M is for Memorial (Rose)

[Simon Montague]

He smiled at her, the convincing beautiful smile of a charming man. A man who knew he was charming too.

"It was my pleasure Ms. Faulkner." he said with a slight bow in her direction, "Until we meet again."

[Rose Faulkner]

Rose watched him go, still unable to really believe what had just happened. At her lowest moment, something wonderful had happened. It was like being struck by lightning, only in a good way.

She was smiling, something she rarely ever did, and she felt... light. Not dragged down by the darkness anymore. She practically skipped over to her father's grave, and as she knelt down by the headstone, she talked to him for hours, giddy and happy about the man she had just met. She felt almost like her father was there with her, and he was happy for her too. Surely he would approve of such a man.

The destruction of the morning was but a distant memory, and she had forgotten all about what she had originally planned to do that day with her father. This time, the heart-to-heart she imagined they were having was all that mattered.

Finally, about mid-afternoon, she left the cemetery and went back to her apartment to get ready for her date. It was the first time she had ever felt the nervous fluttering of butterflies in her stomach as she imagined him coming to pick her up and take her on her date.

She was able to borrow a dress from Nora, one of the girls downstairs, and spent several hours getting herself ready. She only hoped that she wouldn't disappoint him.

[Simon Montague]

Simon sent an owl to her address that said he would be there to pick her up at 7:30 for their date. A few hours after the owl a messenger showed up with a decorative flower arrangement and Simon's hand written note.

'I hope your day has improved. I saw these and thought of you.' - Simon

At 7:30 sharp, Simon himself stood at her door and knocked.

[Rose Faulkner]

Rose had never received flowers in her life. Even when her father died, no one had sent them flowers. Instead it had all been fruit baskets and casseroles and all the flowers had been at the funeral itself.

So to open up the door and see a messenger with a beautiful flower arrangement was an incredible surprise for Rose. They were clearly carefully selected, with vibrant colors and perfectly formed flowers.

She had never met a man like this in her life, and she couldn’t help but feel that he was perfect, like a gift sent by her father from above. How else could such a man have crossed paths with her?

By the time he arrived, Rose was in a panic. She had actually invited over Eleanor and Nora to help her get ready (and was it her imagination, or was Eleanor acting a little odd?), but the girls were gone by the time she heard the knock on the door.

She was nervous, more nervous than she’d ever been in her life. The sound of the door nearly made her jump out of her skin, and it took a moment for her heart to start beating normally (although still very fast). She got to her feet and managed to make her way to the door despite the fact that her legs felt like they were made of old tea bags. She took a quick look at her reflection in the small mirror before taking a deep breath and opening the door.

She had wanted to say something witty and charming, but at the sight of him looking so handsome, her throat went dry and all she was able to say was, “Hi.”

[Rose Faulkner]

Rose had never received flowers in her life. Even when her father died, no one had sent them flowers. Instead it had all been fruit baskets and casseroles and all the flowers had been at the funeral itself.

So to open up the door and see a messenger with a beautiful flower arrangement was an incredible surprise for Rose. They were clearly carefully selected, with vibrant colors and perfectly formed flowers.

She had never met a man like this in her life, and she couldn’t help but feel that he was perfect, like a gift sent by her father from above. How else could such a man have crossed paths with her?

By the time he arrived, Rose was in a panic. She had actually invited over Eleanor and Nora to help her get ready (and was it her imagination, or was Eleanor acting a little odd?), but the girls were gone by the time she heard the knock on the door.

She was nervous, more nervous than she’d ever been in her life. The sound of the door nearly made her jump out of her skin, and it took a moment for her heart to start beating normally (although still very fast). She got to her feet and managed to make her way to the door despite the fact that her legs felt like they were made of old tea bags. She took a quick look at her reflection in the small mirror before taking a deep breath and opening the door.

She had wanted to say something witty and charming, but at the sight of him looking so handsome, her throat went dry and all she was able to say was, “Hi.”

[Simon Montague]

"Miss Faulkner," he said appreciatively at her beauty, "You look beautiful." he said in earnest.

She did look lovely, like a flower beginning to bloom. He wanted to nurture that flower, enrich the soil in which it grew, water it daily, and shower sunshine down upon her. He wanted to fulfill all her deepest desires until she was so weak with love for him that she would cling as desperately to him as she did the ridiculous grave she visited all the time.

He knew that kind of fractured sanity would turn a blind eye to any wrongdoings, and at the same time he would perversely enjoy the power he would have over her as he toyed with her self esteem and emotions.

[Rose Faulkner]

No one had ever treated her like this before—like she was important; like she mattered. Only her father had ever made her feel that way, and it had been so long ago that she didn’t even really remember how it felt. That was why she spent so much time at her father’s grave; just hoping that she could feel that way again.

The way Simon smiled at her, the way he spoke to her, the way he made her feel—it was similar, but different. In fact, it was better.

A therapist had once tried to suggest that she had an unhealthy attachment to her father, and that there was perhaps something inappropriate going on. Rose had reacted to this suggestion with fury and disgust and refused to ever see that therapist—or in fact any therapist—ever again. Yes, perhaps her attachment to the memory of her father was excessive, but their relationship had never been inappropriate. She did know the difference between romantic love and the love between a child and parent. It was just that her mother had always been a bit distant, more focused on the younger children to pay her much attention. And after her father died, Rose had been expected to help Mama with the children, which she was not ready for at that age. She was too young, too fragile, and still grieving. If their mother had known how many times Rose had thought of smothering baby Milo with a pillow, she never would have been allowed near him again.

As she had grown up and started dating, Rose learned about romantic relationships, but never, until this moment, had she actually known what it meant to be in love. Rose was pretty sure, as Simon smiled at her, that she could find the meaning of life right there in his eyes if she looked at him long enough. She could see a whole lifetime in his smile—marriage, babies, lazy Sundays in bed, school dances, graduations, growing old together. She had told herself long ago that she didn’t believe in all of that; that it simply wasn’t meant for someone like her. But now she knew she’d been lying to herself. This was what she’d always wanted, what she’d dreamed of all of her life.

She just hoped she didn’t mess this up.

“Thank you,” she said, blushing. “You… you look very handsome yourself.”

Her stomach was doing flip-flops and she was sure he could see her shaking, but she did her best to ignore it as she grabbed a wrap from the coat rack and slid her purse up onto her shoulder. “Um… I guess we should go?”