— Oh, come on, dude, are you serious right now? — Emma said, knitting her brows and looking away, making me freeze with the card in my hand after paying the bill, while my ears burned so hard you could fry an omelet on them. And that tone, damn it, with that irritation, was way too familiar to me, ever since the days when her name was Evan. — We agreed to just get coffee. Just. Without this shit of yours… — she nodded toward the waitress walking away, holding the terminal in her hands.
I coughed like I had choked on my own pride and slowly put the card back into my wallet, dropping my eyes down like a guilty schoolkid.
— Uh… I… — I started, realizing that anything I said now would sound like an excuse, but staying silent would be even worse. — What’s the big deal? You used to pay for me too, and I did it sometimes as well…
— You pay every single time now when we meet, Mike, — she exhaled, and her breasts twitched in a way that made my eyes slide there on their own, like someone grabbed my chin and pushed it down. The deep neckline of those ridiculously huge tits, barely held in by the fabric of her white top, felt like the most honest and at the same time the most brutal reminder of what had happened over the past year and a half.
I blinked hard and looked up, letting out a relieved breath that she didn’t notice, but with the same bitterness realizing that I’d missed part of what she said again, though at least I caught the ending, laced with irritation:
— …buy me a drink.
— A drink? You want wine? Oh, or beer? Whiskey? — I perked up instantly, like an idiot who pours gasoline on a fire instead of putting it out.
Emma slowly raised an eyebrow. Too slowly. So slowly that it felt like any second now she might just bite my throat.
— You… — she drew in a breath, squinted, and shook her head. — Are you fucking with me right now? Yeah? You did hear what I was just talking about?
I swallowed, feeling the blood pound in my temples as the air around us seemed to grow thicker.
— Uhhh… well, yeah, — I mumbled.
She slowly placed her elbows on the table, making her breasts sway again, and I had to force myself not to look.
— And what did I say? — she repeated, her voice turning dangerously quiet.
— Mike. What. Did. I. Say?
— Well… that you want a drink, — I answered honestly.
She rolled her eyes, and I realized I’d fucked up.
— I said that before, we only paid for each other if one of us forgot their wallet, because it was just normal guy friendship, not an attempt to buy me a drink.
She fell silent, staring off to the side, like at a window and the janitor sweeping the pavement outside, but something told me that inside her head there were completely different images, ones that even I was starting to forget, despite the fact that only a year and a half had passed since my friend Evan came down with “chrysalis” and four weeks later got “as a gift” a pair of breasts, each bigger than my head. We weren’t best friends, but we knew each other pretty well. Our parents were friends as families, and it all kind of just happened on its own.
— A flower for the lady? — an elderly woman’s voice sounded near my ear, soft but insistent, with a light rasp, like someone who had spent her whole life talking on noisy streets.
— I flinched and turned my head. Next to our table stood a short elderly woman in a worn dark-green coat, holding a big woven basket almost drowning in red, white, and pink buds. Her wrinkled fingers were already holding one long red rose, its stem wrapped in cellophane so the thorns wouldn’t dig into her skin. She was smiling at me, frozen mid-movement as she held the flower out to the lady.
Emma froze. Her furrowed brows twitched, the irritation on her face shifting first into surprise, then into something like exhaustion and embarrassment. Her gaze shot like a bullet: first at the rose, then at the old woman, then—just for a heartbeat—at me, and then back to the rose.
— No, thanks, — she snapped and looked somewhere away from the old lady, me, and the rose.
The grandma still smiled, shifted her gaze to me, and lowered her voice conspiratorially:
— Young man, don’t miss your chance. Girls love when men court them, — she persisted, even winking at me so hard I almost choked on my own breath, — Especially beauties like her, — she added in an even more conspiratorial tone.
I wanted to sink through the floor, but apparently I wasn’t the only one feeling that way, because I noticed Emma tense up at that moment, pulling her shoulders in and ducking her head. For a moment, in that profile—unchanged after the transformation—I saw Evan again, wishing just like me to fall into some hole underground.
And the old woman seemed only encouraged by our reactions.
— You’re both so beautiful, — she added casually. — I’m sure you’ll have beautiful little kids—
— That’s enough! — Emma snapped, whipping her head around, her voice trembling slightly, but she softened when she saw the elderly woman’s face, — Enough. No kids, no flowers, no “sweetie”, no “beautiful”. Please. Just go already.
The old woman froze, her smile twitching and then slowly fading. She blinked a couple of times, as if trying to understand what exactly in her words had upset Emma so much. Then, with a sad exhale, she looked over the empty café, as though searching for proof that she hadn’t just made a mistake here, but maybe everywhere in life.
— I… I didn’t mean… — the old woman whispered, adjusted her basket, and slowly turned around. Her shuffling steps toward the exit sounded louder to me than they really were, like someone was using those sounds to tell me: “Well done, man. Now the girl’s upset, and so is the grandma.” And even though it was total nonsense, I couldn’t shake it off, because damn it, it was true.
— Wait! — I shouted, standing up so abruptly that my chair rattled backward and someone at the next table clicked their tongue in annoyance.
— Mike, what the hell?! — Emma’s angry voice burst behind me as I strode quickly toward the old woman, who had stopped by the door and was staring at me like she couldn’t believe I was talking to her. I practically ran toward her, my legs suddenly weak.
— Here… — I breathed out, offering her a bill and still feeling Emma’s stare burning into the back of my neck like someone had drawn a giant target there.
— Mike! — Emma said again, but now I heard that in this “Mike” her voice was an octave lower, though still loud.
— Just a second, — I tossed over my shoulder, barely turning back.
The old woman was standing right by the door, pressing the basket to her side. Up close, she looked even smaller and older. But the way that warm smile appeared on her face again somehow warmed my soul.
— Take seven, — she whispered softly and winked again. — She’ll appreciate it.
I blinked in confusion.
— Seven?.. — I whispered back, looking at her.
— Seven, — the old woman nodded, like she was explaining the obvious order of the universe. — No more, no less. And go on now, — she added more gently. — The girl is waiting.
I pulled out another bill, but she stopped me, reminding me that I’d already given enough. Her old hands quickly arranged the flowers into a bouquet, wrapped them in cellophane, and placed them into my hands along with the change. The coins clinked in my pocket at the same moment the door closed, leaving me alone with this bouquet, confusion in my head, and the feeling that I’d just been scammed out of my money.
After standing there for another second, I finally turned around and slowly, reluctantly, with a completely bad feeling in my gut, headed back to the table.
Emma was sitting just like before, staring off somewhere to the side, not noticing me coming back. It felt like she’d slipped into some world of her own again. But the moment I came closer and scraped the chair to sit down, her attention snapped back to me.
— Fuck! — she said, but there was more shock and disbelief in that “fuck” than irritation. It sounded like she was seeing something real and impossible at the same time. — You… You… — she even stumbled, like her tongue refused to cooperate. — You seriously dragged those here?! Mike, you… you’re just… no. No! Don’t even think about it!
She stood up, stretching her palm forward like she was trying to stop a train rushing at full speed. Her breasts jerked so sharply from the movement that she herself got flustered for a split second when she noticed my gaze flick there again for just a moment.
— And stop staring! — she yanked her hand back, now pressing it to her breasts, but still staying where she was.
The security guard appeared so suddenly that at first I thought he was just a customer walking too fast.
— Ma’am, is everything alright? — he immediately addressed Emma, who reacted like she’d been hit with an electric shock by the question.
— Me? NO! It’s not alright! — Emma snapped so hard that even the guard flinched. — Are you all fucking in on this today or what?!
He froze, blinking, clearly not expecting his standard phrase to trigger such a reaction.
— Ma’am… I just—
— That’s none of your fucking business! — Emma barked in a way Evan never would have. Feminine, emotional, loud, and at the same time with a tense, barely audible rasp that carried both irritation and fear.
The guard got the message and stepped back, raising his hands in a defensive gesture and throwing me a knowing, male, solidarity-filled look — hang in there, bro.
And there I was, standing like a complete idiot, holding seven roses in my hands. Holding them out in front of me like some ridiculous proof of my own stupidity. They smelled too sweet, too bright, too loud. Like the bouquet itself was screaming: “Mike is a moron.”
— Emma… — I started.
She spun toward me sharply, her long hair whipping the air around her like it had done something wrong. Her anger instantly shifted into confusion when her gaze landed on the roses again.
— Damn… — she said quietly, lowering her eyes, — now everyone thinks I’m some hysterical bitch… yelling at a security guard for no reason like my hormones are boiling… — her eyes lifted back to the flowers, — and now these flowers of yours…
— I’ll throw them out, — I blurted way too fast. — Right now. Want me to? Into that trash can by the tray stand.
I didn’t wait for an answer and turned, but froze immediately when I felt her hand — soft, gentle — gripping my wrist firmly.
— NO! — she snapped, making me turn my head back.
— What? — I said, not wanting to admit to myself that I didn’t want her to let go. But she did—only to grab the bouquet with the same hand right after.
I already pictured the moment she’d throw it in my face, me dodging thorny stems, then storming out of the café and slamming the door. Anything, the worst-case scenarios.
But instead, she just brought the flowers closer to herself. Took a heavy breath, brushed away a stray lock of hair, and then quietly — very quietly — said:
— Th… thanks… — and that simple, childhood-familiar word ran through me like a shiver from head to toe.
I stood there, not believing my ears, my eyes, or that any of this was real. Emma, Evan… both of them mixed now into something else in front of me — something that was at the same time my old friend and the girl who visited my dreams, the girl I confessed love to in secret, waking afterward with that awful guilt that lived under my ribs all day, squeezing me from inside.
And now it returned. Only multiplied by a hundred, amplified by her soft “thank you” and the way she stood right in front of me — in that white top, with those impossible curves, holding a bouquet that looked almost too bright, too contrasting in her hands.
— You’re welcome, — I finally said, realizing the silence dragged on too long, and also realizing this was the dumbest response possible in this situation.
— Shit… — Emma exhaled, blushing even harder. — This is so stupid…
She looked away and loosened her grip on the stems—only to tighten her fingers around them again a second later.
— Well, you didn’t have to—
— Oh, enough already. Stop. — she cut me off with a half-smirk. — It’s just… damn, it’s actually nice, even though I never thought my… my first flowers would be from you.
She glanced at the bouquet, then at me again, as if checking whether I was about to do something “stupid” again.
— I… — I started, then stopped immediately, letting out a loud breath. — I don’t know what to say.
She raised a skeptical eyebrow.
— Then don’t, — she said after a short pause. — Everything is awkward enough already.
I obediently shut my mouth. And strangely, it worked.
Emma watched me for a couple more seconds, like waiting for a trap to spring, and then she smiled.
— I think I’ll head out, — she muttered, now without stuttering, and with clear hints of amusement in her voice. — Gotta put the flowers in a vase.
— Want me to walk you? — I blurted, remembering the old saying: “If the barn’s already burned down, might as well burn the house too.”
She froze mid-step, half-turned toward the exit, and slowly looked back. The smile didn’t disappear, but it became more careful, like she was holding it with her fingertips.
— Walk me? — she repeated, as if tasting the word. — Are you serious right now?
— I… — I caught myself starting again. — I just asked.
Emma looked at the door, then at me, then at the door again. She shifted the bouquet to a more comfortable grip, and I noticed her body tilt slightly to the side, instinctively compensating for the weight of her large breasts.
— You know what, — she said finally. — Yeah. Walk me.
I blinked.
— Yeah?
— Yeah, — she nodded, then added with a squint: — Will you protect me from scary bad men, my prince?
I swallowed nervously, not expecting that — because… because damn it, it didn’t sound like flirting. It sounded more like some dumb Evan-type joke that I hadn’t deciphered yet.
Seeing my confusion, Emma burst into loud laughter, infecting not only me with her sudden good mood but also the security guard, who snorted and quickly looked away, pretending he’d just found something extremely important on the wall.
— Alright, alright, prince, relax — she said, wiping tears of laughter from her eye. — Let’s go. Before I change my mind.