Daisies

He sent her flowers.

Daisies, as a matter of fact. They were her favourite. They reminded her of home.

He knew the flowers would make her forgive him in an instant. He always remembered to get her daisies when he had pissed her off.

This time, he had broken a promise to show up at her dance rehearsal. It had only been a rehearsal, but it meant so much to her and he had promised to show. When work got in the way and he couldn’t get free from it, he called her and told her he couldn’t make it.

“You always do this!” she had screamed at him, the anguish in her voice cutting him deep within his chest. “I do everything that you ask of me and you don’t have the decency to do the same for me.”

“That’s not it at all, Karen! I just can’t get free tonight. I’m sorry!”

“You never appreciate me. You don’t,” he remembered her cry into the phone.

“I’m fucking trying, don’t you see that? I love you and I’m trying to do the best I can. But tonight I just can’t get away. What more do you want me to do?” he had asked, exasperation colouring his tone.

“To show that you love me, Evan. The words aren’t enough. You have to show me and you haven’t. You just haven’t.”

And that had been the end of their conversation. That had been the very end of it. Karen had gotten the last word, and she was right. Those words would forever stick with him, for as long as he lived.

He didn’t show that he loved her, though he said it all the time. There were days he wouldn’t take her hand, or hug her hard enough, and he knew that he was slowly losing her. He wanted her to know how much he loved her, how much he ached when work took him away from her. Evan just wanted her to know the depth of his love for her, to know the desperate happiness that she evoked from within him.

So he sent her flowers. One bouquet after the other. To tell her how sorry he was. To say how much he loved her.

Evan looked down at the black hunk of stone, sparkling in the sunlight, and bent down eye level to it. His hand shakily reached out and touched the top of it, emotion choking him deep within his throat. He had done this. If he had just gone to the rehearsal, it wouldn’t have happened. She wouldn’t have been walking home alone. The car wouldn’t have struck her and left her for dead. None of it would have happened.

“I see you got my flowers,” he croaked out, tears flooding his eyes. "I know daisies are your favourite, baby."

On her headstone lay several bouquets, wilted from time. Wilted like his spirit. Wilted like his heart.

He always sent her flowers.

Daisies, as a matter of fact. They were his favourite. They reminded him of her.