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I walked past the house two doors down every day since I was a kid on my way to small school down the road. I still had no idea who lived there. But, one thing about the house stood out from the rest on our street.
Their garden was full of perfectly tended to rose bushes.
Most were deep reds and pinks, but there were a few bushes by the window that bloomed yellow blossoms. The flowers made the small front yard feel brighter compared to the rest of the identical patches of grass and shrubs lining the street.
I also never saw anyone actually look after the flowers. It was like they grew that way on their own and just liked looking pretty for passersby. Thus, in my head, I called it the Rose House
One weekend, I was baking this giant batch of chocolate chip cookies with carrot in them, but the carrot was just there to keep the cookies soft once they were baked. They were so good, but my mom and I made far too many. So, I suggested we take some to neighbours.
“Which neighbours, honey? We don’t talk to many of them.”
I stuttered, not wanting to admit that the only reason I wanted to deliver cookies down the street was because I wanted to knock on the Rose House’s door. “I—I don’t know. I just thought it was the neighbourly thing to do,” I finally said with a shrug.
We packed up twelve cookies per mismatched container, donned some shoes, and headed out. There were six batches to deliver. My plan was to go to each of the identical brick houses that sat in a semicircle around our house, and then go to the Rose House. The path I led Mom on gave me time to gather the courage to knock on the dark oak wood I was so curious about.
I did most of the talking—introducing us to the neighbours if they didn’t know who we were, handing them the cookies while telling them the recipe, and exchanging pleasantries.
When there were two boxes in Mom’s arms, she spoke up behind me. “You’re so grown up.”
I rolled my eyes, my head lolling a bit as I exaggerated the reaction. “I’m sixteen, Mom,” I said, falling into step beside her and taking another Tupperware container from her arms.
“I know that.” She ruffled my short hair and then pinched my cheek lightly as she said, “Just yesterday you were a little baby in my arms. You were so chubby, y’know. You had all these rolls of fat on your arms and legs and—“
“Okay, yes, I get it. I grew up so fast.” I rang the doorbell of the last house that we had cookies for. Before we went to the Rose House, anyways.
The last house we went to was a blur. I hardly remembered anything about the five other neighbours’ houses other than what the people looked like, what their names were, and what their houses smelled like. All I could think about was the Rose House.
Suddenly, we were walking up to the front door of the brightest house on the road and I almost forgot how I got there. The sweet, heavily floral aroma of all the roses engulfed me as I mounted the two steps to the Rose House’s front door.
Cookies in hand, I knocked.
I waited for who knows how long staring at the door, nearly forgetting my mom was standing behind me.
After what felt like an eternity and a few seconds all at once, the door opened.
“Hello?” The girl who spoke was around my age, short, with strawberry-blonde hair and big eyelashes.
“My name’s Taylor,” I said, shifting the cookies to rest on my hip and sticking out my hand for her to shake. “I live two doors down that way.” I jutted my chin the direction of mine and my mom’s house.
Hesitantly, she took shook my hand. “I’m Rose.”
She looks like a Rose, I thought. Aloud, I joked, “So that’s why there are all the roses in the front yard.”
Rose laughed. “Yeah, Dad and I went a little crazy planting them when I was younger.” Her tone became more melancholy as she said, “I don’t have the heart to dig them up.”
I laughed a little unsure of myself before holding the container of carrot cookies in front of me and telling her about the recipe.
As I handed her the cookies, she said, “This is so sweet, thank you!”
“Yeah, no problem.” I rubbed the back of my neck with my hand. “We went a little overboard with how many we made.” God, why am I so awkward.
After a moment of silence, a lightbulb went off in Rose’s brain. “Do you have your phone on you?”
“Yeah, of course,” I said, fishing for it in my pocket.
“I’m gonna put my number in your phone.” I was so shocked by her, I just opened my contacts and handed it over. When she was done plugging it in, she pointed the front-facing camera towards her face, pulling a goofy expression.
“Here,” she said, happy with the new selfie she used for her profile picture on my phone. A beaming smile appeared, almost blinding me in a way that I didn’t mind at all. “FaceTime me.”
It was contagious. I couldn’t hold back my own smile as I tucked my phone in my pocket. “That’s a promise.”
I joined my mom at the bottom of the stairs as Rose’s strawberry-blonde hair disappeared behind the oak door. “She’s cute,” Mom said, feigning nonchalance.
“Don’t start,” I said, rolling my eyes again.
“You better call her tonight.”
“Don’t worry, I will.” I leaned into her with my shoulder as we walked back to our house. I was dizzy on the scent of flowers and thoughts of Rose’s House.