A week after David’s wedding, I met up early with my team to receive the delivery from Patrick’s. As we carried the boxes into the store, I couldn’t help noticing the shy smiles and playful banter being shared by Marnie and Zac.
Ed caught my eye as we passed each other going in and out of the shop. ‘Hey, have you noticed…?’ He nodded in the direction of Marnie and Zac, arms laden with boxes.
‘Hmm, I know. Bit of a turn up for the books, isn’t it?’
‘A what?’
I pulled a face at him. ‘Ah, excuse me. I forgot you don’t speak English. I mean it’s a bit of a change for her. With Zac the Fit Guy?’
The penny dropped. ‘Oh, I see. Absolutely.’
‘Seems like your brotherly advice at David’s wedding may have been heeded, after all.’
‘Go figure. And there was I thinking nobody else appreciated my wisdom,’ he winked.
When all the boxes were inside and Zac’s delivery chit was signed, he and Marnie wandered back outside to his van. The sky had been leaden grey overhead all morning and now it began to rain, lashes of water pelting down the shop windows and splashing onto the grey sidewalk. When it rains like this in New York it somehow makes every colour brighter and shinier: the yellow cabs and red brake lights of the traffic reflect in the glassy sidewalks and roads that have been transformed by the rain into strips of charcoal-grey that look like polished granite. Everywhere you look in the city you can imagine a film scene being set—and now, as if by magic, Marnie and Zac became the stars of their very own silent movie, right outside Kowalski’s windows.
Ed and I had been goofing around as usual, but now our laughter subsided and a strange silence descended over the shop’s interior as we watched the scene unfolding outside.
Zac had removed his jacket and given it to Marnie, who stood holding it over her head like an awning. By now the rain was falling at full pelt, soaking through Zac’s shirt and flattening his usually spiky blonde hair against his face—yet to look at the expression he wore, you would think he was basking in the brightest, warmest summer sunshine. Arms folded across his body, he gazed at Marnie as if his every dream were embodied in her: at once surprised, delighted and elated by their conversation. As they laughed and joked, we noticed them moving closer—almost imperceptibly at first, their body language switching between brave and shy in equal measures.
For Ed and I, watching the very beginning of a relationship was a strange experience indeed. Not altogether unpleasant, I sensed both of us caught by its uncertain charms: joy at seeing Marnie’s obvious delight, wistfulness at the startling simplicity of the event, maybe even some regret…As ever, Ed’s expression remained steady, but I was innately aware of a range of other emotions sparring away beneath his carefully constructed exterior. Was he thinking about his Specific Someone, I wondered. Was he drawing comparisons between Marnie and Zac’s conversation and those he was undoubtedly having with her, or making notes as he prepared to reveal his feelings? It was impossible to tell—and I was in no hurry to explore the possibilities further in my mind. As for me, well, I have to be honest: as happy as I was for one of the Kowalski’s family to be finding love, I couldn’t shake the boulder-heavy feeling that Marnie, like Ed, was moving on, becoming yet another newly paid-up member of the Getting On With My Life Club—a society whose exclusive membership I feared I would never join.
The scene on the corner of West 68th and Columbus continued in its silent splendour as all around them people hurried past, eyes blinded to the magnificent love scene right under their noses.
Finally, Zac reached into the van and produced a single, vivid orange gerbera, which he presented to Marnie. Then, he leant forward to plant a kiss on her forehead—and Ed and I both instinctively looked away, unwilling to intrude on this most tender of moments. When we looked back, the van was leaving as Marnie waved from the sidewalk. The little silver bell tinkled happily as she walked back into the store, twirling the flower—the very bloom that she most resembles—in her fingers with a faraway smile. She passed Ed and me without a word and disappeared into the workroom.
Ed shook his head, a sly smile easing across his features. ‘Wow. Our little Marnie is all grown up and dating Zac the Fit Guy.’
‘I know,’ I smiled, ‘I feel quite emotional.’
I was only half-joking. Would I ever feel that again?
I turned to say something to Ed, but he had disappeared, leaving me alone in my empty shop, a million questions buzzing around my head.
Later that day, Celia dashed in on her way to the office. ‘I just wanted to make sure you were still coming to my dinner Thursday night, sweetie.’
‘I’m not sure, hon. We’re still recovering from the wedding and I don’t know how busy we’re going to get here.’
My best friend folded her linen-jacketed arms and surveyed me sternly. ‘Rosie Duncan, I need you at this dinner! I have people coming that are—uh—that could be important.’
‘Meaning what?’
‘Nothing. I’ll explain later.’ Was it my imagination, or was the great New York Times columnist—famed for her wit and vivacity—struggling for words all of a sudden?
‘You’re blushing!’
‘I am not. There have just been—uh—developments recently that may—or may not—portend well for the future.’
I feigned shock, revelling in my friend’s uncharacteristic coyness. ‘Celia Reighton, are you talking about a man?’
‘Well, I would hardly be talking about a woman, would I?’
‘Who is he?’
‘I can’t go into this now, Rosie. I’ve a million and one places to be this morning and I’m already late. So are you coming Thursday or not?’
‘Not unless I get a name,’ I grinned.
‘Rosie…’
‘Celia. You know it makes sense. And you know I won’t give in.’
‘OK, OK. Stewart Mitchell.’
‘The guy from the Thanksgiving Dinner last year?’
Celia looked at her watch impatiently. ‘Yes.’
‘The one who sent you flowers?’
‘From your store—yes, I know, Rosie, so don’t do that shocked schlock with me, OK? He confessed everything last week so we’re—well, I’m just seeing what happens. The dinner is our first—you know—official couple event.’
I grinned. ‘Well, I think it’s positively lovely.’
‘So you’re coming now you’ve thoroughly embarrassed me?’
‘Of course. What time?’
Celia was already heading for the door, finally reprieved from my teasing. ‘Seven thirty. And bring something for the table—anything you like. Just not lilies.’
Marnie appeared at my side as Celia left. ‘Did I hear right? Has she got a man?’
‘You heard right,’ I smiled.
Marnie clapped her hands. ‘Ooh, this is so exciting! It seems like everyone in New York is falling in love this week. Celia, me, Ed…’
My head snapped to attention. ‘Ed?’
Marnie giggled. ‘Yes, Ed. His Specific Someone, I mean. I’m not totally wrapped up in my own life not to notice, you know.’
My heart sank to my toes as I picked up the order book. ‘Of course. Ed’s Specific Someone.’
The little bell above the door chimed happily as a young couple entered. They were the happiest two people I’d seen in a long time—even Marnie and Zac paled into insignificance beside them—giggling and so completely engrossed in each other that they appeared to be oblivious to everything else.
‘Can I help you?’ asked Marnie, stepping from behind the counter to meet them.
‘Roses,’ laughed the girl, never once taking her eyes from his. ‘We need roses.’
‘O-K,’ Marnie smiled, shooting me a rolled-eyed look. ‘So how many would you like?’
‘Armfuls,’ breathed the girl.
‘Bucketfuls,’ giggled the man.
‘And what colour were you thinking?’
For a moment, the spell between them was broken as both turned to look at Marnie. It was clear they hadn’t considered this. ‘What would you recommend?’ the girl asked.
‘Well—what’s the occasion?’
The man slipped an arm protectively around the girl’s waist. ‘We’re getting married.’
‘Congratulations! When’s the Big Day?’
‘Today. In about three hours to be precise—at City Hall,’ the girl answered, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her fiancé’s forehead.
‘Whoa—that’s amazing!’ Marnie squeaked, completely forgetting her professional demeanour—much to the delight of the young couple, who both began talking animatedly at once.
‘We met last month…’
‘Last month, would you believe it?’
‘…and I just knew, you know?’
‘We both totally knew…’
‘…so we just said, “What the heck!”…’
‘What the heck—let’s just get married!’
‘So—here we are!’
Verbal confetti thus expelled, the couple stood there in the middle of the floor, his’n’hers grins proudly displayed for all to see.
‘OK,’ said Marnie, gathering herself together. ‘Let’s think this through. What are you wearing for the ceremony?’
‘Cream jacket and shift dress,’ the girl replied.
‘Dark blue suit,’ said the man, ‘with a cream silk tie that my grandma gave me.’
‘She’s the only one who knows,’ confided the girl, suddenly self-conscious.
‘Wait—none of your family know you’re getting married today?’
The girl shook her head.
‘They don’t get it—any of them,’ explained the man. ‘Only Grandma Evie. For years she’s been saying to me, “When you gonna get married, Jimmy? I’ll be dead soon and I want to see my grandson married before I go.”’ The girl smiled at Jimmy. ‘So when I met Anya, I just knew right away that she was the one. Grandma Evie would be there if she could, but she’s too frail. So she gave me this tie and her blessing.’
‘And your parents don’t approve?’ ventured Marnie.
‘They don’t care,’ Anya answered, her young face betraying the pain the situation must hold for them.
Jimmy patted her hand. ‘Both our parents are busy people with busy lives,’ he said. ‘Like everyone in this city—and then some. They have little time to worry about their kids.’ He shrugged. ‘It happens. My folks are lawyers, Anya’s are professors at Columbia University. They’re successful and highly respected in their chosen fields.’
‘And you don’t think they’d want to know that you’re getting married?’
‘My parents never married,’ Anya replied, reaching out to gently stroke the petals of a sugar-pink rose nearby. ‘According to them, marriage is an “outdated institution perpetuated by conservative Neanderthals in a bid to suppress the masses.” Conformity to traditions like marriage only disappoints them.’
‘And my folks spend so much time dealing with the fall-out of broken marriages that they’ve forgotten to see the magic in it,’ Jimmy added, ‘even with each other.’
‘So you could call us traditional radicals, I guess. It’s up to us to prove them all wrong,’ Anya smiled—her eyes still tellingly sad. ‘Though they’re going to go crazy when they find out.’
Jimmy smiled. ‘So seeing as we’re unavoidably destined to disappoint our folks, we might as well do it in style.’
‘So what colour roses would you suggest?’ Anya asked.
Marnie turned to me, a sudden look of panic on her face. I smiled back encouragingly, but she shook her head. ‘Rosie, what do you think?’
Stepping from behind the counter, I took a long look at the couple. ‘Your wedding is a celebration,’ I began, selecting blooms from the flower buckets as I spoke, ‘of how much you love each other.’ I looked at Anya’s strawberry-blonde shoulderlength bob and Jimmy’s blue-black closely cropped hair.
‘Yes, it is,’ said Jimmy, watching me with curiosity.
‘And love comes in many colours,’ I continued, gathering more flowers whilst resisting the urge to giggle at the sound of myself—all I needed was a croaky Polish accent and a pair of ancient half-moon spectacles balanced on the end of my nose, and my transformation into Mr K would be complete. ‘So how about this?’
I held up the handful of roses I had just selected—a pastel confection of sugar-sweet hues, like the retro cupcakes that M&H Bakers were famous for across the Upper West Side: sugar pink, primrose yellow, marzipan gold, pale lilac and clotted cream, all nestled up to one another. ‘Add some magic,’ I pulled some stems of gypsophila (Mum calls it ‘baby’s breath’, which somehow makes the tiny white, star-like blooms even more enchanting) and arranged them around the roses. ‘Et voilà!’
‘Wow,’ Anya breathed. ‘It looks like a candy shop with stars!’
‘And finally, we just finish it off with some deep mystery,’ I smiled, choosing several glossy dark green banana leaves and curling them carefully around the rose stems. Holding the completed bouquet in my hand, I held it out to Anya, who squealed with sheer delight.
‘It’s perfect—isn’t it, Jimmy?’
Jimmy’s eyes were sparkling as he smiled at his bride-to-be. ‘You’re perfect.’ He turned to me. ‘Thank you so much for this.’
‘And you’ll need this,’ Marnie appeared by my side and pinned a buttonhole rose to Jimmy’s lapel.
‘This is awesome, guys. Thank you. How much do we owe you?’
Marnie looked at me, a curious smile playing on her lips. ‘It’s a blessing, right?’
It was absolutely the right thing to say. A shiver of delight raced through me from head to toe as I recalled the very few occasions where Mr K had chosen a young couple to ‘bless’. In the six years since I’d taken over Kowalski’s, I had never done a ‘blessing’—but now, looking at this young couple, so in love yet so alone, they seemed to be the perfect candidates for my very first act of professional kindness. ‘It’s on the house,’ I smiled.
Anya and Jimmy looked at me aghast. ‘No way—seriously, how much do you need? I mean, there must be sixty dollars of roses here, at least,’ Jimmy protested.
I handed the bouquet to Marnie, who hurried off to trim and bind it. ‘We have an old tradition here at Kowalski’s,’ I explained, Mr K’s words ringing in my head and tugging on my heart as I spoke. ‘When we come across a story that touches our hearts, we offer a blessing. It’s your wedding day and you should be sharing your love with the whole world. Seeing as your families won’t be there to bless you, we will step into the breach. Consider these flowers a wedding present from Kowalski’s.’
Anya’s blue eyes filled with tears, which began to spill freely over her pale pink cheeks. ‘There must be something we can do to repay your kindness?’
Marnie arrived back at my side and presented Anya with the bouquet.
‘Just be happy,’ I replied, feeling a thick lump of emotion building in my throat, ‘and tell people that you know a great florist.’
‘Absolutely. Do you have some cards?’ Jimmy took a handful from Marnie. ‘Well—thank you, thank you both so much!’
Marnie and I watched Jimmy and Anya leave, ridiculous smiles spreading across our faces.
‘How adorable were they?’ Marnie sighed. ‘And how happy?’
‘Mmm, I know,’ I replied, shocked to feel a sudden wave of sadness washing over me.
‘One day, Rosie, that will be me and you.’
‘What, getting married at City Hall? Sorry, hon, you’re not my type.’
Marnie gave my arm a playful punch. ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’
‘Well, maybe for you and Zac the Fit Guy, eh?’ I smiled, desperate to deflect attention from me. It didn’t work, of course: even Marnie in her newly loved-up state, could see what I was doing.
‘For both of us, Rosie. We have to believe that kind of love is possible.’
‘We do?’
‘Absolutely. Or else, what is there to hope for?’
For once, I had no clever answer for that.
Life at Kowalski’s quickly returned to normal, albeit with Marnie decidedly happier than I’d ever seen her and Ed increasingly tight-lipped about his Specific Someone.
Much to Celia’s relief, I attended her much-publicised ‘coming out’ dinner to officially witness the unveiling of her new relationship. She needn’t have worried, of course: everyone at the paper knew exactly what was going on—an occupational hazard of working with journalists, I guess. Stewart was as strikingly good-looking and utterly besotted with Celia as the last time I’d seen him, while Celia was surprisingly restrained—peaceful even. It was good, if a little disconcerting, to see my best friend so in love.
The following week, with almost a whole month until the next wedding on our books, I allowed myself a rare opportunity to relax, taking a day off midweek—an occurrence akin to the passing of Halley’s Comet as far as my astounded team was concerned—in order to catch up on some much-needed rest. After indulging in the sheer unadulterated luxury of a Wednesday morning lie-in, I met Celia for lunch at her favourite restaurant on the sixteenth floor of a building directly overlooking Central Park.
‘So, how’s the toyboy?’ I joked, giggling as Celia squirmed in her chair.
‘Stewart is just fine, thank you very much,’ she replied, blushing slightly behind her foundation. Her coyness didn’t last long, however: less than twenty seconds later her careful composure disintegrated and she clamped a hand to her heart like a lovesick sixteen-year-old. ‘Oh Rosie, I’m telling you, that man is just the sweetest thing! Did you know he’s taking me to the Orchid Show at the New York Botanical Gardens next weekend? I’ve read about it every year since they started it but I’ve never got round to going. So he’s taking me. He said he wanted to “surround the most beautiful woman in New York with her favourite flower”, would you believe it?’
‘It’s so good to see you excited about him,’ I smiled, pushing away the sliver of jealousy that was surreptitiously snaking itself around my heart. ‘He’s a lovely young man.’
‘I know! I worry that he’s too young, sometimes.’
‘Celia, don’t be ridiculous! He adores you and it’s clear that you’re very fond of him.’
‘It’s more than that, sweetie, I…Oh, what the heck—I’m in love with the guy! I’m like a kid again with it. After Jerry I didn’t think there’d be anyone else, so I’m stunned by the whole thing. I guess I’ll just have to get used to being the older woman, that’s all—although I have absolutely no intention of becoming the responsible one in our relationship. But then Stewart is a bit of an old head on young shoulders, so I guess it all evens out.’
I lifted my wineglass. ‘Here’s to toyboys and growing old disgracefully!’
‘I’ll drink to that!’ Celia clinked my glass and took a large sip of wine as the Queen of the Subject Change geared up for another handbrake turn. ‘So, your conversation with Nate at David’s wedding: what exactly did he say about those flowers?’
‘That’s just it: he didn’t get the chance to say anything. Mimi interrupted him just as he was about to tell me.’
Celia’s eyes rolled heavenwards. ‘That woman,’ she growled, thumping her hand on the table, startling the neighbouring diners, ‘she manages to get in the way of everything!’
I sighed and looked out at the spring green of the Park below. ‘I don’t know, mate. After all the stuff with David the night before, I don’t think I could have coped with any more revelations.’
‘But you like Nate, don’t you?’
‘Yes, of course I do. But he’s engaged to someone else and, despite his occasional protestations to the contrary, I think he may actually be in love with Caitlin after all.’
Celia pulled a face and took a long, thoughtful sip of her white wine. ‘If he likes you, he should deal with that situation once and for all. I’ve never met anyone so laid-back in my life. One day, Nate is going to wake up and realise his whole life has happened already. It’s about time he took control. So,’ she stared seriously at me, ‘supposing he did let Caitlin go, and supposing he was free…Would you want to be with him?’
‘I—it’s complicated.’
Celia let out a cry of frustration. ‘It’s always complicated, Rosie! Welcome to life in general. You just put that to one side and career headlong into the abyss.’
‘Oh, well, when you put it like that…’ I laughed.
‘Rosie Duncan, you are a cruel, cruel woman.’
‘OK, OK, I’m sorry. This whole situation with Nate has been blowing hot and cold for months. Most of that time, I didn’t really think about it because I was so against the thought of someone else in my life.’
Her eyes twinkled conspiratorially. ‘And now?’
‘Now I’m not sure. Nate is wonderful and I like him a lot. It’s just…I don’t know if I need someone a little more decisive, you know? And then there’s Ed.’
I could tell my friend was confused. ‘What about Ed?’
‘He’s just been different the past few months. More elusive than usual.’
‘The Iceberg Man is more elusive?’
‘I don’t know, he says he’s met someone.’
Her eyebrow made a bid for the skies. ‘And that’s a bad thing?’
‘I’m not sure. No, no, of course it’s not a bad thing. It’s just that—I guess I feel like he’s leaving me behind. And Marnie, too.’
Celia shook her head. ‘Marnie’s leaving?’
‘No, not leaving. Moving on—she’s going out with Zac.’
‘Wait,’ Celia’s eyes were sparkling. ‘Tell me it’s not true: she finally hooked up with Zac the Fit Guy?’
I grinned. ‘The very same.’
‘About a month ago. Ed and I witnessed the whole thing.’
‘That is so good. He’ll be good for her.’
I nodded, twisting the stem of my wineglass absent-mindedly.
Celia caught the hesitation immediately. ‘So what’s the problem?’
‘There’s no problem, honestly. It’s just…’ I sighed and looked at my friend. ‘Everyone’s moving on apart from me. Or at least that’s what it feels like.’
Celia’s concerned smile was one hundred per cent genuine. ‘Sweetie, that’s life. We move on, we find love—sometimes we lose love and have to find it again. It’s all part of life’s rich tapestry. But as for you, you have to decide what you want, Rosie. Not what Ed wants, or Nate, or David—but you. You’ve hidden your heart so carefully for such a long time; it’s only natural that it’s a little rusty. But you’ll get the hang of it. You just need a little faith and a huge dose of that hope you’re so famous for. So tell me again: what did Nate say?’
‘He said he’d be in touch.’
Celia shrugged. ‘Then you must wait until he does.’
I didn’t have to wait long.
When I arrived home, something was waiting for me by my front door. Stooping down, I picked up a small woven basket of flowers and took it into my apartment. Nestled amidst the yellow roses was a card:
Meet me for coffee at Kowalski’s, 8 p.m. xx
Turning the card over, I saw the shop stamp—Turner’s—and my heart began turning cartwheels inside me: it was the same florists that had created my Christmas arrangement. It had to be Nate. This was his way of arranging a time for us to meet—and where better than my beloved shop, scene of so many of our meetings during the past year? Ed must be opening the shop for him: maybe this was what they’d been discussing when they had met up: how Nate felt about me…After all, I reasoned, who knew me better than Ed? Despite my reluctance to admit it most of the time, Ed knew me in ways other people could only aspire to. He understood me: sometimes challenging but mostly accepting who I was; always there, always ready to talk. Even during the past few months, when I’d sensed him drifting slightly, he’d been as supportive of me as ever, and I loved that we had that kind of friendship. My mum often says that finding a true friend—one who knows who you are and loves you anyway—is more valuable than all the gold in all the banks in the world. And she is right. Ed had endured every rollercoaster twist and turn of my life along with me in recent months. And now he was still fighting my corner: making it possible for Nate to move closer to me. Amazing. I only hoped that, when he finally mustered up the courage to talk to his Specific Someone, she would realise what a special guy he was.
I can’t remember getting ready that evening. My thoughts were everywhere and nowhere at once; vying for attention as I looked on, helpless to stop the tumult inside me. Nate had seemed so certain that staying with Caitlin was the right thing before—and I had reconciled myself to the fact that we were just two people who could have been together if circumstances were different. Everyone has their ‘What If’ relationships, where you know someone could be The One if only life had dealt you a different hand. I’d just assumed that Nate was mine: we would always remain friends and that undeniable chemistry would always be there; and maybe, in the quiet, secret moments of our lives, we would muse over how things could have been different, wondering how life would have been had we met each other at the right time.
Even as I left my apartment and walked quickly through the streets of New York, I felt a pull inside me; terror and hope holding hands to sprint into the bright unknown of my future. So much had changed recently that I simply stopped trying to understand it and, for the very first time in my life, gave in to my circumstances and just went with the flow. I was turning in circles no longer: gone was the perpetual cycle of memories and hurt. Now, the city smiled at me as I trod quickly on its sidewalks, heading for uncertainty with hope fuelling each step. Mr Kowalski’s words rang out in my head as I walked: ‘…when that day arrives, Rosie, choose to live.’
I reached Kowalski’s at eight exactly, pausing by the door to calm my thundering heart. This is it, Rosie Duncan, I told myself. Beyond this point lies the future. Hope coursing like quicksilver through my veins, I opened the door.
As the silver bell heralded my arrival, I caught my breath. The interior of the store had been transformed by hundreds of tiny white lights, framing the galvanised steel flower buckets, windows, couch and ceiling. It was as if a myriad of stars had fallen from the heavens and made their home at Kowalski’s. Even Old F, bubbling happily and warming the entire space with the aroma of his finest coffee, was resplendent in fairy lights.
‘Hello?’ I called out, my voice shaking with sheer breathless emotion.
The workroom door opened and a figure stepped in front of the counter, his features thrown into shadow by the blanket of stars behind him.
‘Welcome to Kowalski’s.’