carrying it with me.
Then, three years ago, March 14th arrived.
Julian came home holding one sunflower wrapped in brown paper.
Just one.
He handed it to me in the kitchen.
I stared at the flower.
“What’s this?”
He looked almost confused by the question.
“I heard you talking to your cousin at Christmas a couple years ago,” he said. “You said your grandmother hated roses.”
I stared at him.
“She did.”
My voice started shaking.
“She thought roses were too dramatic. She called them show-offs.”
Julian smiled.
“And sunflowers?”
I laughed through tears.
“She said sunflowers were honest. They just turn toward the sun and don’t pretend to be anything else.”
He held the flower out again.
“I figured she would approve.”
I cried so hard I ended up sitting on the kitchen floor.
That is Julian.
Warm.
Patient.
Attentive in a way that has always made me feel
