Sunflowers in Bloom

Nate realised that Ezra had probably told her every last detail of the whole relationship, beginning to middle to end. But the words she had spoken weren't Ezra's; they weren't biased, weren't even malicious, just factual. It was like Lizzie was in his head, putting words to the thoughts he'd never been able to unscramble enough to understand. She wasn't wrong. She'd gotten all of it right.

And it didn't even hurt.

"I'm glad she left," he said, meaning it.

"You should be," she said. "You should be loved for who you are, not who someone thinks you could become. That's selfish. People like that are self-serving. They're takers and you're a giver, Nate."

Nate didn't have to ask Lizzie to know that she was a giver, too.

"I wish you could come out with us," Alfie said, hovering by the front door with a tortured expression on his face.

"Me too."

Ezra walked past Lizzie and she put a fist through his head, laughing. Unlike Nate, Ezra actually liked it when she did that.

"One of these days you'll knock the brains right out of my head," Ezra said with a grin.

"Slim chance, seeing as how you haven't got any," Nate said, shrugging into his coat.

"Ha ha," Lizzie said, sticking up for Ezra. "He's got plenty else to make up for it."

Ezra, Alfie and Nate stalled by the door for ten minutes chatting with her. They'd planned to go out to the city that night for a party. Now that the time had come, none of them wanted to leave. They all knew Lizzie hated being alone.

"You'll be late for the party."

"Fuck the party," Nate said with a sigh.

"I never wanted to go anyway," Alfie said even though it had been his idea in the first place.

Ezra brooded quietly. On one hand, he loved parties and hadn't been to one in ages, but on the other hand, he loved Lizzie, too.

None of them wanted to go. Not when she couldn't.

She chased them out, anyway, threatening to lock herself in the attic for the rest of her existence (she was dramatic like that) if they didn't go to the bloody party.

So they went to the bloody party.

It was like the colour had been stripped from Nate's eyes. His surroundings looked dull, lifeless. The live music thudded against his eardrums. It had been such a long time since he'd heard anything that wasn't a scratchy vinyl record that it hurt his brain to hear anything else.

He talked to people that he knew, old mates from uni and a handful of other friends they had all made through the years, socializing within the same circle. Sometimes he got lost in the conversations, remembering something Lizzie had said and wanting to share it, but knowing he couldn't.

Nate, Ezra, and Alfie had all sworn Lizzie's existence to secrecy. Ghosts weren't supposed to exist—and they especially weren't supposed to look like Lizzie: healthy and vibrant and real. They didn't want to share her with the world, and certainly not when it was entirely likely that she'd be received as a specimen to be studied. She was an anomaly, a phenomenon, a miracle. She shouldn't have existed, but she did. Right there in that old cottage in the countryside, she existed, and she existed hard.

Ezra put drinks in Nate's hands because he knew he needed them. The alcohol burned on the way down, but he couldn't feel the warmth reach his fingertips. He kept drinking until he passed his limit, but he didn't stop.

He kept thinking that if he finished his novel and went on book tours then Alfie and Ezra would be sure to tag along, but there would be no Lizzie. He had considered purchasing the cottage a million times, and perhaps he would, if only to protect Lizzie from the outside world, but he couldn't entirely afford it yet. He had some money, but not enough. With less than a year and a half left on the lease, Nate knew he'd have to work quickly on his novel and get paid a sizeable sum to purchase the cottage.

He fantasised about it sometimes, though. He imagined her living out of a suitcase with him, dancing in hotel rooms, making faces at him and hovering over him in that way that he hated, spying on everything he did, making him mad, making him laugh until he cried. He imagined her getting into bed with him, imagined feeling her palm pressed against his cheek while he watched her, drinking in the sight of her, reaching for her, holding her, kissing her, wanting her, needing her, having her.

"I'll drive you home," Ezra said after a few hours.

"It's only ten," Nate slurred. "The party hasn't even started yet."

He knew why. He'd left the life of the party at home by herself.

"Alfie, give me a hand," Ezra said.

Alfie had appeared, sensing trouble. They each took an arm and led Nate out of the building. He protested the whole way, feeling like a royal pain in the arse for having needed to be handled like a child.

It didn't make sense. He used to enjoy parties like these. He used to laugh with his mates, throwing back drinks to get the liquid courage to ask gorgeous women to dance, miraculously charming them into bed because even though he wasn't like Ezra, he was good-looking in his own way. He was the kind of attractive that got into people's heads, the kind that they'd remember sometimes and wonder whatever had happened to him, that guy with the grey eyes, clouded like a thunderstorm; that guy with the thick locks of light brown hair that shone golden under lights; the one with the weird knuckles that jutted out and ears that really weren't as big as he complained they were; the one who slouched a lot because it seemed he was too tall for almost everything, as if his head was so full of thoughts that it was weighing him down. He was typically a bit on the quieter side, more reserved, but that was what made it all the more remarkable when he gave his attention to people, making them feel special for his having opened up to them.

Nate had been given everything good in life, all the things for which a person could ask. Well-off parents, enviably good genes, an excellent education from prestigious schools, and a fair sum of inheritance from his late grandfather sitting in the bank.

He had everything.

But he couldn't have Lizzie.

"It's okay, mate," Ezra said. "You'll see her soon."

"I don't want to," he lied. "I want to drink. That's what we came here for."

"No," Alfie said gently. "We came here to have a good time."

"So let's go," Nate said, making a weak struggle to get back to the party. Alfie and Ezra tightened their hold of him and dragged him down the street.

They strapped him into Ezra's car with Alfie muttering as he closed the door. They'd thought it'd been bad when Holly had broken his heart, but this was so much worse. He'd never been like this before.

Nate slumped against the seat, feeling cold and hot all at once, knowing that it had been a mistake to come, that it had been a mistake to leave her.

It wasn't that he never left the cottage, that'd be mental. He ran errands in town, picking up groceries and paying notes and buying things like dish soap and trash bags. Sometimes Lizzie sent him with little requests—flower seed packets, strawberry shampoo, a notebook—that he could never refuse. He'd always be back within a couple of hours, and she'd always be waiting to greet him at the door, smiling so brightly that it was as if he'd been gone for years.

This—well, this was different. Leaving Lizzie behind to go to a party, something he knew she would enjoy, felt like cheating. Having a good time without her was so unbearable that he'd made a conscious effort not to enjoy himself. It didn't seem right to make memories without her, didn't seem right to go on living like that when she—the dreamer, the dancer, the troublemaker, the girl whose heart was big enough to fit the entire universe inside—couldn't explore the very world that she loved so much.

When had this happened? When had she gotten under his skin, changing the very biology of him, getting into his mind, getting into his bones, right down to the marrow?

Lizzie was on her favourite armchair in the lounge reading a book when Alfie and Ezra stumbled in, holding Nate up, helping him to the settee as Lizzie disappeared to the kitchen. She returned with an Advil and a glass of water, standing patiently until he accepted them, but he didn't. He protested, his hand going right through hers, knuckles banging up against the glass and pushing it back until it sloshed.

Nate swore.

"I've got this," Lizzie said, turning to Alfie and Ezra. They knew her well enough not to doubt her. She wouldn't have said it unless she meant it.

"Liz," Nate said when they'd left.

"I'm here," she said, glass of water back in hand. "Now take this or I'll toss out something of yours that you won't even notice is missing until it's long gone."

"Yes, Mum."

This time he took the water and Advil without complaint.

"Sorry," he said.

"Put your head back."

He did.

"Close your eyes."

He did.

"You're sloshed and you have a headache."

"Yeah?" He snuck one eye open, finding that she was staring right back at him as if she'd predicted he'd do it.

"Hey, Liz?"

"Close your eyes."

He did. One, because his temples were throbbing, and two, because she'd asked him to.

The weight shifted as Lizzie settled herself on the settee beside him. When he felt little things like that, the way she interacted with the world, he was comforted by the fact that she really was real, that he hadn't just dreamt her up.

"All right, what were you going to say?" she asked.

"How could you tell about my headache? I can't be that easy to read."

"You are to me."

"And you're very pretty," he said, yawning.

"You're completely wasted," she said with a laugh.

"I'm really not. Feel great."

"And I'm the bloody Queen."

They laughed, leaning back on the settee together, their shoulders almost brushing. He could pretend that they weren't touching because they didn't want to, not because they couldn't.

"How did you die?"

He'd never asked her, partly because he didn't think it was any of his business and partly because he hadn't wanted to know.

"Do you really want to know?"

Her words went right into him, into his chest, into that place where butterflies had been flickering to life since the moment he'd first caught sight of her sitting on the stairs with her smirk that was now as familiar as the air in his lungs, observing him in that way she did, picking him apart to find out everything about him and afterward piecing him back together like a puzzle, only somehow, she'd snuck pieces of herself in there.

She knew him; she knew everything.

"Yes," he lied.

"Ask me again when you're sober."

Nate knew that he wouldn't. If she'd wanted him to know she would've told him.

"How old are you then? That's harmless enough."

She seemed to think so too. "Twenty."

"How old are you really?"

"How long have I been dead, you mean?"

"Yeah."

She started counting with her fingers. Nate, who could solve complex maths formulae in his mind, found her positively adorable.

"Older than I like," she finally said.

"Chicken."

"I am not."

"Prove it."

"All right."

He could tell she was nervous so he didn't push her.

"Sixteen," she finally said. "I've been dead for sixteen years. So I guess that makes me about thirty-six now, doesn't it?"

"I'm really into older women."

"Oh shut up, you."

Nate didn't feel much like laughing anymore, now that her words were really sinking in. He didn't want to think of the years Lizzie had spent alone in the vacant, isolated cottage without anyone to talk to. She was a friendly person, the type who liked to chatter (and never stop once started), the kind of person who enjoyed being around people, making them smile, making them laugh, just by being herself, being Liz. Without even a book to distract her, what had she done all those years? Who had been there for the days when even her soul felt heavy, the days that she came to Nate and sat beside him, hugging her knees, looking distant until he just talked to her, making her smile because he was there and that was more than enough for her.

"It's okay, Nate," Lizzie said softly.

But it wasn't. It really wasn't.

Sometime later, Alfie found out about Lizzie's age, too.

The two of them often spent long afternoons out beneath the shade of the oak tree, poring over books, chatting about the way the world worked, the way it functioned, the way it was being destroyed.

Nate filled her mind with dreams, Ezra with adventure, but Alfie was the one who filled her with a true understanding of reality, sharing ideas that grounded her, made her think, made her lie awake at night looking out through the open window, stargazing while Nate worked.

"Twenty," Alfie said when he'd found out, looking pleased with himself.

"Sorry, Alf. I charge at least fifty by the hour," Ezra said.

Nate ignored him. "Twenty what?"

"Lizzie. She's twenty."

"Years old?" Ezra was shocked.

"No, twenty eyeballs," Alfie said sarcastically. "Yes, twenty years old."

Ezra scowled.

"And her birthday is coming up soon," Alfie added, grinning smugly.

"You did not get that out of her," Ezra said, jealousy bleeding into his words.

"What is it?" Nate asked. She hadn't told him this.

"Fourteenth of November."

Nate glanced at the calendar. So did Ezra.

"Oh, hell. That's only four days away!"

Ezra got up and began pacing in the lounge, mumbling about candles and balloons and confetti and gifts.

"What d'you reckon she'd like?" Alfie asked out loud to no one in particular. He already had a list of ideas he'd thought of on his walk up to the cottage. It was really easy for him: books. He already knew what subjects interested her.

"A bike," Ezra said. "Who wouldn't want a bike?"

Alfie looked truly dumbfounded by the staggering number of advancements Ezra made in the field of his own stupidity.

"She can't go anywhere, you gormless git."

"Right, there's that," Ezra said with a frown and did a few more rounds of the room, his handsome features contorted by his "thinking face".

Ezra wasn't stupid, he was just scatterbrained. He'd been an excellent student, scoring higher than Nate on occasion (never Alfie though; Alfie was a genius). He could learn things, he could memorise and understand them—but he could just as easily forget them.

"Flowers," Nate said thoughtfully.

"Flowers? Planning a romantic date, are you?" Ezra asked, grinning.

Nate would've loved to have done just that, but he thought better than to voice his thoughts aloud as Ezra would enjoy nothing more than taking the piss out of him.

"Ezra, for the hundredth time, she can't go anywhere!" Alfie yelled.

"I didn't say it'd have to be off the property line," Ezra said defensively, even though the idea really had slipped his mind again. "Flowers then. What are her favourite?"

"Sunflowers," said a soft voice from down the hall. "They aren't in bloom, though."

"Shhhh!" Alfie furiously motioned for Ezra to take a seat.

Lizzie strode into the room, smirking.

"What are you lot up to?"

"Discussing, er—gardening," Nate said, unable to think of any other way to cover up the topic.

"Ah," she said, not buying a word of it.

She rounded on Alfie who visibly paled at the sight of her intense glare. "You told them, didn't you?"

"I didn't know it was a secret," he said weakly.

"And 'don't tell the boys' wasn't clear enough, was it?"

Nate felt sorry for Alfie.

"It's not his fault. We bullied it out of him."

She turned to him sharply and narrowed her eyes.

"Don't you lie to me, Nathan Alaric Chapman."

"Nathan," Ezra repeated under his breath, snickering.

Lizzie glared.

"Listen up," she said, pointing to each of them individually. "There will be no celebrations, gifts, flowers—nothing. Got it?"

"No," Nate said, rising from his seat. He walked out of the room.

Much to Lizzie's dismay, four days later there was a celebration. To anyone else, it might've seemed morbid to celebrate the birth of a dead person, but Nate, Alfie and Ezra hadn't given it a second's thought. They'd never really viewed her as dead, and it certainly wasn't reason enough to go without celebrating.

"C'mon, Liz," Nate said, beckoning her into the kitchen. They'd decorated it with balloons, streamers, (plastic) sunflowers, confetti crackers and a small pile of gifts.

"What's all this?" she asked, unable to conceal her smile.

"This," Ezra said, striding over with a grin, "is your birthday party, love."

Alfie popped a cracker, breathing heavily as confetti exploded in the small kitchen. He looked surprised with himself for a moment, as if he'd never done anything so outrageous in his life, and then he grinned.

Nate laughed.

"Going a bit wild there, aren't you, Alf?" Ezra teased.

"Piss off," Alfie said, gathering a handful of wrapped presents from the kitchen table. He plopped them on the counter beside Lizzie.

"Hope you like them," he said nervously.

Lizzie beamed. "Oh, I do already!" she said, even though she hadn't even opened them yet.

Alfie had gifted her five books. City of Dreams by Michael Moorcock, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep by Philip K. Dick, Dragonriders of Pern by Anne McCaffrey, Nine Princes in Amber by Roger Zelazny, The Eye in the Pyramid by Robert Shea and Robert Anton Wilson.

"Oh, Alfie," she said, her eyes brimming with tears. She was touched deeply. "These are great."

Ezra was next.

"Oh, you didn't!" Lizzie screamed, clapping her hands to her cheeks. "I've got to put them on right this instant!"

Ezra did something that no one had ever really seen him do before: he blushed. He watched on as Lizzie laced up the pair of special edition flower-print Doc Martens he'd gifted her. She twirled in the kitchen, her long hair rippling like water as she moved. She looked graceful, even as she jumped, testing out the boots with the biggest smile on her face.

"I could just kiss you, Ez," she said. "I've always envied yours, but these are even better. The flowers!"

Nate was last. He'd hung back, feeling more and more nervous as she'd opened the gifts from his mates. He was starting to doubt whether she'd like his gift at all. He'd put a lot of thought behind it, but he wasn't certain if she'd understand the meaning behind it. The gift was simple. Maybe too simple.

"Happy birthday, Liz," he said, placing a small box on the counter.

"Thank you," she said with a warm smile. She unwrapped his gift carefully, peeling back the wrapping paper to reveal a plain black gift box. She popped off the lid and looked adoringly down at a little gold pendant watch, strung up on a chain to be worn as a necklace.

She looked up at Nate, her eyes glistening with tears.

"What? What's happened?" Alfie said, alarmed. Ezra put a hand on his shoulder to settle him and hissed something along the lines of "shut up you prat, you're ruining it".

Nate stuck his hands in his pockets, teetering on the balls of his feet because he didn't quite know what else to do. His heart felt as if it would burst. From her reaction, it was certain that she had understood the meaning behind the gift.

Lizzie put on the necklace, her hands fumbling a little with the clasp. She put her hand on the pendant watch, smiling as she pressed it to her chest. She had tears streaming down her face, and the sight of it made Nate feel as if she'd torn a piece of his heart out. Never had he loved anyone as much as he loved her.

Yes, he loved her.