self-righteousness.

It broke both our hearts when we realised our paths were ultimately separating. But it tore mine in two learning after all we had been through, he valued me no more than my ability to be a mother.

Two years later, I still often wonder how he is doing. Ifhe found someone who could give him what I couldn’t. And with every failed fling and shitty date, I wonder how different my life could be if I hadn’t been dealt these cards.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I just feel like I should have moved on. Found someone. It’s been years since I moved back to Melbourne. Otherwise, what was the point?”

“Well, for starters, you wouldn’t have met me.” She laughs, leaning down to squeeze me in a hug.

“I don’t understand why I attract all the crazies,” I whine.

Amira quiets her laugh.

Before Mike, there was Brad. He had seemed nice until I discovered not only did he want children one day, he wanted a whole tribe of them. The joke, about having a soccer team, was said without a hint of sarcasm.

There was also Justin, who had a wife on the side. And Trevor, who openly told me he was gay but was trying to hide it from his very old-fashioned grandmother. It’s ok though, he had said, she will die soon, and he’ll be free to live how he wants. The list of terrible flings and dates went on and on.

“Maybe you’re trying to fill a hole that doesn’t need filling.”

I give a short, dry laugh and nudge her rib cage. “What if I really want my hole filled, though?”

Amira shakes her head with an eyeroll. “I was talking about the hole in your heart you filthy whore.”

Pulling a pillow from behind me, I throw it at her face. I don’t have a hole in my heart, I just want someone to snuggle with after a long day. I want someone to choose me over everything, and everyone. Forever, not just for now.

Amira and I met not long after I moved back to the city. I had returned to my parents’ place, but soon realised I needed a place of my own. Only, living alone is not exactly affordable on a florist’s income, so I started looking for a housemate.

Amira was a cousin of a friend of a friend, whose oldhousemate had moved out. So, I moved in. Our apartment is a small two-bedroom unit, close enough to the city to be trendy, without being so close that we live in a high rise with rent as high as the rooftop courtyard.

A little over a year ago, we got permission to paint the hospital white walls a homier shade of eggshell grey, and together we have started adding colour to the decor. My grandma’s pink, hand-knit, blanket drapes the back of the couch, and the bird paintings we did at a ‘Paint ‘n’ Sip’ class take pride of place on the wall behind it. The small round dining table is surrounded by four different chairs, each its own vibrant colour. My favourite is the royal blue upholstered dining chair. Amira prefers the traditional style wooden one she painted red.

“Maybe it’s time I stopped actively trying to find a man,” I admit, more to myself than to Amira.

“You could swear off dating like I have?”

I snuggle into her shoulder, whispering “deal”, even though I’m not so sure. Amira flitters between swearing off relationships and cosying up to her latest fling weekly. I know better than to take her seriously.

We hug for a while, and I soak up Amira’s golden energy. I swear it flows through the woman like the honey of her skin. When I’m feeling a little better about my miserable start to the day, I stand up and walk to the balcony. We can’t have many more pleasant days left before winter hits, and I plan to soak in every ounce of sun I can.

I step out into the sun, expecting to hear the sounds of a busy inner suburban street. Instead, the steady beeps of a truck reversing ring in my ear, flooding the apartment.

“I think our new neighbour is moving in,” I announce, moving towards the handrail and hoping to catch sight of the person, or people, we are bound to cross paths with countless times from here on out.

Amira joins me on the balcony, but I shove her back inside.

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