Floral Fracas

Chanti sits at his kitchen table, scratching his head and pouring over an old, tattered book. To his side lies a beautiful bouquet of flowers in varying shades of blue, a very tasteful gift. But when it arrived, it came without a card saying who it was from or even what the flowers are. Simply “To Chanti” written on the tag looped around the stems. The guide he’s using is pretty useless too. With no knowledge of flowers beyond the bog-standard rose and daisy, the dense, textual guidebook might as well be written in a different language.

Ivan is away at his studio, so isn’t around to ask about the flowers, not to mention the embarrassment of Chanti not having a gift to give in return if Ivan did send the blooms. He’ll rectify that later. Right now, the problematic pansies are proverbial bees in his bonnet.

“Ugh… think, Chanti. Who do you know that knows about flowers?” Dennis? Definitely not. Davis? Probably no more than he does himself. The thought of Davis reminds him of another bun he saw at Friendsgiving a few months ago… Chanti remembers the bun had a distinctly floral scent and that Davis had said that watering their flowers was the only thing they weren’t too lazy to do.

What had that bun said their name was again? Afloria? Adoria? Chanti thinks harder. Astoria! That was it! If any bun can help him with this, it’s Astoria. Chanti digs through his liquor cabinet to find a nice bottle of wine to offer Astoria in return for their help, then grabs his bouquet and sets off.

After asking around a bit, Chanti is pointed to a power pink house with a white picket fence. In a word- adorable. But the lush gardens full of brilliant blooms overpower the cottage. Literally, as strands of creeping ivy seem to have already taken over the rear of the house. Nevertheless, this seems to be the place. Chanti knocks on the door and waits for an answer. Then he waits a little more. After a few more seconds of silence, the yellow bun knocks again, louder this time. After what seems to Chanti to be an interminable wait, the door is at last opened by a familiar cream-colored Sloth bun.

They rub their eyes- seems Chanti woke them up from a nap. “Er, hello. Chanti, was it? Um, can I help you with something?”

“Hi Astoria, um, yeah, it’s Chanti. Ah’m sorry ta bother you, but ah have a problem-”

Astoria audibly groans, and Chanti backpedals.

“I-It’s not really a problem! Someone just sent me this bouquet, but ah dunno what the flowers are or what they mean. …Ah brought wine.”

At last, Astoria relents and invites Chanti in, taking him into their backyard garden. Chanti is shocked at the sheer variety of plants and at how healthy they are. Astoria might secretly be the hardest-working Sloth bun. Once they’re both seated with a glass of wine, Astoria pulls out a copy of the same book Chanti had been trying to use earlier.

“There we are. Now, may I see your bouquet, darling?” Chanti hands it over and Astoria examines it. “Hmm… Expertly made, probably commissioned from a florist- and a nice one at that.” Astoria opens the book and flips to a worn page, which Chanti cranes his neck to see. “B… belvedere, betony… ah, here we are- bluebell.”

“And? What’s bluebell? Beauty? Intelligence?”

“Constancy. Seems like whoever sent this admires your loyalty.”

Chanti blushes. “U-uh, yeah, ah guess ah’ve never been one ta sleep around. L-let’s move on.”

“Hehehe… Alright, this flower is easy. Hollyhock is ambition. Hollyhock grows tall, like it’s trying to be the king of the flowers. Or of a racetrack, perhaps.”

“Ah could do without the commentary.”

Astoria laughs and fans themself with a folding fan. “A shame then, that you came to me. On the topic of laughter, here we have larkspur, which has the meaning of levity. Do you make your partner laugh?”

“Ah try, ah suppose. Ah try not ta be too serious about stuff, but sometimes ah make a fool of mahself.”

“Your mystery gifter seemed to agree.” Astoria responds, somewhat apologetically.

“Huh?”

Astoria thumbs the petal of an intricate-looking flower. “Columbine. Folly or foolishness. Though it’s hard to say if they’re calling you a fool or your love folly.”

Chanti chokes on his wine mid-sip. “Wh-what?? How could someone include that in a Matentine’s bouquet? That’s so mean! Sure, we all have complaints about our partners, but this ain’t the way ta share ‘em!” Chanti is having stronger doubts that Ivan was the sender of this gift.

Astoria looks even more troubled by the last bloom. “This person… does not mince words, darling. Or rather, flowers. This one is scabiosa. It means ‘unfortunate love’.”

A dark look crosses Chanti’s face as he downs the rest of the wine in one gulp. “You can keep the bottle an’ the flowers. Thanks fer yer help, Astoria.” The yellow bun gets up to leave, face twisting from holding back tears.

“I’m sorry, darling. Maybe I should have made it a compliment sandwich.”

“Ferget it. Ah’m leavin’. Thanks again.”

Chanti takes quiet side streets to get home. He doesn’t want anyone to see his tears. This had been his first Matentine’s bouquet, and it had been such a disappointment. When he gets home, Ivan is there to meet him and is quick to ask about his boyfriend’s tears. To Ivan’s credit, he takes all of Chanti’s bursts of crying as seriously as the last.

Upon hearing the reason for the yellow bun’s tears, Ivan coos his sympathies and wraps him in a warm hug, assuring him that he was not the sender of the bouquet and that it was nothing but a cruel joke. At least he hopes so.

(976 words)