Florists aren't the most popular vocation anymore, regardless if roses are as edible as they say. Unless, she supposes, if you're Tia. She gives off that certain energy, rejuvenating almost. And plus, she had to get those essential oils from somewhere.

It's a necessity, it's a habit. But one she hasn't really been thinking about recently.

She would arrive in the city, stop by the florist before the visit. Rosburg has a cute establishment around the corner not far from the graveyard. It was made of glass, it was a greenhouse, it has moss and vines growing on the extended veranda, it was probably hard to clean and water.

Adele later finds out it was fake anyway.

At some point she stopped telling them it's for her grandmother, because she doesn't like playing the same lines and answering questions she knows are part of a polite concern. But they act like she's freshly dead, "No, she's been gone for a while. It doesn't hurt anymore." It specifically doesn't hurt anymore.

One time she says it's a pet rabbit and the reactions seem much more funnier, detached almost when she keeps up the lie. While they're giving their condolences, she insists on a handful of daisies instead of an understated, sentimental long-stemmed lily. Why spend so much on a pet? Why get flowers from a florist?

"Fiona was like family."

"She must be really special to you."

Adele ends up talking about Fiona the bunny like she talks about her grandmother.

She gets a mild headache when she wakes up, groggy with the 9 AM sun. There's a songbird melody coming from the same woods they visited and she unzips herself from the bag. She crawls out and stands up, drinks some water and stare down the former campfire.

Olivia is still sleeping with what's left of the translucent moon near the horizon, Adele lets her and opens her book for some light morning reading.

       Even in the city you look for a place that
       welcomes you. You actually
       want to be found!
       Being found is the polar opposite of making a vow.
       You are a pot of gold and not the arc of a rainbow.
       When you sit down on a stone, face up to the sun,
       you can't help but
       think, Mine, mine.
       And you don't have to promise anything
       to anyone in time.

These days she has too many things to tell, but not the right people to say it to. She can't bring herself to trust adults beyond how they react, what she knows they'll say, the advice like cookie dough with salmonella cut like a gingerbread man.

She feels sick from hearing it, or maybe because she hasn't eaten yet. They still have that olive bread leftovers but Adele isn't in a mood to start the fire again so they'd have to eat it cold from the night before. People bring their bows while traveling to hunt. Adele doesn't really have a taste for it.

Eventually, Olivia too sits up, the lid of her sleeping bag awkwardly folding up her chest.

"Morning, sunshine," she rests the book on her lap, turns in her seat on the log. "Hungry?"

Olivia rubs her eyes, thinks that's a stupid question from the way she frowns. "Yes."

Adele fixed her a sly gaze, lies through her teeth. "I ate everything."

She pauses in disbelief, she looks like she's about to jolt off the ground and pounce but— "Cool."

Olivia can hear her think, or so she says, but it doesn't really work the other way around. Olivia says she's no good at hiding things but never points a finger at it, lets the undercurrents move. Adele does that to her too, except reading her comes with its own biases.

"No, I didn't," she quickly corrects herself and scoots beside her bedside, olive topped bread in tow. "Look it's still here."

Olivia is too tired to acknowledge whatever skit Adele is trying to pull, she doesn't really know either— it must've been a cheeky habit of an eleven year old self. She eats slowly the parts where she tears the bread as best she could and feeds it to the baby bird, gently pushes it into the edges.

It's chewy and frozen, and some mixture of losing moisture and also keeping it.

At one point, Olivia snickers and says, "Huh, olives." Traces the crude cut circles and looks at Adele for any sense of nodding at her amusement. There's a smile she doesn't peel off while she chews and Adele thinks that reaction is long overdue. It's cheap and she's delirious.

Adele doesn't have a comment.

Eventually Olivia regains a semblance of functional energy, splashes her face with some water and proceeded to wipe her hands on Adele's shirt. She stops her just short of faceplanting in her chest, suggests she find a spongy leaf for a handkerchief.

Olivia prefers to air dry her pores.

"Why get all up on me then?" she whines, half exasperated, light protest.

She doesn't answer, asks instead, "Don't you bring flowers? For your grandmother?"

"Oh," Adele pauses, imitates her slow tired voice without really knowing. "I didn't think of that."

There's no gears turning in her head the way she anticipates. "We can probably find another meadow up ahead," Olivia suggests helpfully.

"Good idea."

As soon as Olivia is on her bike, she turns spry and boundless. And maybe it's just her way of riling herself up, to wake up and stay awake. But Adele hasn't yet seen anyone cruise slow enough for how sleepy Olivia was just a second ago. It's a requirement of the ride.

"Olivia! You're going too fast!"

The wind picks up. Olivia has hair whipping across her face only because she doesn't bother tying it up. Flowing and long and lost its luster since they stopped caring about quality shampoo.

"It's a beautiful day out!" she yells back. It's very unlike her.

Adele pedals behind her at a speed she didn't think she's capable of.

They slow down into a meadow, like Olivia says they would. She half crashes her bike in a small ditch between the road and the flowers, unwilling to watch them crumple. The wheel spins. Adele wants to chastise, she shouldn't be so reckless to lose her bike because she can't, and won't, lug the two of them back home.

Seems like all the more reason for Olivia to try.

She runs through the field careful, crafted and placed by the masses. Blues, reds and yellows splotches. They swish past her, strands of mismatched wildflowers swimming.

Olivia looks back where Adele parks her bike, lets it fall next to the one she can't bother pulling out of the ditch. She stands there all but a thumb in the distance, in a daze, as if Adele called her name.

She strides in after her.

They part to look for their own arrangement of bouquets. They find a pair of dandelions and where Adele could effortlessly send them away, Olivia is desperately sputters to no effect. She huffs annoyed, flicks it elsewhere. Pretends it flies then.

"What's your grandma's favorite flower?"

"She likes daisies!"

"I don't think there's any daisies here though!"

They're yelling over the distance. It's so warm in this indistinguishable summer and the sun in just the right distance from the top of her head. In just the right orbit.

Arranged between the large main pieces, the flourish and of course the shrubbery. A yellow bloom with a protruding snout and petals like a plate, purple clusters dangling like bells and small white nests, the bud barely visible.

Adele jogs up to Olivia, just as she tucks the last stem between her handful of flowers, asks, "Are you done yet?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," she trudges forward, sweat beading on her temples. "Come on, let's head out."

"Adele, wait." Olivia's voice seems to fade, a little further than she last heard it.

She turns to her only to see her slumped on the ground as a black hole shrouded in fibers of green, her tan jacket splayed to wrap her bare shoulders. Nature doesn't match the dull gray shirt draped on her like a formless sack, but the image still suits her from the grass tufting out between her knees.

Adele poses her stare into a question and raises her eyebrows.

"I'm too lazy to get up," she says sheepishly.

Adele snorts and shakes her head. That's what you get for exerting too much. But she laughs like she too isn't the victim of being tired.

Olivia watches her in the awkward, looking down your chin posture and just as she wants to comment on her weird neck, she pats the space beside her. Adele pauses then walks over, careful to step high enough to avoid the flowers.

She lays in it, the softest grass she's ever touched and looks up at the sky. The clouds murmur. She could stay here and stare at the passersby for a very very long time.

But it's not complete. And she sunbathes in the urge when her hand creeps closer, tugging on fingers and they catch each other.

Adele could only stay here forever if Olivia doesn't leave and lays next to her. After all, what's Eden if it gets lonely? The boredom sets in and she lives in a spaceless and timeless garden as the only head and eyes that thinks. Where the wind is forevermore and the grass has empty small talk, floating whispers in rustles that sounds more like the ocean than the undergrowth.

The thing that brings her back is the swish of parting leaves, Adele peers next to her and Olivia stares right back. She looks contemplative but maybe it's her resting blase face speaking. It's the eyelids, Adele decided a while ago, that made her stare bore into you. Scrutinizing almost, but never in disdain.

Olivia asks, "Are you bored yet?"

And Adele realizes why she's asking. That she's taking up time and space and the distance they would've covered is worth more than just cloud-gazing. And Adele would argue there's an endless amount of time and space she could take and the universe would still give them more, just them.

She wants to answer. No, she could never be bored of her.

"Kinda."

Olivia breaks into a smile and sits up, and Adele follows suit. The grass leaves a bed in their shape.