“Of course Ilikehim, he’s Evan,” she said scornfully, then bent when I gave her a look. “I don’t know! He’s so—so—I don’t know, I’m basically a townie, and he’s super rich, and it’s very complicated.”
“It’s not so complicated. Also, you’re not a townie.”
“Obviously, objectively, he’s very hot.”
“True.” I nodded. “Can confirm.”
“But I’ve never consideredlikinghim. He hardly seems attainable, and then there’s Pranav.”
“Except there isn’treallyPranav.”
“Evan and I have never even hung out alone together. What if we have nothing to say? What if we hate each other?”
“You don’t hate each other. Hang out! Find out! Shonda Rhimes believes in the power of saying yes.”
“Oprah says it’s fine to say no.”
“Well, Oprah’s not here right now.”
“Neither is—”
“Go! Talk!”
She scoffed. “Like you’ve been so good on the talking front.”
“Do what I say, not what I do.”
“I’ll hang out with Evan if you talk to Noah about whether you’re actually dating, because hooking up does not a relationship make.”
“Rude.” I blew out a breath, then straightened my shoulders. “I did tell Noah I’d meet him for lunch today. Maybe I’ll put my money where my mouth is.”
“Hopefully not literally.”
“No, money touches too many hands, gross.”
I arrived at Golden Doors at noon. When I got off my bike and pulled out my phone, I saw a text from Noah:Sorry, my dad’s grabbing me for a quick talk—you can hang out in the living room if you want, I’ll be done soon.
A nice offer, but I didn’t plan to wander through Golden Doors by myself. I shot him a quick text—I’ll be in the gardens!—and headed around back, preferring nature to the imposing gray beauty.
The lawn, like always, was stunning, full of lush summer plants. Emerald green blades carpeted the lawn, their fresh-cut scent mingling with the perfume of flowers. The sky formed a translucent dome, and the sun shot through tree leaves, turning them a transparent, glowing green. Small birds warbled from branches and I caught sight of a rabbit hopping away from me. It was like stepping into a painting.
“There you are, Abigail. I’d been hoping we’d see each other soon.”
Helen stood in the middle of the lawn, at a long table draped in white cloth. She wore pink linen pants and a long-sleeved white sweater. Roses, lilies, dahlias, stalks of greenery, and white baby’s breath lay on the table.
“Come here.”
I trailed over, soft and nervous, my attention caught by her hands.They trembled even when still, and her skin was both crinkled and drawn tight around the bones. But her movements remained decisive as she arranged the plants, the Queen Anne’s lace, the small white roses and larger yellow ones. She cut stems and held the lengths against each other like a painter comparing color swathes. I paused across the table from her. “It looks beautiful.”
“I’m teaching a flower arrangement class later. It’s very popular.” She picked up a green plant with a brown stem and oval leaves. “Do you know what this is?”
I shook my head.
“It’s myrtle. A beautiful scent, but a horrible taste.”
I shifted uneasily. Had her comment been pointed? Surely not. Hoping to contribute something, I said, “Queen Esther’s original name came from the word formyrtle.”
“Hm.” Helen picked up a dahlia, hot pink at the center and edged in white, studied it, then set it back down. She did not look at me. “And what doesAbigailmean?”
