text: “That’ll do it, thank you,” I say, smiling, as I take the roses. Logan has always loved flowers, and orange roses most of all. Orange roses aren’t easy to find, mind you. But they’ve always been his favorite, so they’re worth the search. *Red roses are too cliché,* he’d say. *Orange roses are the standout of the rose family. They mean enthusiasm and passion. Isn’t that the best combination?* I’d smile and kiss him. *Well, it’s certainly the combination I feel about being your boyfriend,* I’d reply. Now, I tuck the bouquet of orange roses, wrapped in cellophane, under one arm as I begin my walk to the final destination: Logan himself. The engagement ring presses against my thigh, nestled safely in the front pocket of my khakis. In my other hand is the picnic basket (okay, technically more of a large lunchbox), packed with the Chinese takeout I just picked up on my previous stop. Let’s be honest, I can’t cook. Even if I could, Logan’s favorite is Chinese. It’s our anniversary today. I haven’t seen him in a few months, so tonight has to be perfect. All the pieces in place. Our anniversary is only one day a year, after all. And I’ve never loved anyone like I love Logan. &#x200B; I remember when we first met. God, it seems like forever ago. We were so young! Freshmen in college. It was in the library. Cliché, I know. I was sitting at one of the big desks on the second floor, reading some book about public policy and trying to take notes on the chapter. I had a test the next morning. I’d been there for four hours. Suddenly Logan came sprinting up the stairs and emerged into the main space. He was laughing wildly, his backpack slipping off his shoulders, glancing behind him urgently. He paused, looked around, almost ran for the shelves, but then turned the other way. We made brief eye contact. I quickly looked down, my face reddening. I did *not* want to be associated with this guy who had attracted the attention, and outrage, of everyone nearby. Students were glaring at him from every direction. And then it was too late. He came skidding by me, ducked, and literally rolled under the desk, now hidden beneath it and invisible from view to everyone but me. I stared at him in shock. “What the fu-” “Shh,” he said. “Please. It’s important. I’ll owe ya one.” At that moment three guards from campus security made it up the stairs. They looked around desperately. All the other students had, of course, gone right back to studying as soon as the commotion quieted down. Once their bubble was peaceful again, they no longer cared. I glanced down at the guy quite literally crammed under the desk - he barely fit - and something in his eyes made me swallow the announcement of *He’s right here, officers.* I just returned to my notes. They were gone, heading back down the stairs, two minutes later. The guy immediately unfolded himself, crawled out, and promptly sat on the desk. “What the hell was that?” I demanded in an angry whisper. “I better not have just helped out some criminal.” He laughed out loud. I could feel the daggers being glared at us. “Nah. Nothing serious. I stole a road sign. They want it back.” “You - what?” He reached into his backpack and pulled out a street name sign: *Campus Drive.* It was the one that marked one of the main university roads. I stared at it, then at him in shock, but he’d tucked it away again as quickly as he’d revealed it. He grinned. “For my dorm room. A nice touch, don’t ya think?” It was only now that I was noticing how cute he was. *Cute? Harvey, what? You* have *a girlfriend.* “I - yeah, sure.” I looked back down at my notes, hoping he’d leave. He didn’t. I could feel him watching me as I wrote, and my face reddened. “*Why* are you staring at me?” He was smiling. “I said I’d owe you one. Come on. Let me buy you dinner.” Now I truly blushed. His smile broadened. “Oh, I - I’m straight.” He laughed out loud again. More glares. “Just as a friend, then. You look like you need a break.” I considered. It *was* getting late, and I *was* hungry. “Sure,” I finally said. When I was packed up we left the library together. “I’m Logan, by the way,” he said. “Logan Winter. Freshman studying architecture.” He was only a few inches taller than me, but I was fighting to keep up with his long, confident strides. “Only a freshman and you’re already stealing signs? Jesus.” He laughed. “Hey, age has nothing to do with how much trouble I can get into. And that’s not how this goes. You’re supposed to introduce yourself.” “Oh, I’m Har-” “Wait.” He abruptly stopped walking and held out his arm, stopping me too. “Look at those.” He pointed. Between the library and the dining hall was a quad with a small garden to one side, which we were passing. In it were roses of all colors. He was pointing at the orange roses. “Look at them. Orange roses are so unique. I love that we have some here. Red roses are nice, but so cliché. Orange roses, though - *wow.* They mean passion and enthusiasm, did you know that? Isn’t that a great combination?” I looked at the flowers. They were nice, sure, but I didn’t really care about rose colors. “Uh, yeah.” He waved his hand dismissively, smiled, and suddenly resumed walking. I scrambled to follow. “Anyway, you were saying?” “Oh. Uh. I’m Harvey. I’m a freshman too. Political science and pre-law.” He whistled. “Wow. Smart one, huh?” He turned and eyed me up and down. “Smart *and* cute but straight? How unfair of the world to throw you in my path.” I blushed; I was flattered, even if I currently thought I was straight. Spoiler alert: I wasn’t. “Um, well, you’re...pretty good-looking yourself.” *Really, Harvey? That’s what you came up with?* He winked. “Appreciate it. Now come on, I’m starving.” He led me into the dining hall. We ended up sitting at the table talking for two hours past the end of our dinner. It turned out, he was a pretty awesome guy, and once I regained some of my social skills, we got along better than I’d gotten along with anyone in ages. Towards the end he grabbed my phone. “I really like you, Harv. Let’s be friends, what do you say?” He passed the phone back to me. It had a new number in it, next to the name *Logan* and an octopus emoji. He winked. “Very underappreciated animal. Did you know they have three hearts?” I failed my test the next morning, but Logan and I met up again for lunch afterwards. So I didn’t really care. &#x200B; Now, walking along the street with my lunchbox on one side and the flowers on the other, an elderly man sitting at the bus stop smiles at me. “Must be a real amazing girl,” he says. I smile back. “Oh, he is. The most amazing guy,” I answer. His grin doesn’t falter. “Hope he likes them,” he says, waving, as I continue past. *I hope so too.* I take a left at the next crosswalk and continue on my way. It’s a nice night out. I’m very grateful for that. Last year it rained on our anniversary. Don’t get me wrong, I still enjoyed it, but it made everything more complicated. And I was so worried about the roses getting waterlogged. Tonight, though, it’s beautiful. &#x200B; I remember I was so hesitant at first, so confused. I think I’d always known deep down that I didn’t like girls in the same way my brother or friends did. But I didn’t really find out the difference between what I was feeling in a relationship and what I *could* feel in a relationship until Logan. It was gradual at first. We spent all our time together, but I still thought it was just in a best friend kind of way. I learned in a matter of weeks that his favorite food was orange chicken - preferably from the greasiest Chinese takeout place available - and that despite his frequent daring feats, he was terrified of horror movies. He didn’t get along with his family; his dad had stopped speaking to him after he’d come out. He loved to read, and his favorite was *To Kill a Mockingbird. I want to name my first cat Atticus,* he’d said. We studied together, we ate together, we met up between classes to talk or sit in the gardens. Soon I was spending all my time with him; my girlfriend broke up with me because I wasn’t paying any attention to her. I apologized and felt bad, I really did, but in a way I was glad when she was gone: I didn’t have anyone to distract me from Logan. A month after we’d met is when I finally got my shit together and opened my eyes. Caroline had broken up with me a few days before. “She doesn’t know what she’s missing,” said Logan for the hundredth time. He was sprawled on my bed, head hanging upside down over the side. His dark curls were everywhere, a cloud around his face. I found myself thinking, yet again, that he was attractive. Not in the *I’m envious* way I’d been trying to convince myself I meant. “Yeah,” I said. “It was a long time coming.” “I’m sorry if it’s because of me,” he said. “I’ll go fight for her back if you want. I’ll beg forgiveness, say it was all my fault, *‘Oh, Caroline, please take him back, poor Harvey was simply influenced by my evil ways.’”* I laughed. “Nah, won’t be necessary.” “Okay, if you’re sure.” He chuckled. I was sitting on the floor, my back against the bedframe, our faces inches apart but not facing. He wasn’t looking at me. I found myself staring at his lips as they moved. “But for what it’s worth, I-” I interrupted him by swiftly closing the distance between us and kissing him. I swear to God sparks flew. I’d never felt anything like it. When I finally pulled away, his face was flushed. He was still upside down. Slowly, he flipped over so that he was laying on his stomach. His curls bounced everywhere. He looked at me, a little grin on his face. Finally, he said, “I thought you were straight.” I was giddy. I stared back into his dark brown eyes and shrugged. “I was wrong.” He laughed. “God, am I glad to hear that.” And then we were kissing again, barely stopping to breathe. I climbed up on the bed and continued kissing him as I pulled his shirt off. I paused as I did so and took a long look. “I’m definitely not straight,” I confirmed. He laughed again and pulled me back in. &#x200B; I’m almost to Logan now. What a time it’s been. All of college. Grad school. Careers. Logan had gotten a job with an architecture firm. I’d gone to law school. Logan was so excited when I got in. We splurged on a dinner way beyond college-student price range and stayed up the whole night watching *Suits* episodes we’d already seen. Logan couldn’t get enough of the fact that I shared the same name as the main lawyer in the show. And coming out to my family, of course. They’d taken it much better than Logan’s dad had. They loved him. We’d visited them for several Christmases and Thanksgivings since. And now, here. Our anniversary. Eleven years since we were freshmen in college. I smile. What a wild, fantastic ride. I take the last turn onto Oakwood Avenue, tightening my grip on the lunchbox and roses. My hands are sweating a little and I can’t drop anything now. The engagement ring continues to press ever so lightly into my thigh. It’s comforting to feel it. If I couldn’t, I’d be checking every few seconds to make sure it was still there. My throat feels dry now. It’s been a few months since I’ve seen him. It’s our big night. Sure, we’ve had our fair share of anniversaries by now, but I’m still nervous. Logan still gives me the butterflies just as he always has. Just a few more steps. Almost there. “Hi, Logan,” I say, sitting down. I take out the Chinese and arrange it, with the orange chicken closest to him, of course. I set the bouquet down in front of him. “Happy Anniversary.” I can’t help it; my voice cracks a little. Unsurprisingly, his gravestone doesn’t reply. The orange roses look nice against the light granite. LOGAN WINTER, it says. Some dates, a little carving of a cross, some more words, blocked by the roses. “I miss you,” I say. “I’m sorry for not coming for the last few months. Been working on that Reynolds case I told you about last time. But I’d never forget our anniversary.” I take out the engagement ring and put it on my finger. “I still wear it sometimes, you know,” I tell him. “I mean, we never broke up, so technically you’re still my fiancé.” My voice cracks again. I carry the ring with me always. Logan had proposed a few months before the accident. We had the venue booked, the invitations planned, the wedding date set. I leave the ring on my finger as I begin to eat. The sun is setting now. When it strikes the stone just right in about twenty minutes, the color will make the roses glow. It’ll be beautiful, like Logan deserves. “Atticus is doing well,” I say. “The Campus Drive sign still looks great. I almost brought it to you, but you put it up so perfectly above the doorframe, and it’s the perfect touch there. I can’t take it down. Besides, I think you’d rather it be on display to embarrass me whenever people come over, huh?” The orange chicken is too spicy for me, as usual. Logan always teased me about not being able to handle food with any spice. As the sun continues to set, tears begin to creep down my face. I sit cross-legged on the grass, watching as the sun rays illuminate the orange roses, making them a fiery auburn, stark in contrast to the pale LOGAN WINTER they lay against. I put my fingers to the stone. “Smart *and* cute *and* mine?” I whisper. “How unfair of the world to take you away from me.