A Short Story Written by Sandhya Rottoo

Edited by Lauren Bullock

Do you see that young man walking across campus with his hair glowing in the sun? Whose painted nails confidently reach for the doorknob, heedless of who would see him? Does he shoot you a dashing but polite smile as he waits for you to catch up, holding the door open for you?

Of course he does. That’s who he is.

As Lionel Alexander gets to his first lecture of the day, his seat is occupied. Lionel always sits there— – it’s just close enough so that he won’t need his glasses to see the slides, but just far enough that he can hear everyone’s contributions when they talk. Maybe he should be annoyed, but Lionel only shrugs and takes a seat in front of the girl who took his. 

He’d known it was a girl before even seeing her face. The men in this Gender Studies class comprise a measly 2% of the department’s population, and he’s sure the remaining 1.98% of them are gay anyway. As he’s taking out his bag, another girl sits down next to the one who took his seat. “I just got my period. Do you have a pad?” 

The girl rummages through her bag, but comes up empty. Lionel turns around and smiles at her in what he hopes is not a creepy way. “I have one. Do you want it?” 

She looks confused for a second. “Sure,” she says after a pause. He fishes it out of his bag and discretely hands it to her. “Thanks.”  

“No problem,” he replies.

Giddy sighs soon enough reach his ears. The Flower Girls have settled themselves in the aisle next to Lionel, sprawled along the floor like women in a Renaissance painting. They’re whispering to each other, hands over their hearts. As he turns back towards the front of the class, tulips cascade over his head, their sweet smell filling his nostrils. He shoots the gaggle a glance with a fond smile, and they dissolve into giggles again, throwing more flowers at him. Lionel blushes— – they’re too much, they really are. He’s only doing what any decent man would do. 

He won’t deny it feels good to always have them at his back. He can’t remember a time when they weren’t around, but they weren’t always so focused on him. In his early teens, he’d catch glimpses of them as they flitted around from boy to boy, some oblivious to their presence, others like him receiving frequent flowers. These days though, he rarely sees them around any man but himself. 

It’s sad, really. The Flower Girls used to have faith in men by default. They’d avoid the weird ones, of course, but those were a fringe minority. Then they woke up and realized that a lot of men aren’t weird but let the weird ones get away with weirdness. And those guys definitely don’t deserve flowers for that. One by one, they trickled to him – Hyacinth first, and the rest following. Chrysanthemum is the only one who still strays towards other guys, but she doesn’t seem to be doing it with hope. Nonetheless, she always comes back to him. 

But when he does end up getting a girlfriend, she isn’t one of the Flower Girls. Lionel first sees Charlotte at a meeting of the university’s student societies. She’s the only girl at the engineering table— – but granted, there are only three others. His table, on the other hand, is overflowing. The president of the Law Student Society sits next to him, but the Flower Ggirls huddle around them. They perch on top of his notes, giggle every time he politely asks them to move. Lionel decides not to comment to the president on the underrepresentation of women in science, and instead focuses on the meeting. 

Charlotte gets up to talk first. She has a slight accent (- French? Belgian?) and her voice carries through the room almost reluctantly, as though the soundwaves want nothing more than to stay inside her throat. Seated smack in the middle of all the arts student societies, Lionel has to shush the Flower Girls repeatedly to hear her. Charlotte is talking about the need for more mingling between the arts and sciences students. “Scientists and engineers need to meet philosophy, law, history students more. We need to know about people so that our innovations serve them. Conversely, arts students – ”

“Arts students don’t need to know incels,” a boy from philosophy interrupts. Snickers erupt and Charlotte’s mouth hangs in the space before a laugh, as though she can’t quite decide. Lionel stands up. 

“I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t want to know misogynists. You’d fit right in. Can you let her finish?”

The philosophy student frowns, and he might have said something but Lionel doesn’t hear it as the Flower Girls erupt into cheers. Through the cascade of roses that rain down on top of him, Lionel’s eyes find Charlotte’s and they both smile. 

***

Lionel’s sisters love Charlotte, but the Flower Girls don’t. When he brings her to meet his parents, they form a gloomy trail behind him. Hyacinth leads the fray, all auburn curls and pouts and frowns. When they get to his parents’ house, he can’t bear it anymore. 

“Give me a second, okay?” He asks Charlotte. She nods, bringing her fingernail to her teeth as she watches his house. Her thick coils of hair shine by the streetlamp, forming a halo around her face. He’s glad she had chosen to wear her natural hair, though he would never have asked her to. It’s her body, after all. 

He hurries towards the Flower Girls. Hyacinth is the grumpiest, but Iris is rolling her eyes and Rose has tears shining in hers. Lily and Tulip look disgruntled, while Petunia and Marigold fiddle with their shoelaces. Jasmine stomps her feet. And Chrysanthemum…he can’t see her face, but she’s looking down. She usually is. Her poofy yellow dress has a girlish, 19^th century cut to it, unlike the other girls who wear more modern clothing.  From Hyacinth in jeans and a sweatshirt to Jasmine in a sparkling minidress—God, he’d had to boost her self confidence so much for her to start wearing it again after that asshat Connor—well anyway. All that matters is that she’s healed from that now. Even mad, she looks amazing. He moves through the group, whispering a compliment here and there. Jasmine smiles as he passes behind her, gently touching her waist to move her. 

He knows who he needs to win over. Hyacinth, his beautiful Hyacinth, radiant with her hair pulled into two loose braids. The others will follow. He lifts up her chin and bends down to kiss her on the cheek. “Can you be happy for me and Charlotte tonight?” Hyacinth stomps her foot and he sighs. “I know, I know. But I love her.” 

She mellows a little at that, and almost reluctantly, reaches into her satchel and throws a handful of flowers onto him. Lionel catches one mid-fall and tucks it behind her ear in one smooth motion. When she smiles, he winks at her and joins Charlotte at the steps. 

Mom welcomes them in with bright eyes and big smiles, and Charlotte is immediately at ease. He’s pleased when her quiet ‘stranger voice’ starts to rise until it’s at the level she allows it to be around friends. “Can I help with the food?” he asks, moving towards the counter. Rose immediately steps between him and the stove, taking up the spatula and stirring the aromatics so they don’t burn. Mom turns to Charlotte. 

“Isn’t he sweet? Sometimes, I see the men his sisters bring home and I’m so thankful I raised him to be different than that. Really, he couldn’t help but grow up a feminist with this family.” 

Charlotte smiles in agreement. “He’s very different from a lot of the men I meet, for sure.” 

“Oh yes, that’s right. You’re studying engineering, aren’t you? Very male dominated. How is that, dear?” 

“It’s actually not that bad,” Charlotte says. “I mean, there are sexist guys for sure, but the majority are pretty nice and they listen when I – ”

“What do you mean!” Lionel exclaims. “Nearly every guy I’ve seen you talk to interrupts you and thinks he’s smarter than you. You’re smarter than all of them, but they don’t see it!” 

She laughs, and he thinks for a second it’s not her usual laugh, but then the moment is drowned in the cheers of the Flower Girls. Marigolds cascade down Lionel’s back. “Thanks. Can I chop the tomatoes for you, Mrs. Alexander?” 

Mom smiles. “Thank you.” 

Charlotte gets to work. She always gets that little frown on her face when she’s focused on something and Lionel smiles. Her hair bounces slightly as she moves over the cutting board, offering it to Mom when she’s done. “So, tell me, Charlotte. What’s my son been up to since graduation?”

“Overworking himself, mostly,” she says, shooting him a fond look. “Lionel’s part of…pretty much every organization that exists, I would say. The latest one is…the walking one?” Lionel nods. Marigold and Petunia have come up beside him to massage his hands. “Yeah. He’s a volunteer for an organization that helps women walk home safely at night. They can call the number and pretend it’s their boyfriend, or father, or whatever on the line, so that they feel safer. I don’t know how he finds the time for it on top of everything else.” 

“That sounds like him all right,” Mom replies. She suddenly turns to Charlotte. “What a lucky girl you are. If my husband had been more like Lionel, I’d be happier right now. You don’t let him go, Charlotte. You’ve found a gem.” 

“All right, Mom,” Lionel shakes the Flower Girls off impatiently as the blush rises up his face. Charlotte catches Hyacinth as she staggers back, but Hyacinth pushes her away. Lionel tugs his girlfriend into his side and kisses the top of her head. “You don’t need to give her the dramatic speech. Me and Charlotte are both lucky to have each other.” 

“Of course!” Mom gushes. “Oh, how sweet. Fix your hair, Leo. Dinner is almost ready.” 

Later that evening, when they’re back in their apartment, Lionel can tell something is wrong with Charlotte. She’s always smiling— – that’s one of the things he likes best about her, but her brow is furrowed. Maybe she’s just tired. No,  – he should check on her. Lionel knows how often women lie about being tired because they feel like a burden. Wading through the usual shower of flowers he receives after doing the dishes, he makes his way out of the kitchen. The Flower Girls arrange themselves around the room, where Chrysanthemum is already sitting, head turned down. 

They coo over her. Iris and Rose get to work braiding her hair while Petunia swings over the guitar she always carries around and starts to play a song for her. Lionel smiles at the sisterhood. He never knows how to make Chrysanthemum feel better. She’s always shied away from his touch and compliments, so obviously he’s stopped because he would never do anything to make her uncomfortable. He’s glad the other girls are making her feel welcome. Hopefully soon she’ll stop breaking away from the group to go observe other men, and even some women. He wonders if the others have ever seen her face, though it seems impossible that they would have. If Chrysanthemum doesn’t trust him, who would she trust? 

Right now he needs to focus on Charlotte though. He joins her on the couch and slides an arm around her. “What’s wrong?” he asks. 

She’s silent for a minute. “My friends aren’t misogynists,” she finally says. 

“What?” 

“You’re wrong. They listen to me and they value my opinion. And they know I’m smart.” 

Lionel doesn’t want to scoff, but he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “To your face. But you know how guys are these days. They’ll be ‘politically correct’ in front of you, but when you’re gone they’ll say all the shit they really wanted to. Trust me, I— – ”

“ – —minored in gender studies, and work with battered women every day. Yes, I know, Leo.” She scoots away from him, drawing her knees to her chest. “But I know my friends and I know what it’s like to be a woman because I literally am one. So don’t say my friends are sexist jerks because they’re not.” 

But she doesn’t really know. Charlotte isn’t the type to let people influence her confidence, but he knows that other women in science fields feel very differently. But maybe she’s right that her friends respect her. She just doesn’t see that they don’t respect other women. Lionel nods. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know better than you what it’s like to be you, and I’m sorry for assuming I did.” 

Charlotte’s shoulders relax, and she offers him a small smile. “Thank you. Maybe I overreacted too.” 

“No,” he tells her, pulling her back into his arms. Tulips are cascading down on him, but he’s only looking at her. “Never apologize for that.” 

***

The woman flinches as he enters the room. Lionel’s mouth twists. He can’t even imagine what the sight of a man must do to her after what she’s been through. Her shoulders relax slightly as the Flower Girls trail in after him, murmurs of I’m so sorry he did this to you, Sadie, you’re so strong emerging from the group of them, a cacophony so quiet and normal that he can’t even tell who’s talking. Hyacinth stops to clasp Sadie’s hand in hers and they share a look that betrays the pain all women know intimately. Lionel casts his eyes down, letting them exchange in peace, and flips through the file. Sadie White, thirty-three years old. Four-year-old son and infant daughter. High school math teacher. Recently ran away from her husband, Thomas James White, who threatened to kill her children and then her. Hit him back when he hit her. Is now facing charges of domestic abuse, though her only crime was to fighting back. 

Lionel closes the file and looks up. She’s fiddling with a ring on her finger. He can’t see any bruises on her skin, but his stomach twists nonetheless. Every time he sits opposite a battered woman in this room, he can’t help but imagine Charlotte— – or worse, one of the Flower Girls— – in her place. But that’s never going to happen. They have him. 

“Ms. White, thank you for meeting with me,” he says. “How have you been, this past week?” 

“Better than the week before,” she says, cracking a smile. Lionel responds with one of his own. 

“And your children?” 

Her smile fades slightly. “My daughter is too young to realize what happened. My son…… he didn’t talk for a few days. I think he’s a bit better now.” 

Lionel nods, making a note. “Has he witnessed his father’s violence before?” 

“No. Tom… he was never violent with the kids. Only with me. I don’t know what changed. I don’t know what I did.” 

“Nothing,” Lionel says, putting down his pen and leaning forwards. “There is nothing you could do to justify this type of violence. Men like that… they normally have a whole host of other issues. It’s often a cycle originating with their own fathers, or maybe deep-seated misogyny. A feeling of entitlement to their wife’s body.” Hyacinth and Violet are nodding along, and Lily is holding Sadie’s hand. He shifts a little to the side. Chrysanthemum stands behind Sadie, dark hair falling into her face as she stares at the floor. He wonders if he’s ever seen her face. Her hair is perfectly straight and black, shining in the light, revealing only slivers of her pale skin. Her fists are clenched

“But Tom was always such a feminist.” 

“No feminist would have done this. But regardless— – this isn’t your fault. You did the best you could and you had the courage to run and protect your children.” 

She gives a shaky laugh. “I wish I had done it sooner. But you know how it is.” 

Lionel does know. He’s seen it too many times. When a woman stays quiet, they ask why she didn’t fight. When she hits back, they call her a crazy abuser. “The important thing is that you’ve done it now. And now we can focus on getting you what you deserve from Mr. White.” 

Sadie nods and Rose fishes into her bag, laying out an array of crimson flowers. She never throws them because she knows the thorns will prick him. Lionel catches her hand before she can put it back in the bag and sucks the blood off her fingers, pressing a kiss to her scar-dotted hand when he’s done. Then he turns back to his papers and starts going over Sadie’s legal options. 

When he gets home, the apartment is empty. Charlotte is probably still at the university. Her thesis is nearly done, but it’s been a rough couple of months. She’s come back every night exhausted, with barely enough energy to do the dishes after they eat dinner in mostly silence. She’s apologized many times, but he doesn’t want to hear it. What kind of a boyfriend would he be if he didn’t support her getting her PhD? Lionel gets to work chopping onions and garlic and tosses them in a pan. He remembers to wash the rice before putting it in the rice cooker— – his mother never had, but Charlotte had taught him to cook ‘properly,’’, as she says. He’s gained a rich knowledge of Senegalese cuisine and French literature through her. Apparently, over there, they actually teach philosophy in schools. 

Charlotte is partial to existentialism and considers de Beauvoir to be one of the greatest feminist thinkers ever. But Lionel isn’t too sure. After all, de Beauvoir had signed that edict about the age of consent… he likes Margaret Atwood better himself. He hums to the Taylor Swift song playing on the radio, and smiles as the Flower Girls join in. He thinks he even hears Chrysanthemum’s soft alto. 

As he’s dumping the cooked rice into the pan with tomatoes and aromatics, a key turns in the lock and all of a sudden Charlotte is flying into the apartment and slamming the door behind her. The Flower Girls immediately stop singing and glare. “Whoa,” Lionel calls out. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” she says after a pause. “Just saw a girl from high school who was… not the greatest to me downstairs. I didn’t want her to see me.” 

He chuckles as she approaches. Charlotte’s braids are growing out— – she’s been talking about going in to get them cleaned and rebraided for a week or two now, but there just isn’t time. She collapses onto a chair. “Long day?” he asks. 

“Frank is suddenly not happy with my results, and wants me to do the experiments all over again.” 

“But your defense is in a month.” 

“It’ll be pushed back, I guess. Can’t very well defend if my supervisor doesn’t support my work.” She sighs, dropping her head. “Anyway. How was your day?” 

“The usual,” he replies, opening the peanut jar. “I met with three women today. One of them though— – she stuck with me. Two kids. One is barely six months old.” 

Charlotte’s face twists. “Man. I’m sorry. I don’t know how you do it every day.” 

“I remind myself that you’re safe,” he replies, deftly sliding the lid onto the pot before a rain of petunias falls on top of him. “That’s how I do it.” 

But as they eat, Sadie’s face swims in his mind. She’d fallen over herself to thank him at the end, marveled at his earnestness, his youth. “You’re a good man, Mr. Alexander,” she had said. “There should be more men like you.” 

As Charlotte gets into bed that night, he pulls her into his arms and kisses her. Though exhausted, she responds to his passion. Tthough of course he would have stopped if she didn’t. His fingers fumble at her pants, pulling them down and tossing them aside. He kisses his way down her body, smiling as her back arches. He always puts her first. Her hands are in his hair, pulling, and he smiles. The Flower Girls are smiling and running their fingers down his back— – they always like this part. Charlotte’s tugs grow sharper and she’s saying something. He briefly looks up. He’s focused on her, but he doesn’t want to neglect what she’s saying. He can’t see her through the pure white blossoms of jasmine that cascade onto him, though. He brushes the petals away and resumes. Her voice gets louder and louder. Her tugs are painful in his hair, – and suddenly they’re not there anymore. She’s whimpering. She must be close. She must be so grateful to have a boyfriend like him, who puts her first. As her hips start to jerk he holds them down. 

He rises, thrusting into her. He’s put her first, and he still is, making sure to get that angle just the way she likes it. He kisses her as he thrusts harder and harder, tasting the saltiness in her mouth leftover from the dinner he made. The Flower Girls are stroking Charlotte’s hands and, her feet as they bury the two of them in sweet-smelling petals. Hyacinth brushes a sweet kiss over her forehead. They’re watching her with big smiles. Lionel’s heart fills: – they like her! He’s been trying to get them to like her for so long and he’s succeeded!

In the back of the room, Chrysanthemum lifts her gaze. She breathes in the salt of Charlotte’s sobs and pleas, watches her sisters hold Charlotte down. She raises a hand— – to do what? 

She bows her head and leaves the room. 

She leaves a trail of yellow-petaled tears for Lionel. But look closely! They are already drowning in the flood of blossoms.