Flower Tattoos

Inspired by tumblr posts that were cross posted to Pinterest from @killer-ink, @demisexualmerrill, and @koscheilis. https://pin.it/MUChsOaqT is one of the pins; I can't seem to find the other.

The little bell on the door rang as it opened, and the young woman at the counter looked up. "Good morning!" Emery said, a little too cheerily. After all, she was getting paid to say it. As nice as it was working in the flower shop, things were always slow on a Sunday morning. People usually bought flowers on Fridays or Saturdays, before dates or concerts or school plays. Seymour padded over to see who the newcomer was. A sweet, grandmotherly lady bustled into the greenhouse and began making conversation.

"Good morning to you too! How are you doing? Ooh, I love your outfit! Very goth. You remind me of my granddaughter. I'm just out getting some flowers for my grandson's play. I know families don't usually get flowers for boys, but I read somewhere that some men never receive flowers until the day of their funeral, and I just don't think that's right. How are you doing today?"

"I'm alright. What play is your grandson in?" Realistically, Emery didn't need to ask. She knew that the high school in the next town over was putting on Newsies; they had been getting customers all weekend buying flowers for their children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews.

"Oh, he's in Newsies! Friday was opening night, which of course I was at, but the whole family is coming to see it today. Thought I'd get something special for him. He's one of the main characters and he does such a fantastic job of it!"

A small whine came from the bottom shelf by the woman's skirt. "Oh hello there! How are you doing today, fine sir?" She bent down to give Seymour some head scratches. "What a good kitty."

"Oh, he loves attention," said Emery. She was organizing some ribbon, but like her question about the play, it was more for the sake of having something to do than anything else.

The bell on the door jingled again, and a rush of cool wind entered the small building. The woman, now in the process of picking out a flowering plant for her grandson, looked up. "Good mor—" she began, but was interrupted as the door slammed. The young woman who had just entered wasted no time with conversation.

She stormed over to the counter, slapped $40 onto the table, and said, "How do I passive-aggressively say 'fuck you' in flower?"

"Excuse me?" Emery's tone said all that she needed to.

"I mean, hi, sorry. I'm a little angry."

"I can tell." She took a deep breath and resumed her usual customer-service-voice. "What can I do for you today?"

"I just found out that my boyfriend is cheating on me, and we have a date that we had planned tonight. I want to get him some flowers and leave them at the restaurant for him with a break-up note attached. Classier than sending a text, but still without giving him the satisfaction of seeing my face." Now that she was a little bit calmer, she began looking around. "Cute place. And nice tattoos," she added. Emery had a half-sleeve of tattoos on one arm and a large wolf on the other shoulder, partially hidden by the sleeve of her AC/DC t-shirt.

"Thanks. Got 'em right here in town."

"Oh, no way! That's where I work!"

"It is?" Emery tried to hide the surprise in her voice. She wasn't one to judge on appearances, but the girl who had just come in looked like she belonged in a bookshop or antique store, not a tattoo shop.

"Yeah, I'm a tattoo artist. Did this one myself," she said proudly, holding up her left arm to show a small line work tattoo of an open book with wildflowers growing up from the pages.

"Oh, cute!"

"Thanks! I'm Lucy, by the way."

"Emery. Pleasure," she shook Lucy's waiting hand. "So. You need some flowers," Emery half-asked.

"Yes! Angry flowers," Lucy laughed.

Emery smiled. "I must admit, that is the strangest request I've gotten in a while. Angry flowers..." She began trying to come up with how one makes a bouquet of flowers 'angry.' Flowers are usually so sweet and pretty. Perhaps a striking color combination like red and orange, or maybe something black?

"You know," said the grandmother from the next aisle over, interrupting Emery's thoughts. Emery nearly jumped; she had quite forgotten that there was anyone else in the shop at the moment. "When I was a girl, I remember reading a column in the paper about the meanings of flowers in Victorian England. I wonder if something like that would help. Maybe if you can find it on the computer—"

"Oh, we have a little book of that!" Emery jumped in. "How could I forget. Right over here," she briskly walked over to an end cap on one of the aisles and picked up a miniature hardcover book. It was only about three inches tall. The Secret Language of Flowers, it was titled. "Let's see..." She began thumbing through the book, Lucy peering over her shoulder. "Well, foxglove can represent insincerity, and I know we have some of that. And orange lilies are supposed to mean hatred."

"That's great! Ooh, and maybe these," Lucy pointed to a line in the book. It read:

Yellow Carnations........................... You have disappointed me.

"Yes! And... geraniums for stupidity, and meadowsweet for uselessness."

"Oh, I like the sound of this," said the older woman. "That ex-boyfriend of yours is in for a treat." She laughed and shook her head. "Such a shame that geraniums can mean 'stupidity.' They've always been my favorites."

"Meow!" The woman had temporarily stopped petting Seymour, and at this, she turned back to him. "Yes, I agree! You cute little fuzzball."

"I suppose I could also throw in a couple of wilted flowers for free, if that helps?" Emery suggested.

"That would be perfect!" The two girls moved back to the counter and Emery began ringing up the order while Lucy wrote in a little card.

"I'm including all the meanings of the different flowers," she said. "Foxglove for insincerity, orange lily for hatred. Wilted flowers... self-explanatory." The two laughed again.

This is the most fun I've had here all week," Emery exclaimed.

Lucy smiled. "Glad I could entertain." She placed her note into the envelope, addressed it to her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend with a heart, and handed it to Emery. "You know, I think I'll get this little book too. Might come in handy in my tattoo work."

"It very well might. Is that all?"

"Yup, that'll do it! Thank you so much.

"Of course! Anytime. And I'll have to ask for you when I get my next tattoo. Lucy, right?

"Yup! Emery," she half-asked.

Emery nodded. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice meeting you as well! I'll let you know how it goes."

"Please do. Have a great day."

"Oh, I will," said Lucy as she made her way back out the door with another jingle of the bell.

"Well, that was exciting!" said the grandmother, now happy with her choice of plant for her grandson. "I think he'll like this one. Orange flowers, his favorite color. But not lilies," she laughed. "And it won't need to be watered every day. Perfect for a teenager."

"Great choice. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Oh, no, I am quite satisfied. Thank you very much."

"You're very welcome."