“We don’t have to be enemies, Katy.” My sentence was emphasized by her biting through the chocolate coating on her cone.
“Yes, we do.”
The ice cream was cold as it coated my tongue, and I licked my spoon clean. “My grandfather’s been dead for ten years, Katy. It’s time to let old shit die.”
“My grandmother is still very much alive. And she remembers how your family treated her.”
“Not my family, Katy. One jerk of an asshole in my family.” She’d been blaming the whole lot of us her entire life and it wasn’t fair—to me or her.
How easily she forgot the things my father did for her grandmother. But that’s the way it always worked with the Kensington and the Kadish families. We fucked up, spent a lifetime trying to make it better, but it was never good enough. He saved their home from foreclosure, gave Katy’s mother a job one holiday season when they needed more for gifts, and helped get her grandmother into the highly sought-after Roses and Retirement home when she needed more care. My father desperately tried to make amends with Katy’s grandmother, but she never forgave the sins of the eldest Kensington.
It didn’t matter how much money I made or which of her friends I helped, I’d never be enough for Katy either. That or she never noticed. I’d never be good enough. Not for her or myself.
9
Katy
Most of the old shops in Pelican Bay looked the same with small pieces of exposed brick on the sides and a large window at the street side. The Pelican Bay nursery followed the same design requirements, except someone covered most of the space in front of the window with plants so the interior of the building had a dark shade cast over it even with the lights on.
“Hey, girl,” I called out as the door—lacking a bell—closed behind me.
The brunette came from a back room. “Hey, did you bring me a new protest sign?”
I laughed. “Not today, but you never know what I’ll plan later this week. It’s still early. I’m actually here for a plant for my grandma. She needs something to brighten her room at the nursing home.”
Winter approached Pelican Bay fast and Nanna needed a little green in her space. Plus, it didn’t hurt to support the local shops in Pelican Bay.
I hadn’t been to the nursery often. I’d been born with a black thumb for keeping things alive, and as I thought of it, so did my grandmother.
“These are so gorgeous, but I need something easy to tend. Like a succulent or something else you can’t kill.”
Lily’s smile fell for a fraction but then perked back up. “I’m not selling you a plant to have your Grandmother kill it, Am I?”
“What?” I feigned surprise. “Nanna would never kill a plant. She is like the second botanist in town compared to you.”
Lies. Every word, but my grandmother did have staff, and I figured they’d help give the plant an acceptable life. They kept the old people living… mostly.
“Well, you want an ivy over a succulent. They get bigger and will look nice in her room. She can hang it from the ceiling and let it spill over and hang. Ivies can almost grow hydroponically.”
“Nobody should let my grandma grow weed at the nursing home.”
Lily laughed. “No, contrary to popular belief it means it can grow without dirt. You can’t over water it. Well, you could…” She looked lost in thought for a moment. “But it would be difficult.”
“I like the part where you said hanging from the ceiling. That sounds pretty.”
Lily twisted a piece of her hair between her fingers in thought. “I’ve got Grace and Petunia. You can take your pick of either of those. Let me show you.”
“You name your plants?”
“Yes, who doesn’t?” Lily asked as she led me to the front of the shop where a row of hanging plants with big thick leafy greens cascaded from a shelf as they sat in a row together.
“Okay, but why did you name an ivy plant Petunia?”
Lily shrugged. “She looks like a petunia. My grandmother always named her plants, and she ran the shop for thirty years successfully. She passed on the tradition to me and hopefully I’ll pass it on to my kids.”
Most people wanted to pass on good looks, smarts, or musical ability to their children, but apparently plant people had different specifications.
“I was sorry to hear about your grandma.” Rose was a staple on the Women’s Auxiliary. Most the town attended her funeral last winter.
