“Doesn’t look like any errors here.”
“Because you only see that which I have accomplished. You have not seen the broken pots, the poor drainage, the moldy bulbs.”
I nodded, not having words. It was all obvious, but I needed to hear it. Even if we were still talking about flowers.
“Would you like to?”
I frowned. “To what?”
“See my failures?”
My heart stopped before thudding forward. “This better not be some kind of metaphor,” I said. “You better not have some kind of greenhouse of horror back there somewhere. Frankensteined, half-alive experiments in cages. We don’t allow that kind of mad scientist stuff in Ordinary.”
“I am aware. I’ve read the rule book. So then, perhaps you should go on your way instead.”
“No. Oh, no. You hint at mutated monster plants and think you can brush me off? Nice try. Take me to your horror show, Reserve Officer.”
“You insisted I need rest. And fluids. I am lacking both. Better for you to leave.”
“Freak show. Now.” I snapped my fingers twice.
He sniffed and lifted to his full height before spinning on his heel and leading me through the dining room, the kitchen, and out to a little mud room space. It may have been built for hanging up wet coats and kicking off sandy boots, but it had been retrofitted with shelves and cupboards, a utility sink in the corner and lots of working space.
In that space were flowers. From the softest buttery cream to the deepest purple-black, the blooms were grouped and spread out, basking beneath grow lights, in seed trays and starter pots, all of them looking alive, well, hearty.
“Not there,” he said. “Here.” He pointed to the other side of the room.
The narrow table stretched from one end of the room to the other. Clumps of dirt, broken pots, a little row of bulbs that had gone black lined the table in tidy rows. A tangle of roots lumped together to make a small hill in one corner, and dry brown leaves and withered stalks lay in an oddly artistic mat that appeared woven.
“The mutants,” he said quietly. “The freaks. The mistakes.”
I couldn’t help myself, I walked over and took my time looking at each broken failed item laid out on display.
“Why didn’t you just throw this all away?”
“I have not finished learning, Reed Daughter. Why would I be rid of my greatest learning experience?”
I stood there a little longer. The chime music was too far away to hear, except for the occasional high tone.
“So I just need to give it a little more time? Pay attention to the mistakes, but not worry about them? Don’t throw away all the blooms just because there are a few broken pots and dried leaves?”
“Are you speaking of gardening?”
“Something like that.”
“Perhaps you have found your answer. But in case you have not.”
He reached across the other countertop, the one with the grow lights, and picked up a small sky-blue pot with dirt in it. He held it out for me.
“What’s that?”
“It is known as a flower pot.”
“I know that. What’s in it?”
“Tend it with water twice a week, enough each time that water collects in this tray beneath it.”
“Okay, but what’s in it? What’s trying to grow?”
