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Years of research and exploration in a relatively tame field to begin with launched Pamela Isley into a well respected career and household name (in very niche circles).
She’s paved the way for ambitious discovery. It’s not entirely out of the ordinary when unexpected things show up on her doorstep; A letter or maybe a sample pleading to be examined.
However, this one thing though did give her pause. A large clear vase filled with wilting hydrangeas adorned with three diamonds smudged on with red lipstick.
She stood motionless for a good while. Mistaking whatever feeling arose — one that she certainly did not have the capacity or expectance for at the moment — with shock she bent down and grasped, only to find a wadded up paper underneath.
‘Found it on the street…couldn’t resist. xo’
She shuffled inside, repotted the in-need plant and then ripped up the note into a large amount of tiny pieces and deposited it in the compost.
—
Browsing the shelves is just for show. Her library visits are routine and her selections are predestined. She likes to operate under the masquerade of picking up something new with the purpose of extending her time there on any given Sunday.
Grazing spines and wandering through the aisles exhausted her patience. She made her way to familiarity. Tucked in a corner, untouched and memorized by undoubtedly only her, sat books with almost no relation to one another and mismatched by numerical order. Unbounded by the categorization system they sit a collection of incongruous novels all wonderful in their own right.
Being so keen on order and system every day there is almost something sensible to her about finding the same ill-placed cluster of books.
Few shelves — two to be exact — littered with house plant gardening, short stories by the sea (specifically), an insect encyclopedia, more than one self help book and the entire works of Jane Austen.
It was the last week in January. So, as per routine, she plucked out Emma.
Routine above all and what she did not expect to find peeking out was a hand ripped piece of pink paper.
And scrawled on it:
‘You’re so predictable, Red.’
She sat in a chair nearby and took in the first few chapters. She tried to envelope herself in the story but could only really grasp the words written and meant for her.
This time, she tucked it in to the novel and used it to keep her place. She would never litter.
—
Right across the street from her office is a coffee shop.
Nested through a small passageway squeezed between two buildings that gives way to the courtyard and leads to the humble little brewery.
It’s easy to spend hours there. It’s suffocating back in the office space. Discovery can’t be confined to florescent lighting and idle water cooler chats. She has free range. So much flexibility and an entire rooftop.
But across the street they always have a seasonal assortment of teas. Each curated to perfection and served in ceramic mugs.
With the weather warm and rising, even for Gotham, spring brings lots to look forward to.
Lemon ginger delight, strawberry sweet, peach hibiscus and now, it appears…the last one.
‘Jittery, glittery, fruit-arily the definitive right choice and your guaranteed favorite tea of the season and here to stay forever so just pick me. and p.s. no this is not obnoxiously long it’s charming’
Instead of taking up the entirety of the permanent fixture that is the chalkboard, it dangles haphazardly on a poster decorated with glitter glue.
She curses under her breath to combat the laugh that threatened to bubble up.
—
Pamela indulges in a few glasses after dinner. It’s Thursday and she’s late of course…Late is generous, Pamela struck the expectance of punctuality years ago. The cork has been popped an hour ago.
It’s not long after her second glass that she hears the door gently close.
In strolls her only friend accompanied by a black cat tucked under her arm. Before she can even finish her sip to allow for greeting she’s met with, “You have to do something about this soon.”
Pamela’s eyebrows furrowed and Selina sighed and hoisted the cat up with both arms, effectively dangling her belly up.
The signature delicate bell on her collar was replaced with a round packet of hydrangea seedlings. In the middle was a smiley face with X’s for eyes and hearts peppered the border.
Pamela sighed and rose from the couch to pour her friend a glass. But not before leaning in to gently pluck the packet and place it on the nearest window sill.
Selina took special notice that it didn’t bare the same fate as the first note. It could be easily explicable. Seeds and all. She doesn’t mention it. There’s a flash of relief written on Pamela’s face when Selina welcomes the drink and immediately delves into the various assholes she encountered at the latest art exhibit.
Pamela strokes Selina’s unexpected but not unwelcome house guest and briefly wonders if she can remember where she placed that clear vase with the smudges.
—
Robinson park sees her almost every day.
Even days like today when being bundled up does little to combat the chill.
She treks the familiar path with book in hand. A few undisturbed hours in the sun is not something she would ever say no to.
With everything second nature she didn’t bother to look up from her open page until she reaches the grassy patch.
A single red ribbon is tied around the familiar tree. Pamela slowly encircled it and traced the fabric with her hand. Allowing herself to stray upward and follow the semi-forgotten indentation in the shape of a heart with the initials ‘P+H’ in the center.
She chastised her then. Today she flipped open her book saved by the pink scrap of paper and turned her back to lean against that side of the tree.
—
She’s on her chaise documenting her observations and theories after a long, long day at work. All on her own accord.
Her pen is slowing down and her drive is wearing thin.
She pushes her glasses up to pull back the hair falling in her way and rubs her temples in exhaustion. She finally closes the notebook and lounges back.
Right after deciding to head to her room there’s a soft rapport on her front door. Clad in her pajamas she opens the door in a flurry expecting Selina.
She feels her face drop instantly.
There she is. Hair relaxed in two low hanging ponytails, chunky black boots, and a single sprout peeking out from the lip of a mason jar clutched in front of her chest.
Pamela stood dumbfounded and off guard. Her hand still clinging to the door.
Frozen she heard a soft infliction she hadn't heard in years, “Listen Pammy. I’m here. For good.”
It took a familiar shell of a promise for her to come to her senses. “I’ve heard this before.”
“Yeah well I mean it this time. I-”
“I’ve heard that before too,” Pamela cut in.
“Are you gonna let me get through my whole romantic speech or what? Because I practiced in the mirror a bajillion times.” She ended her hyperbolic exasperation with a slight chuckle. And a chanced glance where she was met with stormy eyes.
Pamela didn’t say anything. She just turned her back on her and vacated the doorway. She stood arms crossed behind her kitchen countertop.
Harley let herself in and shut the door behind.
“I really like what ya’ve done with the place.” She peeked her head in waiting for a response as a make-do invite.
Pamela didn’t grant her one.
Harley cleared her throat and Pamela noticed the way she clenched her jaw and the creases of her eyes were already smeared with the beginnings of tears.
Harley stood several feet away. Eyes squeezed shut, “I don’t really know how to do this. I’ve never-“
Harley peeked one eye open when she heard clanking. Pamela was pouring full a mug from the kettle that resided on the stove.
Without a word and without looking back up at the bleached-blonde girl on just the other side of the kitchen she grabbed three tea bags from the counter and deposited a heaping four spoonfuls of sugar in.
Harley stood still as Pamela brought the mug in her direction. Wordlessly Pamela picked up the jar from Harley's clutched hands and replaced it with the tea.
Not leaving their shared space and feet planted firmly, Harley took a sip and Pamela couldn’t have fought off the smile if she tried.
Harley cleared her throat, “I’m known to be quite vexing, I’m just forewarning you.”
“I know. And I’ve-”
“Yeah yeah and you’ve heard that before," arms gently held open Harley pleaded, "come here.”
Pamela allowed herself to be wrapped in Harley’s embrace. And she didn’t even try and stop the tears that fell.
She allowed herself to be guided to the couch and pulled down. They ended up an interlaced picture of limbs and familiar warmth. Engulfed in closeness she sighed into Harley’s neck as she felt fingers rake through her scalp and a hand draw feather light circles on her shoulder.
“I was going to say I’ve known you to be quite exuberant.”
Pamela’s head bobbed up and down softly with the rumble of the laugh coming from the girl beneath her.
She added on, “-delightful and cheerful. Maybe a dash of compassionate and I would go as far to say angelic.”
“If only I had your big-ass brain in my corner when drumming up my tea creation… Where are the hot tea title producing ladies when you need them!” She threw her hands up in comedic desperation and Pamela rolled her eyes and burrowed her nose against Harley’s neck.
She stopped shifting to whisper words she wanted to say a lifetime ago. “Don’t let me go this time.”
And she felt Harley’s arms constrict around her, “You’re stuck with me, Pam-a-lamb.”