Send Me Your Flowers

The car glided forward, nearly silent, as the cityscape fell away, steel and glass giving way to sprawling fields and dense pockets of trees. Each mile drew Lena further into unfamiliar terrain, the smooth asphalt beneath her slowly deteriorating into rough gravel and uneven earth. A jolt rocked her as the car’s sensors attempted to adjust, stuttering slightly before picking up again.

Ahead, the road narrowed, winding through unclaimed land where trees stood ancient and imposing, their gnarled roots pushing through the ground like quiet guardians. Lena glanced at the bags beside her, filled with food, incense, and neatly bundled paper money—tokens she’d dutifully gathered, though she couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken the ritual seriously.

The car gave one final lurch, then halted, its automated voice politely announcing, “End of route.”

She stepped out, inhaling the thick scent of soil and leaves, and followed the narrow path leading uphill.

Farther along, she spotted Margot’s figure, already making her way to the gravesites with an easy, practiced stride. Despite being in her early 160s, Margot still moved with that calm purpose, as though she belonged to this landscape. Her hair was streaked with grey, pulled back into a loose braid, and her face was lined, deep creases etching her forehead and mouth, a map of decades well spent.

They approached the graves in silence, small, weathered stones half-hidden beneath a layer of untamed grass. Margot had already begun to clear the space, crouching down to pull weeds and cut back vines, her movements methodical, almost reverent.

Lena felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite name, watching her sister’s hands move with practiced ease over the graves that marked their parents’ final resting place.

She knelt down, setting out the offerings with a stiffness that betrayed her own lack of practice. Dim sum, a few of their parents’ favourite dishes, and the stacks of paper money she’d brought without a second thought. She could almost hear her mother’s voice, amused but kind, reminding her, It’s the thought that matters. Just send your love.

“About time,” Margot called without looking up. Her voice carried a quiet warmth, tempered by their years of strained familiarity. “Figured you’d let the car do all the walking.”

“Very funny. Trekked here, actually. Car couldn’t get past the tall grass,” Lena shot back, adjusting the strap of her bag. “I brought the food, by the way.”

Margot smirked, still focused on the grass she was cutting. “Good. At least you didn’t forget.”

The graves were modest, small markers half-hidden by weeds and time. Lena knelt down stiffly, setting out the offerings. Her hands moved carefully, though her detachment was obvious. Dim sum, a few of their parents’ favorite dishes, and the paper money she’d grabbed last-minute, not out of sentiment but habit. The stack caught Margot’s eye.

“Plenty of paper,” Margot remarked, her tone neutral. She didn’t criticize; she never had. “Mom always said it’s the thought that counts, right?”

“She also said it was just paper,” Lena countered, lighting the incense with a practiced flick. The smoke spiraled upward, pale and fragile against the overcast sky. “But better safe than sorry.”

Margot hummed softly, returning to her work. She pulled weeds with a steady rhythm, her movements reverent, as though she were tending to something still alive. Lena glanced at her sister, wondering—not for the first time—how Margot had found peace in this endless cycle of caring for the land. Of staying still.

“You ever get tired of this?” Lena asked, half-joking, half-genuine. “Coming out here, keeping things tidy?”

Margot didn’t look up. “Not really,” she said simply. “Feels right, I guess. They gave us everything. Least I can do is keep this patch of earth in order.”

It was a sentiment Lena couldn’t quite grasp. She fiddled with the lighter in her hand, staring at the flickering flame before passing it to Margot. “You do it. You’re better at this stuff.”

They worked quietly. Lena could feel Margot’s quiet judgment in every precise movement, every glance cast at the offerings she’d brought. Margot had always embraced these rituals, while Lena had drifted, distracted by other things, other lives.

Lena’s fingers tightened around the paper money, her knuckles white.

“Here,” Margot finally said, holding out a lighter. Her fingers were steady, calloused from decades of this work. “You should do it.”

Lena hesitated, feeling the weight of the lighter in her hand. She looked down at the neat piles of paper money, their edges crisp, bright against the worn earth. She struck the lighter, watching the flames catch and curl around the edges, devouring the paper in slow, hungry flickers.

They watched the smoke rise, silent, each lost in their own thoughts.

Margot broke the silence first, her voice quiet. “You didn’t have to come out here, you know. I know you hate the mosquitos.”

Lena’s mouth tightened, a hollow laugh escaping her.

It took a while before any of them worked up the courage to speak.

Margot spoke first, her voice low and steady, almost conversational. “Hey, Mum. Dad.” She shifted slightly, glancing toward the stone markers.

Her tone was light, warm, as though she were updating a neighbor over a shared cup of tea.

“I brought flowers this time. You’d like them—native species, good for the soil, perfect for China,” she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “The falcons are doing well. We’ve reintroduced a few to the wild. They’re thriving, hunting naturally. You’d have loved to see it.”

Margot paused, her gaze dropping to the stones, her fingers idly brushing against a stray weed near her knee. “Aunt May’s still terrible at keeping secrets. She accidentally spilled the news about the twins’ engagement before they could tell anyone. Oh, and Lily’s new greenhouse project? It’s finally taking off.”

Her words slowed, a brief hesitation breaking the rhythm of her updates. “I’m staying put, in case you’re wondering. Not uploading.”

The declaration wasn’t new; it was something Margot had made clear long ago. But there was a quiet defiance in her tone, a subtle weight that lingered.

“Anyway,” Margot continued softly, “I hope you’re proud. Of all of us.” She looked toward Lena with a gentle smile, a silent invitation.

Lena’s gaze flicked up from the burning incense, her fingers still holding a stack of paper money. She hadn’t prepared anything to say. She never did.

“Hi, Mum and Dad,” she began awkwardly, clearing her throat. “It’s… been a while. Sorry about that.”

Her voice faltered, caught between the formality of the ritual and the weight of what she wanted to say.

“I’ve been… busy,” Lena continued, her tone lifting slightly. “You probably know that, though. Career’s going strong. Well, strong-ish. Still performing, still pushing. You know me.”

She smiled faintly, a gesture that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’ve been thinking about you two more than usual lately,” she admitted, her fingers tracing the edge of a piece of paper money. “Probably because of Margot’s article. You’d love it, by the way. All about her work, her friends, her roots.”

Her gaze flickered toward Margot, a quick, almost apologetic glance. “I’m not as good at that kind of stuff. The whole… grounded thing. I guess I’m still figuring it out.”

Lena paused, the silence stretching just enough to make her shift uncomfortably. She set the stack of paper money down, watching the flames consume it slowly.

“I’m trying, though,” she said softly. “Trying to keep things together, to make something of this life. Astra—my stage persona—she’s doing okay. Better than okay, maybe. People still care, still show up. I think you’d like her.”

Her voice grew quieter, almost uncertain. “I just wish… I don’t know. I wish I felt like I was doing enough. Like I’m enough.”

The words hung in the air, caught between the flickering incense and the steady burn of the paper money. Lena let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “This is supposed to be about you, not me. Sorry. Classic Lena, making everything about herself.”

She fell silent, her eyes fixed on the smoke rising from the offerings. It curled upward, fading into the sky, untouchable and distant.

Margot reached over, her hand brushing lightly against Lena’s arm. The touch was brief but grounding.

“They’d understand,” Margot said quietly. “They always did.”

Lena nodded, her throat tightening. “Yeah,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “I hope so.”

There was a brief silence to let the moment sink into their skin, into their souls.

Margot had other plans.

"Lena?"

"I know that tone. Don't..."

“Do you ever think about slowing down?”

Lena glanced at her, her mouth tightening. “Is that your way of saying I should quit? Again?”

Margot shrugged, brushing a stray lock of grey hair from her face. “Not saying anything. Just wondering if you ever get tired.”

Lena’s laugh was quick and sharp. “Of what? Having a career? Some of us don’t have the luxury of pulling weeds and calling it a life.”

Margot didn’t flinch.

She rested her hands on her knees, her face calm as she turned to look at Lena. “It’s not weeds,” she said evenly. “It’s the land. The animals. The people. You think I don’t have a life just because it doesn’t look like yours?”

“Oh, come on,” Lena shot back, her voice rising slightly. “You could’ve done anything, Margot. Conservation manager, head of research, hell, even the council if you’d wanted it. But you’re just… what? Content out there?”

“Yes,” Margot replied simply.

The word hit Lena harder than she wanted to admit. She frowned, picking at the hem of her sleeve. “Sure you are,” she muttered under her breath.

Margot sighed and leaned back on her heels, brushing dirt from her hands. “It’s not about ambition, and don’t you dare think it’s laziness. It’s about being where I need to be. I’ve got friends, work I care about. And it’s enough. More than enough.”

Lena scoffed, shaking her head. “And you’re just going to leave all that behind? All those people, all that work? For what? To be buried here with Mom and Dad?”

“Yes,” Margot said again, without hesitation. “Because that’s what feels right to me.”

Lena let out a hollow laugh, her hands tightening into fists. “God, you make it sound so noble.”

Margot’s expression softened, but there was no pity in it, only something quieter. “And what are you keeping going for, Lena?”

Lena froze, her fingers stiffening against her knees. “What are you on about?” she said sharply, too quickly.

Margot tilted her head, studying her. “You’ve been running your whole life. From what, I don’t know. But it’s not working, is it?”

Lena felt the heat rising in her chest, a mix of anger and something closer to shame. “Oh, spare me the wisdom, Margot. You’re the one throwing everything away, not me.”

Margot smiled faintly, a sad sort of smile. “You think that’s what I’m doing? Throwing it away? Maybe it’s the opposite. Maybe I’m holding onto it. To the people, to the life I’ve built. Maybe it gives it meaning.”

“And what, you think I don’t have that?” Lena snapped. “I have a career. Fans. Success.”

“You have numbers,” Margot said gently. “And I’m not saying they don’t matter. I’m just saying they’re not everything.”

Lena’s jaw clenched, her gaze dropping to the dirt. The tension coiled tight in her chest, choking the words she wanted to spit back. Margot didn’t press her, didn’t gloat. She just sat there, waiting, the firelight flickering softly between them.

“I can’t stop,” Lena said finally, her voice low, trembling. “I don’t have much time, Margot. The doctors… they said my body can’t take much more.” She paused, the words thick, foreign in her mouth. “I’m… I’m dying, Margot.”

The silence that followed was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. Margot’s face softened, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and sorrow. She reached out, hesitating, before pulling Lena into a hug, her arms warm and steady.