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It was never easy to apologize.
All her life, Saori had been apologizing to any and everyone—she should’ve had it down to a science by now. And still, she struggled to apologize. Especially to Rika.
Maybe her generation was to blame. She grew up in an age where sorry was a commodity rarer than diamonds to some and worth about as much as coal to others. Public opinion flip-flopped on whether apologizing was brave or foolish every other week. It was very confusing.
Sometimes, those who apologized were the top dog—the strong ones who could face every and all internal conflict with the utterance of that simple word. Sorry. In the survival-of-the-fittest world that was being in tune with your emotions, there were the alpha apologizers and beta belittlers. And when push came to shove, and it was expected of you, you best apologize.
Other times, people got upset at you for saying anything at all. Sorry was a waste of breath; it didn’t matter if you meant it or not. The damage had already been done—and the emotional scars would stay forever. It is the end of the chapter of you and that person; write yourself out of their life forever. Unless you want your life with them to be forever a drama.
With something as tumultuous as giving an apology could be, it was no wonder why Saori’s tummy did somersaults when she had rehearsed what she was going to say to Rika over and over in the mirror this morning. Rika was important to her—and she didn’t want to mess it up.
Ever since Valentine’s, things had been… different between them. The way she cared about Rika now compared to before was different—needier. Whatever they were now—kindred spirits, twin flames, maybe?—made Rika one of the most important people to her. The late-night deep conversations they had while watching movies and shows together caused Saori to learn Rika was a lot more than glitz and giggles.
Saori loved her guile. And her sensitive side. Loved her unbuckled mouth; Rika loved to talk about everything during their Netflix nights. Saori loved it when they shared the things that bothered them. For as long as she could remember, Saori had made umbrellas out of her insecurities; Rika taught her how to dance in the rain. Rika reminded her how even if Saori had things she wasn’t proud of, things she didn’t like about herself, and things she wished she hadn't done, all of that made who she is today. And that made those blemishes worth it.
Saori loved Rika. She was her best friend. And that’s why she had to apologize.
All that to say, she couldn’t believe she had let herself miss last night’s movie night! And it made her feel so awful that she did!
Yesterday, she had a criminal law quiz that she had studied all week for that ended up way more difficult than she thought. A celebratory glass of tequila and three sleepless nights brought Saori to her sofa. The softness of it caused fatigue to rear its handsome head. Fatigue was a flirt. One thing led to another and Saori ended up sound asleep. Until the next morning, when Marika woke her up.
The rest was much needed—but the guilt she had for missing something Rika was so excited about for a week and a half because of it was arguably worse. Rika probably had the entire night planned out. She probably bought all their favorite snacks and drinks. Lit nice strawberry-scented candles to set an atmosphere not at all fitting for watching Train of Busan, too. Even made a bed out of her dorm room sofa—much bigger and cushier than Saori’s—so she could sleep there instead. Like always.
So a regular I’m sorry wasn’t going to cut it. Not when Rika probably—definitely—put in that much effort. She had to do something extra special.
And so, she asked Marika, who said to her, “Whenever I feel like I made Dalia sad, Marika just gets her flowers. That usually makes things all better.”
As much as Saori wanted to explain that the relationship Marika and Dalia had was much different from the one she and Rika had, she refrained. Instead, she asked where her favorite flower shop was. Marika texted her the coordinates and after a quick shower and a cinnamon roll for breakfast, she was on her way.
It was a quaint little shop a couple of blocks away. Saori had passed it on the way to the train station countless times, but never noticed it. Partially because she never had to buy flowers before and partially because she always had her head down, eyes glued to her phone screen for one reason or another. On the way to the store, she still had kept her eyes glued to her texts. Maybe she should do that less.
As she entered the store, she was greeted by a nurturing blast of cold air from the air-conditioning, offering a soothing respite from the start-of-summer heat. From the moment she stepped into the shop, Saori was greeted by a symphony of scents. She traveled all over Japan, and yet, never experienced anything quite like this.
The strangest but truest way she could describe it was like smelling a story. Or many stories. The flowers here all each had their tale to tell; they had seen so much. There were carnations that nearly became I love you flowers. Sunflowers that were one choice away from being get well soon flowers. Roses who were nearly bought to show appreciation for mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, brothers—you name it. All in a kaleidoscope of captivating colors.
Before she could get too immersed in this new, exciting floral world, the shop owner greeted her—a woman maybe five or six years older than she was, wearing a black velvet dress and glimmering rings and bangles with streaks of flamingo pink in her dark hair. Not a girl you’d see around too often—but Saori loved her dress. Saori waved hello, but didn’t speak, and continued to admire the flowers.
Saori lowered her nose to a pair of yellow roses. The scent was delicious, like brown sugar twirling in the air. It soothed her; reminded her of better childhood days, where she sprinted down to the kitchen to the smell of her sugar cookies.
She was happy—unbothered. Her soul was at ease. Maybe this was what aromatherapy was.
Saori knew about these flowers, though. Along with the directions, Marika had texted her an essay about various flowers and their meanings. Saori tried to read through it all, but didn’t finish. Luckily, though, Marika listed which flowers not to buy first. And these pretty yellow roses were breakup flowers.
These roses, too, probably had a story. Once upon a time, a girlfriend loomed over them, teary-eyed and broken-hearted. Cheated on by her boyfriend, but not brave enough to confront him, she found herself in this shop, trying to find the perfect flowers to tell him that it was over. As she traced the rim of the plant pot, her tears spilled out. Her pain kept these roses healthy—and that disgusted her enough to walk out of the shop. But not enough to walk away from him.
Even though that story was just a narrative Saori had made up, these roses made her feel uneasy. Never in a million years did she want to give Rika these roses.
But now that she knew the meaning, something odd crossed her mind.
Marika likes these roses, doesn’t she?
For their stage outfits, Marika opted to wear yellow roses on her right wrist and left hip. She was the one who designed the outfits—so Saori couldn’t help but wonder if she almost wanted to divorce them from her body for some reason. Now that Saori knew Marika knew so much about flowers, the yellow roses in her outfit definitely had some meaning. Maybe she should ask her. Maybe she shouldn’t.
She left those roses alone and continued to look around. This shop had everything, from snapdragons that did the cha-cha in the breeze to carnations that solemnly stood and watched. They were all lovely in different ways. How could she possibly pick from this panoply of presents?
As she perused the shop, a glass jar of roses, all various shades of pink, caught her eye again and again. It whispered to her—begged her to come over and pick it up. Saori did, raising it in front of her face and peering through the jar as if it was a magnifying glass. She didn’t see anything but dirt, of course, but she did really like these roses.
Rika’s favorite color was pink. And roses were flowers you give someone you care about, right? The yellow roses are the ones that were bad, but pink roses had to be good! Plus, pink was the color of fun things like lipstick, and jelly, and strawberry donuts, and—and Saori didn’t know, pigs?
A sigh spilled past her lips. She figured it was better to be safe than sorry, so she pulled out her phone and Googled, what do pink roses mean?
Gratitude and admiration, apparently. But upon further inspection, she learned it varied depending on the shade of pink. The pale pink ones—those were the ones that meant gratitude. And the dark pink ones—those meant admiration. But the roses that were a little darker than the pale pink ones, the color-of-bubblegum roses—those meant happiness. But the ones a shade lighter than those meant femininity. It was all very confusing.
But even so, Saori’s decision was solidified. The floral medley she held in her hands meant many wonderful things—the same way Rika meant many wonderful things to her.
These are the ones.
She bought the roses—they weren’t too expensive, only four thousand yen—and held the jar tightly against her chest as she walked down the street toward Rika’s apartment. It was a twenty-minute walk, but she didn’t mind. She noticed so many things she couldn’t when she was looking at her phone.
It was a lovely day today. Under the sun’s tender gaze, the world seemed to come alive. The breeze was soft and gentle, like a lover’s caress. And the warbles’ sweet, high-pitched songs filled her ears, hopeful and wistful. Paired with the carefree melodies of the chirping cicadas, a symphony of joy that she wouldn’t forget about anytime soon was born.
The song faded as she entered the city, but Saori didn’t really mind. It was only the start of a new act. Despite living in Akihabara, Saori wasn’t a city girl—but a mural she passed wowed her. She stopped and stared at the revolution of colors. It was an Evangelion mural—a show she had watched and rewatched many times—but just looking at this masterpiece made her want to watch it again. Maybe she would with Rika after they watched Train to Busan.
Saori passed a chicken shop. And she could smell the grease. And for once—maybe because everything else was so pleasant—she didn’t think it was nasty!
She even passed Hitomi Saito, a small, ebony-haired girl in her sociology class. They spoke for a minute or two—and Saori learned that she was an honest-to-God jogger. As in, the type of jogger that never misses a day jogging for hours and hours up and down the street. A fitness freak, in Saori’s opinion. That explained why her legs were so toned.
Everything just seemed so calming today. Until it wasn’t—when Saori found herself taking the elevator in Rika’s apartment in silence. There, nervousness bubbled over. She fought her thoughts back, though. As much as she was worried that Rika wouldn’t like the flowers or wouldn’t forgive her—she knew Rika was reasonable. There was nothing to worry about. It would be fine.
Once the elevator stopped at the fifth floor, Saori made a beeline for Rika’s room—Room 516—and pressed the buzzer. She cradled her gift against her chest, wondering if Rika would find her pretty in her honeycomb sundress and white Air Forces. Before long, the door opened.
Rika peeked her head out of the window, fiery hair down and tousled—no doubt from just waking up. However, once she saw it was Saori who visited her, she smiled like it was their first reunion in decades and stepped in front of the doorway. Rika wasn’t dressed at all, only wearing a band t-shirt about two sizes too big for her and pink cotton panties. Saori couldn’t pull her eyes away—but she knew Rika didn’t mind her staring.
“Yo,” she said, brushing her hair with her fingers in an attempt to seem somewhat presentable. “What brings you to my place, hm? Miss my sofa?”
She did miss her sofa—but she shook her head and thrusted her shaky arms forward, showing off the jar of pink roses she had gotten her. “For you.”
Saori’s lips were fixed into a nervous smile. The final tidal wave of fear came as she waited for Rika’s response. Saori let herself be a seawall; no matter her response, she could take it. From Rika’s smile, she knew that she was pleased to see her. So, logically, it would probably be okay.
The jar traded hands. Rika raised it to her nose and sniffed. Her citrine eyes lit up like fireworks.
“Saori, these are lovely,” she said, cradling the jar against her chest as if it was a newborn. “What’s the occasion?”
It was never easy to say I love you.
All her life, Saori had used that word for family only. She let it slip a few times in middle school—to her boyfriends—but ever since they cheated on her, I love you became a padlock phrase. And the combination to Saori’s heart was long and complicated. Rika figured it out, though. She had made Saori’s life a riot of wonder.
And that’s why she couldn’t ruin what they had.
“I”—she paused—“I felt bad about missing our movie night. So, I wanted to get you something to say I’m sorry. I thought of these; they reminded me of you. So, I figured I would get them. I… like you a lot. You’re my best friend. So, yeah, I’m sorry.”
Rika’s smile grew a little vacant, but it was still genuine. Saori thought back to the night where they first confessed their feelings to each other. Rika could say that three-letter phrase so easily. It drove her crazy that she couldn’t. She hoped Rika knew.
Holding the jar in one hand, Rika pulled Saori into a semi-awkward impromptu hug. Saori reciprocated, holding onto Rika tightly before they both finally let go at the same time.
“Well, it’s appreciated, but you didn’t need to buy me anything,” Rika said. “Just a text this morning would be fine. I mean, I figured your test would have you pretty tired, anyway.”
Saori ran a finger along her neck, her shy gaze alternating between falling to the floor and rising up to greet Rika’s face. “I mean, yeah, but you know. I just thought I would do something nice for you. You do nice things for me all the time. So, you deserve it.”
“Hm.” Rika pressed her body against the doorway, folding her arms over the jar. Then she smirked. “Well, when Oppenheimer’s out in two weeks, you can buy me tickets. Since you wanna do so many more nice things for me.”
Saori placed her hands on her hips and huffed. “Oppenheimer? I thought you wanted to see that Barbie movie.”
“Eh, that’s the week after.” Rika waved her hand. “We can see both, right? C’mon, you only gotta pay for one. Plus, the tickets are dirt cheap, anyway. Everyone knows that cinemas try to con you with the food, not the tickets.”
Saori playfully rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at Rika; Rika stuck hers right back out.
“Deal,” Saori said. “But you have to let me in for a cup of coffee. Uh, right now. I did so much walking.”
Rika chuckled and looked down at her pink roses. Her gaze was tender; at that moment, Saori could tell Rika was looking at the most wonderful things in the world to her at that moment. Saori’s sorry and I love you. “Deal.”
They walked inside together. Rika went into the kitchenette to fix their coffee while Saori sat on the couch that she wished she had slept on last night. She watched Rika dart around the kitchenette, making the coffee just the way Saori liked it. Cream and a whole lot of brown sugar. And Saori smiled sweetly, happy to have someone in her life who cared enough to remember.
Sorry I can’t tell you I love you… I’ll try to tell you someday.