25
Reed
By Thursday afternoon, I’m running on coffee and determination, surrounded by financial projections that need to be perfect for tomorrow night.
Eliza has been so supportive, giving me space to work but also stopping by multiple times a day to make sure I eat and pretend she’s going to dump manure in the hydroponic tanks to make me laugh.
The stolen kisses under the grow lights are becoming my very favorite greenhouse activity.
My space has been transformed into what Vick charitably calls “beautiful chaos”—spreadsheets covering every available surface, sample trees arranged and rearranged, and enough backup presentations to confuse a NASA engineer.
In between it all, my mother calls incessantly about the contract I haven’t signed with my father’s company to start work at the first of the year.
“Reed, darling, your father is getting impatient,” she says without greeting when I finally answer. “If they don’t get your signature by Monday, they’ll have to withdraw the offer.”
“Mom, I declined the offer. I’m busy.”
“Busy with what? Plants?” Her voice sharpens. “Reed, be practical. This investor meeting is a long shot at best.”
“It’s not a long shot. It’s a pitch.”
“Hope doesn’t pay the bills, sweetheart.”
She launches into a speech about sound business strategies, and I can’t take it anymore. Not another second. I hang up and immediately power off my phone. I can’t afford distractions, not when everything depends on tomorrow night going perfectly.
Voices outside interrupt my calculations. Through the window, I see Vick and Kash approaching with a cooler, ahead of what appears to be a small army of people wearing elf hats.
“Intervention time,” Vick announces, pushing through the door. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks for the pep talk.”
“Seriously, when’s the last time you consumed something that wasn’t coffee?”
Before I can answer, the Storm sisters file in behind Kash, all of them dressed like elves. Eden has a thermos that smells suspiciously alcoholic. Eila carries a six-pack in each arm. Eva’s got a very fancy camera slung around her ugly holiday sweater. Bringing up the rear is Eliza herself, beaming, unfazed by this incredible act of mercy.
“What is this?” I ask.
“The boyfriend treatment,” Esther announces, setting down a bag that clinks with bottles. “Our sister said you’re stressed, and we’ve got some downtime.”
“Stressed is an understatement.” I gesture at the surrounding chaos, dropping a kiss on Eliza’s head. “I have one shot at this, and I’m nowhere near ready.”
“Good thing you’ve got us,” Eva says, already snapping photos. “I’ve been looking at your website, and honestly, it’s tragic. We’re going to fix that.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“Reed, shut up and let us help,” Esther interrupts, pouring eggnog into mason jars. “It’s spiked. Consider it liquid courage.”
For the rest of the night, my friends and my girlfriend’s family take over my life, but not in a way that feels intrusive or infantilizing, like when my parents overstep. No, this is somehow exactly what I didn’t know to ask for but desperately needed. Eva creates a digital presence for my business, posting sleek graphics and incredible images that draw about a thousand interactions online before I finish my nog.
Eila, careful to reiterate that she, too, is garbage with paperwork, shows me financial software that prints the exact reports I need at the click of a button.
“Speaking as a professional horticulturist,” she says, typing rapidly, “these trees aren’t just plants; they’re sustainable lifestyle choices. Price them accordingly.”
Meanwhile, Esther, Eden, and Vick work on packaging and presentation. They help me repot my trees in elegant containers and create gift tags that somehow give my hydroponic seedlings a premium holiday look.
“These are gorgeous,” Eden says, adjusting a tiny tree in its new home. “I can totally see people wanting these for their apartments.”
“Now all you need is a hot date by your side,” Esther adds as Eliza shoves her shoulder playfully.
