The Flower Series
by Sue

 

January - Purple Hyacinths

Looking back over my life it seems incredible that it ever happened the first time let alone the second. It's the second time that matters most though because that's when it stuck. The first time it took four years, but they were short years because we didn't know. The second time it took twenty months. I thought the first eight were bad enough when I thought we hated each other, but the last twelve...those were honestly the longest, most agonizing, and absolutely the sweetest twelve months of my life and I wouldn't change them for all the tea in China.

It all re-started on a very cold, icy, windy day in January. I had just returned from Johns Hopkins after the second heart surgery on my daughter. The day had been particularly long a brutal and by the time I entered the apartment building in which I was living, I was at cross hairs as to whether I should fall asleep on the couch or propped up against the front door before I even got in. Getting off the elevator and making the sharp right to head down the hall I was lost in thought when the smell literally pounced on me. The unmistakable order of spring in the form of hyacinths filled the air. As I finished rounding the corner I was struck with a sight the likes of which I had never seen before; there were literally tens of purple hyacinth plants piled outside the door to my apartment- I started counting - there were forty. Surely they couldn't be meant for me. I mean, who would be sending me a flower let alone forty? Face it - my love life had been non-existent for months. Nine months. Nine months? I quickly found my checkbook and counted the weeks. Forty weeks to be exact. It was 'the' anniversary...Kristina's due date. Forty weeks since that night. Forty purple hyacinths. He didn't? Did he?

I unlocked my door and got them all inside. Wedged between the foil and the pot of one of them was an envelope and there was no mistaking the scrawl that said "Alexis."

They were from Sonny.

I stared at that envelope for a long time before I mustered the nerve to open it. Slowly I unfolded the letter and began to read...

'Dear Alexis,

I'm sorry. Sorry for pushing you too far. For not pushing you enough. For threatening you. For not being the man you thought I was. For believing Ned. For scaring you. For letting you down. For not listening to you. For listening to everyone else. For doubting you. For doubting myself. For not telling you how I felt. For a million other things I can't remember right now but know are true.

But mostly I'm sorry for letting you push me away.

I took the coward's way, Alexis; I admit it. It was easier that way, I thought. Neater. Tidier. Less complicated. I was wrong.

The traditional way to apologize is to send flowers, and well, you know me. I'm a non-conforming traditionalist. If you find a history about the meanings of certain flowers and look up purple hyacinth, you'll find that they mean I'm sorry - please forgive me. I'm sending you forty because, well, the number seems particularly significant to me today. I hope you understand.

I want us to be friends again. I miss you.'

I have to admit that I cried long and hard over that letter and those flowers; both over their meaning, and the obvious significance to him of the quantity. After a while I folded the letter, put it in my memory box, and spent the evening staring at my beautiful blue hyacinths. Forty 'I'm sorry's." One for every week we had been apart since that night.

The next few days I alternated between giddy and sad wondering if he would call, wondering if I should. So on the morning of the third day I broke down and dialed a never forgotten cell number. He answered on the third ring. "Yeah."

"Hey" I replied. "The flowers are beautiful. Thank you."

He asked me to hold on a sec then told someone "I gotta take this. Go ahead with the shipment and make sure you close the door on the way out." As he got back on the phone his voice mellowed; became almost sing-song in quality.

"Hey, hey. So, were they OK? Not too much?"

I could only laugh. God, it had been so long since we had exchanged such an easy banter. "Too much? Let's see, my coffee table is covered, so are my nightstand, the bookshelf, the dining room table, the bathroom, and the kitchen. There's room left however, on the floor, under the crib, and in the shower. So no. There's a lot, but not too much."

"Good. I didn't want to overwhelm you all at once." I could actually hear the dimples in Sonny's voice.

"Don't worry. I'm actually under whelmed."

Sonny's laughter filled my ear - my how good that sounded. "You must have a pretty high whelming threshold. What would it take do you suppose?"

"Whatever it is I don't think you'll find out."

"Are you kidding? I believe it starts in that little hollow behind your knee and ..."

"OK, now you're stepping over."

"You're right. Too much too soon. I'll save that for later."

"Later?"

"Later."

"Sonny, I adore the flowers, and I really appreciate the sentiment, but...look...I'm not going to allow myself to be verbally or physically abused by your wife any longer, so I thank you, but that's it. Goodbye."

I hung up the phone and just sat there. For a few seconds it had been nice, but that's all. I wasn't going to let him get to me - I got through the first 30 years or so of my life without Sonny Corinthos. I could do the next 30 standing on my head.

The couple of weeks that followed were busy ones. Kristina began to thrive and started to grow into a normal fat, happy, little baby. She wasn't an infant anymore - one day I looked and poof! She was a baby. A baby that was healthy enough to take home, and take her home I did.

She was absolutely amazing. She followed me with her eyes and started to develop a personality, letting her preferences be known. Blankets yes, headbands with flowers no. She preferred Ella Fitzgerald to Celine Dion, Jimmy Buffet more than Michael Bolton, and god help me, listening to Bruce Springsteen made the girl glow.

And me - well I think I bought out the children's section at the bookstore and read to her constantly while a Mozart for Babies CD played softly in the background. My girl was going to be the smartest in Port Charles - she was already the prettiest.

Every now and then I'd see Sonny, but he didn't try to call. Part of me was relieved and part was disappointed. I know, I know - believe me I know. Still - he was my best friend for so long and face it - even if he didn't know it he would always be KD's father. That's what I had started calling her - KD - Kristina Davis - you wouldn't believe how many people thought her name was Katie. Anyway, life began to settle down into a rhythm of sorts and KD and I just followed along in its groove. I suppose the purple hyacinths did have some effect on me because I allowed myself to miss him a little more often and once I even caught myself playing the 'what if' game, but I quickly squashed those thoughts. It wasn't going to happen so I needn't think about it. Ever. So I didn't. Then one day in February we were both alone when our paths met. I even crossed the street to avoid him, but he followed and made it impossible to ignore him.

"What?"

"Hey. It's good to see you too."

"Sonny, I'm pressed for time, so if you'll excuse me."

"Alexis, don't go. I just want to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about Sonny."

"How's KD?"

"She's fi...how'd you know I call her KD? Most everyone calls her Kristina or Katie."

"Names are important, Alexis. I listen."

I unconsciously softened a little. "Thank you. KD's fine. She'll be three months old next week and she's really starting to come alive. She's just incredible."

"May I come see her sometime? And you? I miss you."

"Sonny, we've been over this before. No. You have a wife who quite frankly hates me and we really shouldn't be even having any discussion let alone this one, so if you'll excuse me."

I started off then stopped, turned, looked at him as coldly as I could and said "Don't talk to me ever again. I just don't want to do this anymore." I then crossed the street and left him standing there, sure that this time all ties had been severed.

The next morning KD and I went thru our usual routine and I was about to bundle her up for a trip to get more diapers when a knock came at the door. Looking thru the peephole I didn't know whether to cry or laugh. It was the florist.

part 02