Dani
Dani tries, she tries so hard, not to settle into this. This feeling, when Jamie comes over the next two Mondays, forgetting her old dinner parties with Hannah and Owen, substituting them for visits to the manor. This feeling, warm and crackling, somewhere under her ruined lungs, lighting her belly like a campfire. It’s been three months, and the moonflower vines are growing more rapidly every day. The flower hasn’t bloomed, not quite yet, not for another three months, but it’s growing, even still.
So Dani tries, not to settle against the feeling of the brunette’s arm wrapping around her waist in the throes of sleep, she tries not to get used to the way her heart jumps when Jamie tickles Flora 'till she squeals, or how she chases Miles around the kitchen with a joker mask tied behind her hair, in contrast to his own Batman one. It’s a tricky task, especially when everything Jamie says to her seems so sincere, so permanent.
Dani’s known she was gay, well, not for long. Eddie- Edmund was the closest thing she’s felt to love, to being in love. And it ended up in a trashed, blush-pink gown, the mud stains dry-cleaned away, but the garment still soaked in expectations.
She left it in her old house, the one in America, in Iowa, in the back of her closet, the dress itself being too heavy, too big in her suitcase, and her heart, to carry with her any longer.
Jamie sparks a feeling in her that she’s never felt before, an anticipating glow that feels scary, but excited. But that feeling dulls, when Jamie leaves, to one of a more melancholy tone, the one that questions why her? Why would Jamie, bright, talented, witty Jamie, choose her? Dani knows Jamie could have anyone she wanted, and it frightens her a bit, the idea of having to watch Jamie love someone else. The dark haired woman pops in her mind again, as she often does, with her tan hands and sultry voice, and she looks at herself, again, in the mirror, at her awkward stance, her wide hips, and she knows she’s not the type that Jamie would want.
Not even if it feels that way sometimes.
(She chokes white begonias and carnations into the toilet that night, and ponders the romantic idea of dying surrounded by petals.)
She’s tired, she’s so tired, and she knows she looks awful, and Hannah smiles sadly, knowingly, at her, when she winces at Flora’s chirpy voice, reminding her that, “It’s Thursday! We get to see Miss Jamie today!” Hannah lays a palm in between her shoulder blades, comforting.
“You want me to bring her ‘round to the shops today, love?” Dani almost shakes her head, no, she wants to see Jamie, she wants to feel the delicious pain that jabs in her lungs when the brunette smiles at her, soft and content. But a cough cuts her off, and a hyacinth escapes her grasp, floating towards the floor, like a time bomb. She glances worriedly at Hannah, but the taller woman just smiles the same, sad smile.
“You know, before you got here, Owen and I weren’t together. In fact, I thought he wasn’t interested in me. I figured, well, I’m a little old for him, and he’s so sweet, not to mention that he could have any of the town girls if he wanted.” She glances over at the man in question, stirring calmly in front of the oven. “But when he kissed me, that first time, all those feelings,” She glances down at the white petal, “went away.” Hannah brushes her hands on her skirt, examining her long, red nails.
“Okay, yeah, you can go ahead and take Flora, if you don’t mind. I’ve gotta… I’ve gotta rest.” She runs her hands through her hair, and Hannah nods, brushing a comforting hand over her shoulder.
“Right then. Flora? Miss Dani is sick today, so I’ll be taking you to Miss Jamie’s shop, alright?”
Dani spends the day watching movies with Miles, the ten year old content to sit and play with his action figures on the coffee table, while Dani lays on the couch behind him, some of Owen’s “famous” chicken soup steaming in front of her. He spends the day like a doting mother, switching her ginger tea out for ginger ale when she finishes it, pressing play on various movies, and tucking her blankets up to her chin.
She feels bad, because she knows what’s causing her illness, and it can’t be cured with ginger ale, or Club crackers, just a certain small brunette.
It’s almost worse today, and she has to leave Miles with Owen when she feels the petals coming up, escaping to her guest bathroom, the violets and wisterias coming up in handfuls, and she wants to see Jamie, needs to hear her voice, to soothe the growing vines in her chest, to clip their thorns and pull the weeds from her heart.
It’s too late, she knows, when the petals come out pink, the white dipped in red, and her mouth tastes metallic when she mumbles the brunette’s name.
She’s tucked into bed, next thing she knows, and Hannah is brushing her bangs back with a cold washcloth. She blinks her eyes, and her throat itches for water. There’s a wastebasket positioned at the side of her bed, the bin already half-full of petals.
“Oh, Hannah, I’m sorry,” She tries to get up, but her head grows bleary and light when she tries to sit up.
“Honey, no, don’t be sorry. I- Dani, I didn’t realize it had gotten this bad,” She gestures to the petals in the waste, filmed with red. “It’s, this is late stage, Dani.”
“Yeah, certainly feels that way,” Dani chuckles, but the action jabs deep in her lungs, so she stops. “What do I do, Hannah?” The older woman looks away, worriedly, and Dani sees a secretive flash in her eyes. “What?”
“Nothing, it’s nothing.” Hannah lifts a hand to rub at her wrist. “I’ll have Owen bring you a cup of tea.”