Does He Know Me At All?

I stifle a sigh as I open the door to an enormous bunch of flowers with a pair of legs sticking out of the bottom. It’s not the delivery person’s—I say person because I currently have no idea if they’re male or female—fault, after all. Not their fault that my ex-boyfriend really doesn’t know me at all.

Realising I haven’t yet spoken, I say, “Yes, can I help you?”

“Oh, sorry,” a voice says. “I have a delivery for Miss Brooks.”

“That’s me.” I reach out and carefully take the bouquet, stepping back to place it in my hallway. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I see now that the delivery person is in fact a woman around the same age as me, hair pulled into a ponytail and a genuine smile on her face. “You’re a lucky woman,” she adds, gesturing to the flowers. “He must really love you. That’s the most expensive arrangement we have.”

“You have no idea,” I reply, faking a smile.

“Bye then.” She turns and heads back to her van.

“Thanks, bye.”

I close the door, twist the key in the lock, then lean my head against the cool wood and let out the sigh I’d previously stifled. I meant the part about her having no idea in a sarcastic way, really, but I hadn’t wanted her to know that. She was just being kind.

Finally, I pull myself together, pick up the flowers and take them into the kitchen. They’re nice enough, if you like...