Chapter Text
The gemstones went home with Enid.
Immediately.
This had always been the arrangement, although the arrangement had become considerably more serious once Wednesday Addams started introducing diamonds into what had initially been a harmless botanical flirtation.
Enid loved Belladonna & Bloom.
She trusted most of their customers.
She did not, however, trust humanity sufficiently to leave loose precious stones beside a till beneath a security camera and a handwritten sign asking people not to touch the succulents.
So the stones spelling REGARD lived in one compartment of a small velvet-lined jewellery box in Enid’s bedroom.
The stones spelling FOND lived in another.
The box itself now lived inside the small fireproof safe Enid had previously used for the shop’s spare cash, her passport, her grandmother’s earrings and several documents she would almost certainly need during an emergency and therefore would probably forget existed during one.
Yoko had watched her arrange the FOND stones inside on Friday evening.
Fluorite.
Opal.
Nephrite.
Diamond.
Enid had touched each one once before closing the lid.
Yoko, leaning against the bedroom door, had said, “You’ve put the romantic gravel in a safe.”
“They’re gemstones.”
“I know.”
“One of them is a diamond.”
“I know.”
“I am not leaving a diamond in a florist.”
“I know.”
“People steal things.”
“Yes, Enid.”
“And Wednesday apparently thinks basic emotional communication should involve precious stones.”
Yoko folded her arms.
“You’re smiling.”
Enid stopped.
She had been.
She closed the safe.
“I hate her.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No.”
Enid rested her forehead against the safe door.
“No, I really don’t.”
Yoko smiled.
“You’re fond of her.”
Enid turned around.
“Get out.”
“That’s not a denial.”
“Out.”
Yoko left laughing.
Enid waited until she was gone.
Then reopened the safe.
Looked at the four stones again.
And whispered, because nobody was there to hear her:
“Fond.”
Her smile returned.
She closed the safe for the second time.
This time she left it closed.
Mostly.
A week passed.
Monday arrived.
Enid had decided she would behave normally.
Normal, in this context, meant she would not spend Sunday evening wondering whether Wednesday’s next message would be another word.
She would not speculate about possible gemstones.
She would not create a list of emotionally plausible four, five and six-letter words and then research whether corresponding minerals existed.
She especially would not wonder whether FOND was the beginning of an escalation.
All of these plans failed before breakfast.
By eight seventeen, Enid had made an iced coffee and forgotten where she put it.
By eight twenty-one, Yoko found it beside the carnations.
By eight twenty-four, Enid checked the clock.
Yoko looked over the top of her sunglasses.
“Don’t.”
“I was checking the time.”
“You know the time.”
“Apparently not, which is why clocks exist.”
“You checked four minutes ago.”
“I have appointments.”
“You have no appointments before nine.”
Enid opened her mouth.
The bell rang.
Yoko pointed at her.
“Exhibit A.”
Enid ignored her.
Wednesday entered in black from throat to ankle, carrying a leather case and wearing the expression of someone who had already found the morning insufficiently competent.
Enid’s smile appeared immediately.
She had stopped trying to prevent it.
“Morning.”
“Sinclair.”
Wednesday approached the counter.
Enid folded her arms.
Wednesday looked at them.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You are visibly withholding a question.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
Enid lasted three seconds.
“Are you spelling anything today?”
Wednesday’s eyebrow lifted.
Yoko turned away quickly.
Enid groaned.
“Forget I asked.”
“I had intended to.”
“Mean.”
“Accurate.”
Enid came around the counter.
“What do you want the flowers to say?”
Wednesday considered.
“That a person may be professionally competent and still possess the conversational instincts of a diseased pigeon.”
Enid stared at her.
“Who annoyed you?”
“A solicitor.”
“What did he do?”
“He began every sentence with ‘with respect’ before demonstrating none.”
Enid winced.
“Ouch.”
“He also referred to me as ‘young lady’ twice.”
“Oh.”
Yoko looked up.
“Is he alive?”
Wednesday glanced toward her.
“For now.”
Enid laughed.
“Okay. We need restraint.”
“No.”
“Fine. Decorative restraint.”
“Acceptable.”
She chose tansy for hostile thoughts, yellow carnations for disdain, snapdragons for strength and rosemary because Wednesday had long since stopped pretending not to expect it.
Enid wrapped the bouquet.
Then added her flower note.
A small sprig of asters.
Wednesday’s gaze dropped immediately.
Enid saw recognition flash in her eyes.
Love.
Patience.
Faith.
Depending on the source.
Wednesday had probably read all of them.
“Research it anyway,” Enid said.
“I already know several interpretations.”
“Of course you do.”
Wednesday paid.
Took the bouquet.
Then reached into her coat.
Enid immediately looked at her hand.
Wednesday stopped.
Their eyes met.
Enid’s cheeks warmed.
Wednesday’s mouth moved by approximately half a millimetre.
“You have become conditioned.”
“This is your fault.”
“Debatable.”
Wednesday placed something small and black into Enid’s palm.
It was smooth.
Light.
Almost glossy.
Enid frowned.
“This isn’t a gemstone.”
“No.”
“What is it?”
“Jet.”
Enid looked at her.
“Like the jewellery?”
“Yes.”
“Is this another word?”
“No.”
“Does it mean something?”
Wednesday took her bouquet.
“Presumably.”
“Wednesday.”
“Sinclair.”
“You cannot just hand me Victorian mystery objects and leave.”
Wednesday turned toward the door.
“That assertion contradicts recent evidence.”
The bell chimed behind her.
Enid stared at the little black piece in her palm.
Yoko came over.
“What now?”
Enid held it out.
Yoko studied it.
“Coal?”
“Jet.”
“Fancy coal.”
“It isn’t coal.”
“I know. I wanted to irritate you.”
“You succeeded.”
Yoko looked toward the door.
“Meaning?”
Enid was already reaching for her phone.
“I’m finding out.”
“Obviously.”
The first results were not encouraging.
Enid’s eyes widened.
“Oh.”
Yoko leaned over.
“What?”
“Mourning.”
Yoko paused.
They looked at the piece of jet.
Then at one another.
Enid scrolled.
“Mourning jewellery. Victorian mourning customs. Protection against evil. Grief. Loss.”
Yoko frowned.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“That one seems less flirty.”
Enid looked horrified.
“Did she just give me a death rock after calling me fond?”
“Technically she first entered this shop to celebrate a corpse.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“She may be reverting to baseline.”
Enid kept searching.
Protection.
Luck.
Guarding against illness.
Repelling negative energy.
Associated with preservation and protection of the wearer.
She stared.
“That has to be it.”
Yoko looked at the screen.
“Protection?”
“Maybe.”
“Or death.”
“Stop helping.”
“I haven’t helped in months.”
Wednesday returned Wednesday.
Enid had the jet waiting.
Not on the counter.
In the zipped pocket of her apron.
It wasn’t remotely as valuable as the gemstones, but Wednesday had given it to her, which had immediately altered Enid’s personal definition of value beyond usefulness.
The bell rang.
Wednesday entered.
Enid walked directly toward her.
Wednesday stopped.
“You have the expression of someone intending an accusation.”
“I do.”
“Proceed.”
Enid produced the jet.
“Did you give me a mourning stone?”
“No.”
“That was the first thing every search result said.”
“Your search methodology requires refinement.”
“It was worn in mourning jewellery.”
“Yes.”
“Frequently.”
“Yes.”
“For dead people.”
“Usually the purpose of mourning.”
Yoko bit her lip.
Enid glared.
“Then what did you mean?”
Wednesday looked at the jet.
“It was also carried as protection.”
Enid’s posture shifted.
“Oh.”
Wednesday continued.
“It was believed to repel harm.”
“Right.”
“And protect objects or people considered precious.”
Silence.
Enid stared at her.
Yoko’s eyes slowly widened behind her sunglasses.
Wednesday looked toward the flower buckets.
“I require a bouquet.”
Nobody moved.
Wednesday looked back.
Enid was still staring.
“What?”
“You said precious.”
“I described a historical interpretation.”
“You selected the historical interpretation.”
“Yes.”
“For me.”
Wednesday’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“You are becoming irritatingly literal.”
Enid’s smile began.
Wednesday recognised the danger too late.
“I’m precious?”
“I did not say that.”
“You gave me an object historically used to protect things considered precious.”
“People.”
“What?”
“I said objects or people.”
“That does not improve your situation.”
Wednesday’s expression flattened.
Enid’s smile became enormous.
Yoko turned around and walked into the back room.
Wednesday watched her go.
“Where is she going?”
“Probably somewhere she can scream quietly.”
Wednesday returned her attention to Enid.
“What flowers?”
Enid tucked the jet carefully back into her apron.
“Something for a woman who just accidentally called someone precious and is pretending she didn’t.”
“I will leave.”
“You won’t.”
Wednesday paused.
Enid’s confidence faltered for a fraction.
Then Wednesday said:
“No.”
And remained.
Enid gave Wednesday something on Friday.
It wasn’t planned.
That was what made it worse.
Wednesday’s bouquet had been wrapped in charcoal paper, as usual.
Enid had trimmed too much from one corner.
A small rectangle remained on the worktable.
She picked it up.
Folded it once.
Then again.
Twisted.
Pressed.
Adjusted.
Yoko walked past.
Stopped.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“That appears to be something.”
Enid continued folding.
A tiny flower gradually emerged from the charcoal paper.
It wasn’t particularly skilled origami.
One petal was slightly larger than the others.
The stem was only a narrow twist of paper.
But when Enid finished, she liked it.
Black.
Small.
A flower made from the paper Wednesday had chosen nearly every visit for months.
Yoko looked down.
Then at Enid.
“No meaning?”
Enid shook her head.
“None.”
“Wednesday has infected you.”
“Shut up.”
When Wednesday arrived that afternoon, she looked tired.
Not defeated.
Enid knew the difference now.
“How bad?”
Wednesday removed her gloves.
“Eleven hours.”
“Ouch.”
“A mediator who believes compromise is achieved by repeating identical suggestions at greater volume.”
“Double ouch.”
Wednesday’s eyes flicked toward her.
Enid softened.
“Tired, not defeated?”
Wednesday stopped.
The phrase had first been spoken months ago.
Enid remembered exactly when.
Exactly which flowers she had used.
Exactly how Wednesday had stood beneath the shop lights that evening with a tear in one cuff.
Wednesday looked at her.
“Correct.”
Enid smiled.
“I’ve got you.”
Something moved in Wednesday’s expression.
Tiny.
There and gone.
Enid built the bouquet without asking for further direction.
White poppies.
Red salvia.
Gladiolus.
Rosemary.
At the end she tucked in her flower note.
Blue salvia.
I think of you.
Wednesday recognised it immediately.
Then Enid wrapped everything and held out the bouquet.
Wednesday took it.
Enid looked down at the tiny paper flower beside the scissors.
Then picked it up.
“Also…”
Wednesday’s eyes followed her hand.
Enid held it out.
“This.”
Wednesday stared.
“What is it?”
“A flower.”
“It is paper.”
“It’s a paper flower.”
“What does it mean?”
Enid smiled.
“Nothing.”
Wednesday looked at her.
“No historical symbolism?”
“No.”
“No hidden message?”
“Nope.”
“No linguistic significance?”
“Wednesday.”
“Yes?”
“I made it and thought you might like it.”
Wednesday went completely still.
Enid immediately realised what she had done.
The raven feather.
Her own words reflected back at Wednesday.
Yoko, standing behind the till, slowly lowered her coffee.
Wednesday took the paper flower.
Turned it once between her fingers.
The uneven petal faced upward.
“You copied me.”
“Maybe.”
“Derivative.”
“Do you want me to take it back?”
Wednesday closed her fingers around it.
“No.”
Enid smiled.
Wednesday looked at the bouquet.
Then at the flower.
Then at Enid.
“The construction is asymmetrical.”
Enid gasped.
“Give it back.”
“No.”
“You just insulted my craftsmanship.”
“Accuracy is not insult.”
“You’re horrible.”
“Apparently.”
Wednesday left carrying both bouquets.
One alive.
One made from the paper that had once wrapped dozens of others.
Tyler found the paper flower on Monday morning.
It was tucked between the pages of Wednesday’s black notebook.
He saw it because Wednesday had opened the book while reviewing a witness statement.
Tyler stopped talking.
Wednesday noticed.
“Continue.”
Tyler’s eyes remained on the notebook.
“Is that…”
“No.”
“You don’t know what I was going to ask.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Is that a paper flower?”
Wednesday closed the notebook.
“No.”
Tyler stared.
“That was definitely a paper flower.”
“You require an ophthalmologist.”
“Did Enid make it?”
Wednesday’s gaze sharpened.
Tyler grinned.
“She did.”
“Return to the statement.”
“She made you a little black flower.”
“It is charcoal.”
“That’s adorable.”
“Archive review.”
“You’ve used that threat so often it’s losing potency.”
Wednesday opened another file.
Tyler sat down.
“You kept it.”
“It functions adequately as a bookmark.”
“You own bookmarks.”
“This one was available.”
“You have seventeen bookmarks in that drawer.”
Wednesday looked up.
Tyler immediately became interested in the witness statement.
Morticia returned to Belladonna & Bloom alone the following morning.
Enid saw dark hair through the window and smiled automatically before realising the silhouette was too tall.
Then the door opened.
Morticia entered.
Enid’s first thought arrived before etiquette.
“Is Wednesday okay?”
Morticia stopped.
Yoko looked up.
Enid realised what she had said.
Her cheeks warmed.
“Sorry. Hi. I just…”
“She is perfectly well.”
Enid visibly relaxed.
Morticia noticed.
She noticed the entire thing.
The immediate concern.
The relief.
The way Enid’s shoulders dropped.
Her smile softened.
“Good.”
Morticia approached the counter.
“I hope my arrival is not disappointing.”
“What? No! Sorry. Not at all.”
“I suspected you might be expecting someone else.”
Enid went pink.
Yoko slowly backed toward the worktable.
Coward.
Morticia smiled.
“I require flowers.”
“For Mr Addams?”
“For Gomez, yes.”
Enid brightened.
“He liked the last ones?”
“He put them in our bedroom and informed three dinner guests that his wife still desires him after thirty years.”
Enid laughed.
“That sounds…”
“Like Gomez.”
“Yeah.”
Morticia’s smile warmed.
“Precisely.”
Enid came around the counter.
“What should these say?”
Morticia considered.
“That after all these years, despite extensive evidence regarding his judgement, I would choose him again.”
Enid stopped.
Her expression changed.
Softened.
“Oh.”
Morticia lifted one eyebrow.
“Too sentimental?”
“No.”
Enid smiled.
“No. That’s beautiful.”
“Don’t tell Wednesday.”
“She would probably call it excessive.”
“She was raised surrounded by excess. Her complaints are hypocritical.”
Yoko coughed.
Enid laughed and began selecting flowers.
Ivy.
Red camellia.
Rosemary.
Forget-me-nots.
Gladiolus.
Morticia watched her work.
Enid had always been expressive with flowers.
Her hands became quieter when the meaning mattered.
Morticia noticed that too.
Her eyes wandered briefly toward the small ammonite sitting near Enid’s work station.
Unlike the gemstones, which had gone home and been secured immediately, the fossil remained at the shop some days.
Enid liked seeing it while she worked.
The raven feather was tucked safely into a narrow glass tube on a high shelf behind the workbench, protected from water and careless hands.
Morticia looked at the ammonite.
“I recognise that.”
Enid followed her gaze.
Her smile appeared immediately.
“Wednesday gave it to me.”
“So I gathered.”
“She gave me the weirdest explanation.”
“I doubt that.”
Enid laughed.
“Okay, fair.”
Morticia touched nothing.
Enid continued arranging the flowers.
After a moment Morticia asked, “How old?”
“About two hundred million years.”
“And why did she choose it?”
Enid’s cheeks turned pink.
“She said it survived.”
Morticia waited.
Enid glanced at her.
“And then said the implication was obvious.”
Morticia smiled.
“It usually is to her.”
“I had to ask.”
“That is also usually necessary.”
Enid laughed.
“She said minerals possess greater commitment than flowers.”
Morticia’s eyes softened.
“She said that?”
“Yep.”
Morticia looked at the ammonite again.
Then at Enid.
Her voice became gentler.
“You keep everything she gives you.”
Enid’s hands slowed.
The jet was at home now too.
In the safe.
The gemstone sets.
Safe.
The ammonite came back and forth with her sometimes because it made her smile.
The feather remained here because it felt strangely right among the plants.
“Yes.”
Morticia’s gaze remained on her.
Enid swallowed.
“They’re important to me.”
Morticia nodded once.
“I suspected they were.”
There was no teasing in it.
No interrogation.
That somehow made Enid more nervous.
She added the forget-me-nots.
Then finally asked the question she had been carrying since Monday.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
Enid hesitated.
“Is Wednesday always like this?”
Morticia looked at her.
Enid rushed to clarify.
“Not like Wednesday, obviously she’s always Wednesday. I mean the gifts and the flowers and the weird historical communication and buying gemstones to spell words and…”
She stopped.
Morticia was smiling.
Enid’s cheeks burned.
“Never mind.”
“No.”
Morticia’s answer was quiet.
Enid blinked.
“No?”
“No.”
One word.
Nothing more.
Enid stared.
Morticia returned her attention to the flowers.
Enid’s heart began doing something complicated.
“She isn’t?”
“Wednesday has always been deliberate.”
Morticia picked up a loose leaf and turned it between her fingers.
“As a child, if she gave someone something, she could tell you precisely why that object and no other would suffice.”
Enid looked toward the ammonite.
Morticia followed her gaze.
“The feather had no meaning.”
Enid said it softly.
Morticia looked toward the glass tube.
“No code.”
Enid turned back.
Wednesday had used almost exactly the same wording.
“There is a difference?”
“A considerable one.”
Enid was silent.
Morticia smiled faintly.
“My daughter has spent much of her life ensuring very few things become necessary.”
Enid listened.
“People especially.”
Something in Morticia’s tone prevented the statement becoming cruel.
“She loves her family fiercely, though she would object to that adverb. She has friends. Colleagues. People she respects.”
Morticia’s gaze moved toward the front door.
“But routine is another matter.”
Enid’s fingers tightened around a stem.
Morticia looked at her.
“She rarely permits another person to become part of hers.”
Enid swallowed.
“You appear to have become one.”
No gemstone.
No flower.
No archaic dictionary required.
The statement struck harder than FOND.
Enid looked down.
Morticia politely pretended not to notice that she needed several seconds before speaking.
“She comes Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.”
“I know.”
Enid looked up.
“How?”
Morticia smiled.
“My daughter checks clocks.”
Enid laughed softly.
“That bad?”
“Terrible.”
There was a pause.
Then Enid’s eyes narrowed.
“Wait.”
Morticia waited.
“You know flower meanings.”
Morticia’s expression became innocent.
Enid pointed a sprig of rosemary at her.
“You knew heliotrope last time.”
“Yes.”
“Wednesday said she had to research all of them.”
“She did.”
“But you could have told her.”
“I could have.”
Enid stared.
Morticia’s smile grew.
“You let her buy dictionaries?”
“I did not instruct her to buy dictionaries.”
“How many?”
Morticia considered.
“I believe three.”
Enid’s mouth fell open.
“Three?”
“Conflicting sources irritated her.”
Enid slowly turned toward Yoko.
Yoko had gone completely still.
“Three,” Enid repeated.
Yoko lowered her sunglasses.
“You made Wednesday Addams buy three books about flowers.”
“I didn’t make her.”
Morticia said pleasantly, “No. She chose to.”
That was worse.
Enid looked like somebody had unplugged her.
Morticia smiled.
“I should pay.”
Enid recovered enough to wrap the bouquet.
Before tying the ribbon, she added heliotrope.
Morticia noticed.
“Again?”
Enid smiled.
“Some things are worth repeating.”
Morticia’s expression softened.
“Yes.”
“They are.”
Wednesday knew her mother had returned to Belladonna & Bloom before Morticia told her.
Gomez sent a photograph.
Wednesday was halfway through reviewing correspondence when her phone vibrated.
The photograph showed Gomez holding an enormous bouquet against his chest with the expression of someone who had personally won an international award for being married.
The message read:
Your mother has once again proven that romance is an art form, my little storm cloud. Observe the camellias. Magnificent.
Wednesday looked at the wrapping.
Charcoal paper.
Black ribbon.
Belladonna & Bloom.
She called Morticia.
Her mother answered on the third ring.
“Wednesday.”
“You went back.”
“Yes.”
“London contains hundreds of florists.”
“Does it?”
“You are aware it does.”
“None of the others had Enid.”
Wednesday’s fingers tightened around the phone.
“What did you say to her?”
“Good afternoon to you too.”
“Mother.”
“Wednesday.”
“What did you say?”
“Very little.”
“Define little.”
“Fewer words than you have communicated through gemstones.”
Wednesday closed her eyes.
Tyler, passing the doorway, saw her expression and immediately reversed direction.
Coward.
“Did you interfere?”
“No.”
“Did you discuss me?”
“Briefly.”
“That qualifies as interference.”
“She asked whether you were always like this.”
Wednesday went still.
“Like what?”
Morticia paused.
Wednesday disliked the pause.
“Mother.”
“Attentive.”
Wednesday said nothing.
Morticia continued.
“I answered honestly.”
“Which means?”
“No.”
Wednesday’s stare fixed on the opposite wall.
“You are intolerable.”
“So you’ve said.”
“What else?”
“I mentioned your flower dictionaries.”
Wednesday’s voice dropped.
“You did what?”
Morticia laughed softly.
“She was delighted.”
“That does not improve the offence.”
“She knows you research her notes, Wednesday. You have never concealed that.”
“I did not disclose the quantity of reference materials.”
“Three books hardly constitutes state intelligence.”
Wednesday considered matricide again.
Morticia’s voice softened.
“I like her.”
Wednesday’s jaw tightened.
“That is irrelevant.”
“No.”
A pause.
“Not entirely.”
Wednesday said nothing.
Morticia added, “So does your father, though he has yet to meet her.”
“That is logically impossible.”
“Gomez has great faith in my judgement.”
“Gomez proposed three hours after meeting you.”
“He has excellent instincts.”
“He attempted to duel a priest during your honeymoon.”
“The priest insulted my shoes.”
Wednesday hung up.
Three seconds later, Morticia sent a black heart.
Wednesday stared at it.
Then placed her phone face down.
Tyler reappeared cautiously.
“Safe?”
“No.”
He vanished again.
Wednesday arrived at Belladonna & Bloom the next morning with the expression of someone bringing a subpoena to an enemy.
Enid knew instantly.
“Your mom told you.”
“She sent photographic evidence.”
Enid bit the inside of her cheek.
“She needed flowers.”
“There are other florists.”
“She likes mine.”
“That is the problem.”
Yoko looked over.
“That’s a weird business complaint.”
Wednesday ignored her.
Enid smiled.
“Your dad liked them.”
“I am aware.”
“He seems sweet.”
“He is pathologically romantic.”
“You say that like it’s terminal.”
“It has resisted treatment.”
Enid laughed.
Wednesday looked at her.
The irritation in her face eased fractionally.
Enid noticed.
“So.”
She leaned against the worktable.
“What do you need today?”
Wednesday regarded the flowers.
“That family members who exceed acceptable informational boundaries remain technically beloved.”
Enid stared.
Then laughed so suddenly she had to grab the table.
Wednesday’s mouth twitched.
Yoko pointed.
“I saw that.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I did.”
Wednesday turned back to Enid.
“Flowers.”
“Fine.”
Enid selected yellow roses.
Wednesday’s eyes narrowed.
“Friendship?”
“Also affection.”
“Too cheerful.”
“You’re complaining about yellow existing.”
“Yes.”
Enid replaced them with dark red chrysanthemums.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
She added ivy.
Rosemary.
Then, at the end, a violet.
Wednesday saw it.
Her expression changed.
Faithfulness.
Devotion.
Modesty.
Enid tied the ribbon.
Wednesday took the bouquet.
Their fingers brushed.
Neither moved immediately.
Enid looked at her.
“Your mom really loves your dad.”
“Obscenely.”
“I think it’s nice.”
Wednesday was quiet.
Then:
“Apparently.”
Enid smiled.
The word was different now.
Not dismissive.
Almost thoughtful.
Wednesday left.
The violet remained between the darker flowers.
Friday was the first day Wednesday failed to appear.
Five o’clock came.
Then five fifteen.
Enid checked the clock.
Yoko said nothing.
Five forty.
Enid rearranged ribbon.
Six.
She served two customers.
Wrapped a sympathy bouquet.
Sold three potted herbs.
Checked her phone despite having no reason to expect a message.
Yoko still said nothing.
At six twenty, Enid looked toward the door again.
Yoko finally spoke.
“She could be in court.”
“I know.”
“Or working.”
“I know.”
“She didn’t promise.”
“I know.”
Yoko watched her.
Enid sighed.
“I know.”
The bell rang at six thirty-seven.
Enid turned so quickly she almost knocked over a bucket.
A man entered.
Not Wednesday.
Young.
Dark-haired.
Smartly dressed.
Holding Wednesday’s black card case.
Enid’s stomach dropped.
“Enid Sinclair?”
She immediately moved toward him.
“Yes. Is Wednesday okay?”
The man stopped.
His expression changed.
Just slightly.
Something assessing disappeared and something warmer replaced it.
“She’s fine.”
Enid breathed out.
“Sorry.”
“No, that’s…”
He smiled.
“Good to know.”
Yoko appeared at the counter.
The man lifted one hand.
“Tyler Galpin.”
Enid’s eyes widened.
“You’re Tyler.”
Tyler blinked.
“You know me?”
“Wednesday has mentioned you.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Voluntarily?”
“Usually while threatening your employment.”
“That’s more plausible.”
Yoko smiled.
“I’m Yoko.”
“I know.”
Yoko’s eyebrows rose.
Tyler immediately looked uncomfortable.
“Wednesday has mentioned you.”
“While threatening my employment?”
“No.”
“Disappointing.”
Enid looked at the black card case.
“What happened?”
“Court.”
Tyler sighed.
“A procedural apocalypse. She has been trapped since mid-afternoon by three barristers, a judge and a man who believes fifty-seven pages constitutes a concise application.”
Enid winced.
“So she sent you?”
Tyler held out the card.
“She instructed me to collect her usual Friday arrangement.”
Enid went still.
“She did?”
“Yes.”
Tyler’s mouth twitched.
“She said failure to appear personally should not create an unnecessary disruption to an established pattern.”
Yoko looked at Enid.
Enid stared at Tyler.
A smile slowly spread across her face.
“An established pattern.”
“Those were her words.”
Tyler paused.
“Possibly ‘continuity’. I was being shouted at over photocopying at the time.”
Enid laughed.
“Okay.”
She went to the flower buckets.
“I know what she needs.”
Tyler watched her select white poppies.
Red salvia.
Gladiolus.
Rosemary.
Then blue salvia.
His eyes sharpened.
“That’s…”
Enid looked up.
“What?”
Tyler immediately looked away.
“Nothing.”
Enid’s eyes narrowed.
Yoko’s did too.
Tyler visibly regretted entering the shop.
Enid wrapped the bouquet.
Then turned.
“Tyler.”
“Yes?”
“How much do you know?”
“About flowers?”
“No.”
“Then potentially too much.”
Yoko came around the counter.
Tyler took one step backward.
Enid folded her arms.
“You know about the notes.”
“I know that notes exist.”
“You know about the gemstones.”
“I know that geology has recently damaged workplace productivity.”
Enid’s mouth fell open.
Yoko smiled slowly.
“Oh, I like him.”
Tyler looked toward the door.
“I should go.”
“What did she tell you?”
“Very little.”
Enid stared.
Tyler lasted two seconds.
“Nothing! She tells me nothing. She is a vault with braids.”
Yoko pointed toward the door.
“Then how do you know?”
Tyler hesitated.
Enid saw it.
“What?”
“There’s…”
He stopped.
Enid’s eyes widened.
“There’s what?”
Tyler closed his eyes.
“I have made an error.”
“Tyler.”
“A notebook.”
Silence.
Enid stared.
Yoko slowly turned toward her.
“A notebook.”
Enid’s voice had gone strangely high.
Tyler held up both hands.
“I am not discussing its contents.”
“She has a notebook?”
“Yes.”
“About the flowers?”
“Yes.”
Enid looked like she might sit down.
Tyler continued quickly.
“She records the flower notes.”
Enid’s mouth opened.
“And meanings.”
Her hand went to her chest.
“And sometimes competing meanings because apparently nineteenth-century symbolism lacked adequate standardisation.”
Yoko whispered, “Three dictionaries.”
Enid turned.
“She has a notebook.”
Yoko nodded solemnly.
“She has a notebook.”
Tyler looked between them.
“I feel like I’ve disclosed privileged information.”
“You absolutely have.”
“Wednesday will kill me.”
“Probably.”
“Could we not mention this?”
Enid suddenly smiled.
Tyler became suspicious.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That expression suggests something.”
Enid walked toward a shelf.
On it sat a tiny charcoal paper flower.
Not the original.
Another.
She had made it Monday evening without entirely knowing why.
She picked it up.
Then took a fine black pen.
Tyler watched.
“What are you doing?”
“Writing.”
“That’s rarely comforting in her vicinity.”
Enid turned the flower over and wrote one small word inside a folded petal.
Then closed it again.
She handed it to Tyler.
“Give her this.”
Tyler accepted it cautiously.
“What does it mean?”
“Nothing you need to know.”
Yoko laughed.
Tyler looked down.
“Is this another code?”
“No.”
“That sounds exactly like something Wednesday would say.”
“Good.”
Enid handed him the bouquet.
“And tell her she accidentally left this here Wednesday.”
Tyler looked at the paper flower.
“Did she?”
“No.”
He stared.
Enid smiled.
“She’ll know.”
Tyler sighed.
“You two deserve each other.”
Enid froze.
Tyler realised.
“Oh.”
Yoko put her hands over her face.
Tyler turned toward the door.
“I’ve done enough damage.”
“Tyler.”
“Goodbye, Enid.”
He fled.
Wednesday received the bouquet at eight fourteen that evening.
Tyler entered her office.
Placed it carefully on her desk.
Wednesday looked up.
Her eyes moved over the flowers.
White poppies.
Red salvia.
Gladiolus.
Rosemary.
Blue salvia.
Something in her shoulders eased.
“Thank you.”
Tyler stopped.
Wednesday looked at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Then leave.”
“There is another item.”
He placed the small charcoal paper flower beside the bouquet.
Wednesday went still.
“What is that?”
“Apparently you left it there Wednesday.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I know.”
Wednesday looked up.
Tyler smiled despite himself.
“She knows too.”
Wednesday picked it up.
Turned it once.
Found the folded petal.
Opened it.
One word.
Still.
Wednesday stared.
Tyler leaned slightly.
“What’s it say?”
Wednesday closed her hand.
“Leave.”
“What does it…”
“Tyler.”
He left.
Wednesday opened the paper flower again.
Still.
No flower dictionary required.
No acrostic.
No historical footnote.
She understood.
You missed Friday.
Still.
You weren’t there.
Still.
The pattern broke.
Still.
Wednesday placed the flower carefully inside her notebook beside the first one.
Then opened to the page where Friday’s bouquet belonged.
Blue salvia.
I think of you.
She wrote beneath it:
Additional note: Still.
Then paused.
Added:
Meaning sufficiently clear.
The restoration took longer than expected.
Wednesday learned this Monday at seven forty-three in the morning.
The specialist called while she was dressing.
“The main cam assembly is worse than we thought.”
Wednesday stood motionless in front of her wardrobe.
“How much worse?”
“An old repair altered the gearing. I can replace the damaged section, but if you want to preserve the original action rather than approximating it…”
“I do.”
“It will take another week.”
Wednesday’s jaw tightened.
“We originally agreed three.”
“I know.”
“Now four.”
“Yes.”
“Why was this not identified during inspection?”
A pause.
The man wisely answered honestly.
“We missed it.”
Wednesday respected that marginally more than an excuse.
“Correct it.”
“We will.”
“Do not substitute modern components where historically appropriate replacements can be fabricated.”
“Understood.”
“And the music cylinder?”
“Working.”
“The head movement?”
“Restored.”
“The basket?”
“Needs the cam.”
Wednesday closed her eyes briefly.
“The entire point is the basket.”
“I gathered.”
“When?”
“Friday, possibly Monday.”
“Possibly is not a date.”
“Monday.”
“Good.”
She ended the call.
At eight twenty-six, she entered Belladonna & Bloom in a poor mood.
Enid looked up.
Her smile appeared.
Then softened.
“Something’s wrong.”
Wednesday stopped.
“No.”
Enid raised one eyebrow.
Wednesday disliked how quickly she had become competent at this.
“You’re annoyed.”
“I am frequently annoyed.”
“More than normal.”
Yoko called from the till, “She’s right.”
Wednesday ignored her.
Enid came closer.
“Work?”
“No.”
“Family?”
“No.”
“Tyler?”
“Not presently.”
“Something else?”
Wednesday hesitated.
“A restoration is taking longer than promised.”
Enid blinked.
“A restoration?”
“Yes.”
“Of what?”
“That information is irrelevant.”
Enid smiled.
“Mysterious.”
“Necessary.”
“Is it important?”
Wednesday looked at her.
The answer arrived without consideration.
“Increasingly.”
Enid’s smile faded slightly.
Not from hurt.
From curiosity.
Wednesday realised the implication too late.
Enid looked at her for a long moment.
Then simply said:
“Okay.”
No interrogation.
No pushing.
She turned toward the flowers.
“What do you want them to say?”
Wednesday considered.
“That patience is an inefficient substitute for competence.”
Enid laughed.
“I can work with that.”
She chose chamomile.
“Patience.”
Wednesday looked displeased.
Enid added aster.
“Also patience.”
“Sinclair.”
“Trust the process.”
“I dislike the process.”
“Clearly.”
Then oak leaves.
“Strength.”
Rosemary.
“Obviously.”
At the end Enid selected a small branch of flowering pear.
Wednesday’s eyes narrowed.
“What is that?”
“My note.”
“I know.”
“You’ll work it out.”
Wednesday paid.
Enid handed over the bouquet.
Their fingers touched.
“Things worth having can take time,” Enid said.
Wednesday looked at her.
Enid smiled.
“No symbolism. Free advice.”
Wednesday’s expression remained neutral.
But she carried the sentence to work with the bouquet.
Wednesday brought coffee on Wednesday.
Two cups.
One black.
One so offensively pale and iced that Wednesday resented carrying it.
She entered Belladonna & Bloom at eight twenty-three.
Enid looked up.
Her eyes dropped to the drinks.
Then back to Wednesday.
“Is one of those…”
“Yes.”
Wednesday put the iced drink beside her.
Enid stared.
Yoko stopped mid-sip of her own coffee.
“What is happening?”
“Nothing.”
Enid picked up the cup.
It was exactly right.
Exactly.
The ridiculous syrup.
The milk.
The amount of ice.
Even the extra shot she ordered on Wednesdays because deliveries started early.
She looked at Wednesday.
“You bought me coffee.”
“Yes.”
“How did you know my order?”
Wednesday appeared faintly offended.
“You order it frequently.”
“You’ve never been with me when I buy it.”
“The cup is labelled.”
Yoko whispered, “Jesus.”
Wednesday looked at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Enid was smiling now.
Not the enormous delighted smile Wednesday had become accustomed to provoking accidentally.
Something smaller.
Softer.
Worse.
“No hidden meaning?” Enid asked.
Wednesday looked at the coffee.
“Caffeine.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“No secret nineteenth-century coffee language?”
“Coffee was historically associated with several social and political movements, but none are relevant.”
Enid laughed.
“Of course you know that.”
Wednesday took a drink of her own coffee.
Enid looked at hers.
Then at Wednesday.
“Thank you.”
Wednesday’s eyes met hers.
“You routinely forget your own.”
Enid’s cheeks warmed.
“So you noticed.”
“You leave it in hazardous locations.”
“Still noticed.”
Wednesday looked toward the flowers.
“I require a bouquet.”
Yoko turned her back and whispered something about cowards.
Friday, Enid retaliated.
She had found the vase Thursday afternoon at a small market two streets away.
It was ceramic.
Handmade.
Matte black.
Slightly crooked.
One side rose marginally higher than the other, and the glaze had pooled at the base in a dark uneven line.
Enid loved it immediately.
Then she had thought of Wednesday.
Which meant she was doomed.
When Wednesday arrived Friday evening, Enid made the bouquet first.
Dark dahlias.
White roses.
Rosemary.
A small piece of lavender.
The usual dance.
Wednesday paid.
Took the arrangement.
Enid held up one finger.
“Wait.”
Wednesday stopped.
Enid disappeared into the back.
Yoko watched Wednesday.
Wednesday watched the doorway.
Neither spoke.
Enid returned holding a small paper bag.
She handed it over.
Wednesday regarded it suspiciously.
“What is this?”
“A thing.”
“That is insufficient.”
“Open it.”
Wednesday did.
She removed the vase.
Turned it once.
Inspected the base.
Looked at Enid.
“What does it mean?”
“Nothing.”
Wednesday’s eyes narrowed.
Enid grinned.
“I saw it and thought you would like it.”
Yoko made a tiny triumphant sound.
Wednesday’s gaze shifted toward her.
Yoko immediately became busy.
Wednesday looked at the vase again.
“The glazing is inconsistent.”
Enid’s face fell dramatically.
“Wow.”
“It is also structurally sound.”
“That saved you.”
“The asymmetry appears intentional.”
“Keep going.”
Wednesday’s thumb moved over the imperfect edge.
“It has character.”
Enid smiled.
“There she is.”
Wednesday looked up.
“Your plagiarism lacks subtlety.”
“You’re taking it home.”
“I have not yet left.”
“You’re still holding it.”
Wednesday placed it carefully into the paper bag.
Enid crossed her arms.
“Point proven.”
Wednesday left with the vase.
It appeared on her desk Monday morning.
Tyler said nothing.
He had learned.
Mostly.
Something changed over the next ten days.
Not dramatically.
Nothing either woman would have admitted under oath.
It simply became easier.
On Monday, Wednesday entered to find charcoal wrapping paper already laid out on Enid’s table.
“You assumed I would come.”
Enid looked at her.
“You’ve come three times a week for months.”
“That is not a guarantee.”
“No.”
Enid smiled.
“But you came.”
Wednesday had no response she considered safe.
On Wednesday, Enid reached for rosemary before Wednesday finished describing the bouquet.
Wednesday noticed.
Enid noticed her noticing.
“Some things are worth repeating.”
Wednesday said nothing.
The rosemary remained.
Friday, Enid nearly knocked her iced coffee from the worktable.
Wednesday caught it.
Moved it six inches away from the edge.
Continued speaking as though nothing had happened.
Enid stared at the cup.
Then at Wednesday.
“You saved my coffee.”
“I saved your floor.”
“Sure.”
“Your interpretation is irrelevant.”
“Absolutely.”
Monday, Enid removed lilies from an arrangement Wednesday was ordering for a client.
Wednesday raised an eyebrow.
“She has cats.”
“You remembered.”
“You mentioned it once.”
“Yes.”
Enid replaced them with roses.
Wednesday watched her.
Something warm and deeply inconvenient settled behind her ribs.
The following Wednesday, Wednesday arrived while Enid was tying her apron.
The ribbon had twisted.
Wednesday stared at it.
Enid noticed.
“What?”
“Turn around.”
Enid blinked.
“What?”
“The ribbon.”
“Oh.”
Enid turned.
Wednesday stepped closer.
Her fingers found the twisted fabric at Enid’s waist.
Pulled.
Straightened.
Retied.
It took perhaps four seconds.
Neither woman breathed normally during any of them.
Wednesday’s knuckles brushed Enid’s back through the cardigan.
Enid went utterly still.
Yoko walked out of the back room.
Saw them.
Stopped.
Turned around.
Went back in.
Wednesday finished the knot.
“Done.”
Enid looked over her shoulder.
Her cheeks were pink.
“Thanks.”
Wednesday withdrew her hands.
“Your inability to tie a functional knot is concerning.”
“My knot was functional.”
“It was twisted.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“It was aesthetically offensive.”
Enid turned fully.
Their distance was suddenly much smaller than expected.
Neither moved.
Enid looked down.
Wednesday looked up.
The shop seemed unusually quiet.
Then Yoko shouted from the back room:
“I AM STAYING BACK HERE UNTIL THIS IS SAFE.”
Enid jumped.
Wednesday’s expression became murderous.
The moment shattered.
Yoko laughed from behind the door.
Morticia sent the book Thursday.
Wednesday opened the package at her office.
Inside was a nineteenth-century reference work on mechanical automata, beautifully bound and in irritatingly good condition.
There was one card.
For your research.
Wednesday called immediately.
Morticia answered.
“How do you know?”
“Know what?”
“Mother.”
“Wednesday.”
“The book.”
“Did you dislike it?”
“You know why I require it.”
“I have theories.”
“How?”
A pause.
Then Morticia laughed.
“You asked Grandmama for the name of a French horologist who specialises in historical mechanisms.”
Wednesday’s jaw tightened.
“Grandmama breached confidence.”
“Grandmama has never recognised confidence as a meaningful concept.”
“That does not answer the question.”
“Information travels.”
“You are all intolerable.”
“Yes.”
Wednesday opened the book.
Detailed engravings showed cams, gears, cylinder mechanisms, musical movements.
Morticia’s voice softened.
“Is it for Enid?”
Wednesday said nothing.
Morticia did not repeat the question.
She did not need to.
After several seconds, she said:
“Then make sure it works beautifully.”
Wednesday looked at the restoration photographs the specialist had emailed that morning.
The little flower girl’s head had been reset.
The original silk flowers repaired where possible.
The damaged basket reinforced invisibly from beneath.
Wednesday’s voice was quieter.
“I intend to.”
Morticia smiled on the other end of the line.
“I know.”
Wednesday hung up before the conversation developed further emotions.
The call came Monday morning.
“It’s finished.”
Wednesday was already standing.
“Demonstrate it before I collect it.”
“Of course.”
She arrived at the workshop forty minutes later.
The automaton stood on a padded table.
Restored.
Not made new.
Wednesday had been explicit about that.
The faded rose dress remained faded.
The bisque face retained the tiny marks acquired over more than a century.
The flowers were still old.
The brass still carried age.
But the mechanism worked.
The restorer inserted the key.
Turned it.
Released the mechanism.
The cylinder music box began to play.
Quiet.
Delicate.
A melody worn slightly soft by time.
The girl’s head moved.
Once.
Slowly.
Her eyes seemed to shift with the angle.
One arm rose.
The basket lifted.
The tiny mechanical figure bent toward the flowers.
Paused.
Then extended them outward.
Offering.
Wednesday did not move.
The brass gears beneath the fabric turned with exquisite precision.
A flower girl powered by hidden machinery.
Colour above.
Mechanism beneath.
Intricate.
Precise.
More complicated than first appearance suggested.
Enid.
Wednesday’s throat tightened faintly.
She disliked the sensation.
The sequence ended.
The music slowed.
Stopped.
The restorer looked at her.
“Satisfied?”
“Again.”
He raised his eyebrows.
Wednesday looked at him.
He wound it again.
The music began.
The flower girl moved.
Wednesday watched the basket rise.
Watched the little figure bend toward the flowers.
Watched her offer them.
The second time, Wednesday imagined Enid seeing it.
That was worse.
The restorer let the mechanism finish.
“It’s a gift?”
“Yes.”
“For a collector?”
“No.”
He looked at the flowers.
“Someone who likes flowers?”
Wednesday paused.
“Among other things.”
The man smiled.
Wednesday disliked that too.
He packed the automaton carefully into its custom-lined case.
Wednesday inspected the fastenings herself.
Then paid the final invoice.
At the door, the restorer said:
“I hope she likes it.”
Wednesday stopped.
She had not told him the recipient was female.
He looked suddenly uncertain.
Wednesday considered correcting the assumption.
Then realised she didn’t care.
“She will.”
The confidence surprised even her.
Wednesday morning, Belladonna & Bloom opened at eight.
Enid arrived early.
Yoko arrived three minutes later carrying coffee and complaining about buses.
By eight twenty, the front display was finished.
By eight twenty-five, Enid was humming while trimming pale pink roses.
By eight twenty-seven, Yoko said something about an influencer who had attempted to ask for free wedding flowers in exchange for exposure.
Enid laughed.
Outside, Wednesday stopped.
The black case in her hand was considerably larger than anything she had previously carried into the shop.
Through the window, she could see Enid.
Yellow cardigan today.
Tiny embroidered flowers around the cuffs.
Hair loosely tied back.
Laughing at something Yoko had said.
Wednesday looked down at the case.
No gemstones.
No acrostic.
No fossil.
No historical definition.
No flower dictionary.
No code.
Nothing Enid needed to research.
Nothing she needed to decode.
The raven feather had been spontaneous.
The vase had been Enid’s answer.
The paper flowers had changed the language again.
Coffee had somehow become communication.
A twisted apron ribbon had become something neither of them had discussed.
And now this.
Wednesday rested one gloved hand against the handle of the florist’s door.
Four weeks earlier she had seen an old mechanical figure behind glass and thought immediately of Enid Sinclair.
Then she had learned it was broken.
Had it restored.
Waited.
Insisted.
Checked the mechanism.
Watched it twice.
Not because the object contained a hidden definition.
Not because French automata had historically represented affection.
Not because flowers meant one thing and gemstones another.
Because it belonged with Enid.
Wednesday had no evidence for that conclusion.
She found this increasingly less disturbing than she should have.
Inside, Enid looked toward the window.
Saw her.
Her entire face brightened.
Wednesday’s fingers tightened around the case.
There it was again.
That smile.
The one that had become part of Mondays.
And Wednesdays.
And Fridays.
Part of mornings before court.
Part of long days.
Part of the route between office and home.
Part of Wednesday’s calculations without ever being invited into them.
Morticia had called it routine.
Wednesday considered that terminology insufficient.
She opened the door.
The bell chimed.
Enid looked at the enormous black case.
Then at Wednesday.
Her eyebrows rose.
“That,” she said slowly, “is way too big to be a gemstone.”
Wednesday stepped inside.
“Astute.”
Enid put down the pruning shears.
Her eyes remained on the case.
“Is it dead?”
Wednesday considered the question.
“Not presently.”
Behind the counter, Yoko slowly lifted her head.
“Presently?”
Wednesday looked at Enid.
Enid looked at Wednesday.
The black case waited between them.
For once, there was nothing to solve.
Not yet.