text: “Let me get the... red roses”. I said reluctantly as I brushed through the catalogue. “Maybe a dozen?” She Loved roses, she would let them dry out once they died and make her own rose water. Or sometimes place them around candles or the table in our living room which she joked was her bruja alter. She’d place them Near her sage. In the far corner of the small apartment we shared. She even put rose petals in our bath on our romantic nights. Roses it is. “Sure”. Said the clerk behind the glass counter. As I waited for her to gather my order, doubt started to creep up on me slowly. I Suddenly remembered that she loved tulips too. She had a favourite mug she drank her tea in every morning. Donned with large pink tulips. Whenever I’d try to give it to her in another mug she would scrunch her nose up childishly and say “It doesn’t taste the same”. And retrieve it from wherever it was. Often times, it would be somewhere near her desk where she stayed up to read or write the night before; Usually with remnants of loose tea leaves and film around where the cold liquid sat overnight. She’d then wash out her cup diligently and pour out what I had made her in her favourite cup. Sometimes I’d find it for her, or purposely give it to her in the wrong one just to watch the freckles on her nose bounce when she rejected my offering. That was my favourite part of her. I scanned the catalogue to page 4 to go through my options. As the clerk came back with my dozen roses I sighed and smiled as her embarrassingly. ”Could I change my order? Sorry. I’d like the pink tulips instead”. “A dozen?” The clerk Asked politely. “Yes please”. I answered with guilt. “Sorry again”. As the clerk returned to the back to retrieve my new order I turned around and scanned the rest of the store. My eyes rested on the sunflowers that hung above the “OPEN” sign which swung in the door window. My thoughts took me back the road trip we took 2 summers ago. We were driving down a sunny windy road surrounded by fields of corn, bushels of wheat and miles of barn yard animals. The smell of manure was stagnant in the hot July air but the summer wind made it beautiful; her sun red curls bounced under the dusk light as we listened to Nostalgia Ultra loudly and sang even louder, because no one else could hear. I watched her in the corner of my eye as I drove while she smiled and sang horribly at the top of her lungs when suddenly, she abruptly cut off her rendition of “Swim Good” and jumped from her seat. “Stop the car!” She squealed. As I quickly pulled over to the side, thinking that maybe she just needed to pee, She hopped out, and began to skip away from the car. By the time I could figure out what she was doing all I could make out was the tail end of her beautiful lilac dress. The way it waved and danced in the wind as she ran into the field of tall bright sunflowers. I loved that dress. It clung to her as if it was tailored to her alone. From the drivers seat, I watched her dance in and out of the rows, I couldn’t think of anything more beautiful, she outshined the rows of colours; at that moment it was her who attracted the sun. The huge flowers were merely a backdrop. I was in Love. My reminiscing was interrupted by the clerk who returned with my tulips. I began to sweat as I realized that my next request may be too much. But I spoke anyway. “Really. I do apologize”... before I could finish the clerk stared me down with a stoned face, annoyed by my indecisiveness. “ You’d like to change your order again... sir? “ she said. No smile, just disdain. “Yes, if you don’t mind, Sunflowers, instead.” The clerk sighed heavily. It was ok. It was her job. I couldn’t possibly be the first customer to come in here and not be sure what I needed. I just wanted it to be perfect, something many could relate to. Besides the customer is always right... right? I felt that the sunflowers were it, but my overwhelming anxiety did not. No. Sunflowers aren’t right. Lilies are her favourite. The way they opened in the sunlight, the vibration of their colours, and that they represent luck, womanhood. (She always found the deeper meaning in even the smallest things). She always spoke about how much she loved them. Except for the one time we had a fight. I, obviously being in the wrong tried to sway her by buying her a full bouquet of Lillies. The stink of the beautiful arrangement was so pungent, it had a reminder of death, or as she put it, “Like a funeral parlour”, she had to throw them out. But not before she cried over how Beautiful they were. How she smothered me with kisses and we slow danced in our living room for hours because she forgave me. That feeling I will never forget. It was the scent of those lillies now that made it clearer. My brain fog began to disappear, I knew for sure. I turned around to face the clerk who was empty handed. She stared at me almost with pity. She knew. “Lillies”. I swallowed. “Purple.” The clerk nodded and left me standing there almost embarrassed. This time when she returned I shamefully paid for my order and left the store quickly. I closed my eyes and let the March Air fill my lungs until it stung a bit. For the first time in a almost a year I could breathe without tears. I kneeled down slowly and kissed her tombstone. I traced the engravement with my fingers as if I could feel her somehow by touching her name. I lay the Lillies in the cold grass and sat quietly. A year since my lover left me. Cancer stricken, the once beautiful smile which was more astonishing than the sun, smothered out too quickly. We had so many baths, teas, drives, fights and dances to go. And I never had the chance to propose. To give her my last name. To let her carry a bouquet of whatever flower she loved at the moment down the aisle. To make a home for my child. Instead she was Buried in her lilac dress. And all I had was the memory of her dancing with sunflowers left.