Beautiful Glass

This story is part of The 750 Word Project.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

All characters are over eighteen. All rights are reserved.

Fran's glasses fogged. She took them off, wiped them and held them in her hand until they adjusted to the warmth of the Tribeca flower shop. On Instagram, the store's #plantporn was drool-worthy; her on-and-off-again boyfriend, Dean, was a genius at arrangements. But without her glasses, everything was a verdant blur.

She'd gone with Dean to his shop because she needed a housewarming gift for Jenna. Jenna had bought a place with her anesthesiologist boyfriend, a condo overlooking Central Park South. There was also their adorable baby and upcoming wedding in Paris.

Five years ago, Fran found an ad for a room in Jenna's off-campus Morningside apartment. Fran took over the lease after Jenna moved out. Jenna's had been the bigger, sunnier bedroom; now, the room was empty except for Dean's paints and brushes and canvases. Sometimes, Fran wondered whether he was dating her just for the free workspace.

Fran put her glasses back on to read the card tied to a striking plant:

Blooms even on dreary days!

She wondered if Jenna ever paid attention to life's dreariness. Jenna never did chores; but when rent was hard to make, she'd bring home expensive wine that they'd sip while talking and watching Netflix. Fran always wondered where she got it.

Fran thought of Jenna, drunk with sleep deprivation, waking in the night to tend to the baby. Perhaps she'd sit with her child in the big floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Columbus Circle. Perhaps she'd see the blooming flowers of Fran's gift and smile, comforted.

Or, perhaps a plant was too much work with a new baby and wedding planning?

Dean wrapped his arms around her from behind. "Beautiful isn't it?" She could tell from the subtle tone of his voice he was trying to sell her, and grimaced. It was the same tone he sometimes used to coax her back to bed, or back into their relationship….

He'd come by her apartment the night before with a bouquet of succulents, and then in bed, said all the right things as he moved inside her. After they made love, she found herself explaining difficult things: Jenna, her move, her baby. Dean listened in that way where he heard words but not really their meaning….

He rested his chin on her shoulder. "But an amaryllis isn't right for Jenna. That airhead needs something low maintenance."

"It's not that I don't think she can handle it," Fran mumbled, "but what if she… lets it die?"

Dean scoffed against her neck, "We're talking about the plant, right? Not the baby?" Fran grumbled, so he added, "I get it. Plants need care and attention. Anything living does, doesn't it? Even a friendship." He let go, and Fran followed him to a hanging display of tillandsia set in a beautiful glass. "This is better for Jenna. Air plants for an airhead," he quipped.

"What does it need?"

"Just some misting."

Fran watched him spin the glass with his long fingers, and her heart pulled. She'd never been to Dean's apartment. Never seen what things—living things—surrounded him, or how he cared for them….

Jenna and Fran used to watch Netflix together while planning a girls' trip to Cancun. That they'd splurge on an oceanfront room at an all-inclusive with fruity cocktails, and flirt shamelessly with muscular guys before returning arm-in-arm to their suite and falling asleep like spoons in the shared bed. That they'd sit on the beach at sunset, without a care in the world.

Fran had always anticipated that beautiful sunset would operate like a truth serum. She'd confess that she envied Jenna. And Jenna would admit that, despite appearances, she had worries too. About planting roots. About finding peace and belonging….

Fran stood on tiptoe and cupped the glass. She wanted to break it. She wanted to slap Dean. How dare he presume he'd figured everything out by suggesting a fucking plant?!? It was the same cockiness he had in bed; the way he'd thrust into her and moan, "I feel you getting close; come for me, baby," when she was nowhere near an orgasm!

"If the plant dies, she'll still have the glass."

Fran forced herself to smile and hug Dean as he grinned smugly.

Don't you understand, she wanted to ask him. Haven't you ever sat in your room, paralyzed and scared to even breathe, and wondered how everyone outside is so good at living life when you're failing at it?

"Thanks," Fran said, "It's perfect."

Thank you for reading! And thank you jezzaz and Laurel for organizing this year's event!

Truth and light,

Vix