Forgiveness
Let me see. I have the croissants. Nice and buttery, just how she likes them.
Such care has been taken. How could she not forgive me? It is the perfect setting for a reunion.
The tea is steeping. Hmm, still a bit weak; perhaps another three or four minutes on that. Sugar and cream. Wait. I can’t remember if she takes sugar and cream. It has been so long. Better safe than sorry. I’ll leave them out.
Oh yes…the final touch. I must add plum blossoms. Their fragrant aroma that filled the air at our first meeting, it will be a lovely touch.
Surely she will remember that day. How lovely she looked. Out walking, carefree, holding a blossom in her hand…so innocent. I watched her from a distance.
Standing on tiptoe as she reached her slender arm into the trees, her dainty fingers dancing around the blossoms until she found the perfect bloom to pluck.
Perfect bloom in hand raising it to her nose to gently breathe in the wondrous scent.
Perfect blossom, perfect girl. I knew I had to have her in my life. No matter what.
Yes, a perfect plum blossom is just what this reunion needs. This will remind her of all the joy. How could she not forgive me?
**** **** **** **** **** **** ****
I heard him come in this morning. At first I thought it was to watch me sleep. He often does that. Watching me sleep peacefully makes him calm, somehow reassures him that all he has done is right.
Soon I heard the flap of fabric. The tablecloth. Then the clinking of saucers and cups. Then the delightful smell of fresh croissants.
My stomach is churning from hunger. How delightful it would be toss back the covers and enjoy a wonderful buttery croissant.
No, I keep my back to the preparations and feign sleep a bit longer. I do not want to give him the satisfaction of leaping from bed and praising all this work.
I hear him fussing over the proper arrangement of the table. Let him fuss.
I drift back to memories of how life used to be. One of my favorite pastimes: walking through the park in early spring. Blossoms budding on trees, fresh fragrant smells drift through the air, the promise of newness dancing throughout the park.
It is beautiful.
It is peaceful.
I wanted to take some of the newness with me. I found the perfect plum blossom to carry with me. After breathing in the marvelous scent I looked up to see him watching me.
Handsome.
Intense. A bit of chit chat and smiles and then…well, here I am, months later. Not what I had planned on. I loathe the plum blossom that I picked that day because it brought him into my life.
My memories end. I notice there is no movement on the other side of the room. I slowly roll and peek to see if he is watching or if I am alone. Thank goodness, alone.
I hear him in the garden. Picking a damn blossom I am sure.
Oh, the sight of the croissants is too much. I must eat. I slowly move from bed, don’t want him to know I am awake yet. I reach, but it is of no use. My chained ankle holds me back. Bastard.
How could I ever forgive him?