Page 18 of Down Bad

After the man’s gone, Wyatt turns to the counter, peering at the printed-out quote the man left.

“That guy always talk to you like that?”

Wyatt doesn’t look up. “He’s a regular.”

“Wasn’t my question.”

“Then ask a different one.”

“Fine. Which flowers am I buying for the front?”

“None.” He half turns to me, staring off at a shelf somewhere. His voice is eerily calm. “The wildflowers I planted for Lottie came from my own backyard. I grow them. I’ll replace them.”

He won’t look at me now.

Won’t budge.

He put on a mask for that guy. And it’s off now.

I don’t know how that makes me feel, that suddenly I’m not a person he wears a mask in front of.

“You know he was an asshole, right?”

Wyatt rolls his eyes. “You’re not helping, Diego.”

“And he’s taking advantage of you.”

“You don’t understand anything.”

I take the orchid right back off the shelf. “Fuck it, I’m buying this. Ring me up.”

“Diego, I said it can’t—”

“Not for the front. For inside the house. For me.” I go to the counter with it, right next to him, and set the potted orchid right on top of that stupid quote, startling him. “Ring me up.”

Wyatt glowers at me.

Hiding nothing anymore.

No smiles left in him.

He rings me up in silence. I pay in silence. Then I walk to the door hugging the potted orchid to my chest, and with a ding of the bell, I’m out.

And that night, I’ve got a potted orchid in the window.

Freshly watered.

Staring me down like a challenge to see if I can take care of something that isn’t me. To see if I can keep it alive.

Through that same window, Wyatt’s house in full view.

The glow from his kitchen. His silhouette falling over one of the nearby curtains, standing somewhere inside.

Funny, how all the words we exchanged, the only ones I seem to remember are him thanking me for trying to do the right thing.

Thanking me.

It should make me feel good.