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Mary Hatford had always loved impatiens; it was a strange quirk for a mobster to have, but the cheery little flowers always brought her joy. Back home in England, she’d had several flower boxes full of white impatiens, although they needed to be replaced often due to blood stains. Neil often wondered if his father had given her flowers when they first met. He couldn’t quite imagine Nathan Wesninski as a lovestruck young man, bouquet in hand. Then again, he couldn’t quite imagine what drove his mother to marry such a monster in the first place, so what did he know?
Either way, they were both dead now. He wasn’t sure what the feds had done with Nathan’s body, but they’d permitted Neil to bury his mother in a nearby cemetery. Lot 4, Section 13, Tier 6 North, Grave 21.
He visited her weekly. Andrew, who stayed in the apartment for these visits, maintained that a mother who beat her son didn’t deserve remembrance. If he thought about it, Neil wasn’t sure why he went, whether it was out of love or a sense of obligation, but he went nonetheless. Every few months, he even stole a few impatiens from a ground-floor neighbor’s garden, just to lay on her grave.
Today was one such day. He plucked a pink blossom and a white blossom, carefully skirting around the reds. As he stood up to leave, brushing the dirt off his bare knees, an amused voice spoke up.
“I told Dan that it wasn’t rabbits eating our flowers!”
Neil flinched out of instinct and looked up. The man was at least six feet tall, seven if you counted the gelled spikes. He leaned against the doorframe of the house and grinned down at Neil.
“She kept insisting that it was just wildlife, but no animal bites the stems off so cleanly.” He shook his head and continued in falsetto. “‘You’re just imagining things. Go back to sleep, Matt!”
There was no point in pretending he was innocent. Neil sighed, looked Matt in the eye, and slowly set the flowers back on the dirt, giving them a few gentle pats for good measure. “My bad. I’ll stop.” Maybe he could steal from the Smiths down the block.
As he turned to go, Matt said, “Hang on. You can take the ones you just picked, since I have no use for them, but on one condition.”
“Yes?”
“I’m coming with you.” He smiled widely.
Unsure if he’d heard correctly, Neil blinked. “What?”
“I want to see if your lover is pretty enough to warrant flower theft.” Neil opened his mouth, about to correct him, but Matt bulled on. “Nope, I insist. A guy as good-looking as you deserves someone just as beautiful. Which is why I can’t believe I landed Dan. Have you seen her...?”
So they walked down the street together, Matt pausing every few minutes to show Neil pictures of his wife. As they neared the cemetery, Neil wondered if he should perhaps warn Matt. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but it felt a little to late for the truth.
“Anyways, you’re knew to the neighborhood, right?” Matt asked. “I haven’t seen you around before.”
“Moved in a few weeks ago.” Neil added nothing about Andrew. It was none of Matt’s business.
“You should come over for dinner! Dan’s the best griller I’ve ever met. In fact, we’re having company over tonight! If your date goes sour, just come to 103. Renee’s bringing brownies.”
This time, Neil said nothing about his nonexistent date, too busy trying to figure out of Matt’s Renee was the same as Andrew’s Renee. When he finally realized Matt was waiting for a reply, he replied, “I’ll try.”
“Wonderful!” They turned a corner and crossed the street, now making an undeniable beeline for the cemetery. Brow furrowed in confusion, Matt asked, “Graveyard date? I’ll admit, that’s not my thing, but if the shoe fits...”
Neil sighed. “I’m not going on a date.”
The truth sunk in; Matt’s eyes flashed wide for a second, and he was silent for a long second before responding, “Oh.”
“Yeah. Thanks for the flowers.” Neil began to head into the cemetery, not saying goodbye as he left.
A few seconds later, Matt caught up with him. “I’ll leave you alone, but do come over tonight, okay?” Neil gave him a quick nod, and then he was off.
At the grave, Neil set the flowers down neatly. His mom probably would’ve beaten him half to death if she could see him now, living with his husband and accepting dinner invitations from his neighbors. At least, that’s what the woman he knew would have done. He liked to believe that a younger Mary Hatford, the mobster’s daughter and not the Butcher’s runaway, paranoid wife, was glad that her son had found peace.
Perhaps that was why he kept visiting.