Panic flickers across the mother’s face. Fallon notices and doesn’t hesitate to leap from the table, scooping upBasil IV. The crowd quiets like someone cut the sound.
My wife kneels on the floor beside the girl, her signing books forgotten. Her status, forgotten. She only wants to help this little angel.
“Hi, cutie-pie. Do you like plants?” She holds out her precious herb. “This is Basil. Smell how fresh he is.”
The girl’s head jerks once, a tear sliding down her cheek. Fallon smiles softly.
“If you listen closely, you can hear him tell you, you got this. There’s nothing to be stressed about. Your mommy is here. And I’m here.” Fallon leans in and whispers, “I was just like you.”
The girl rocks, and I’m thrust back eleven years ago, to the memory of helping that young lad, Ollie.
“That’s okay, sweetheart,” Fallon murmurs. “You don’t have to talk. I just want to tell you a story. Being different is tough.” She gives Basil a calming whiff. “But it’s preparing you to survive.”
“We’ve got her in therapy,” the mum whispers. “Doctors said she’s too young for medication.”
Fallon’s anger sparks to life. “No. No meds. Rhys, I have to write a children’s book next!”
“Aye, my love. I can’t wait to read it.”
“Will you keep Basil for me?” She hands the plant to the woman. “Watch him. Take care of him.”
“Are… Are you sure?” The mum blushes. “I read your book. This is my copy. I know how much he means to you.”
There are several Basils now. Our flat, my mum’s place, and a whole new batch are growing in Wicklow.
“I’m sure.” Fallon turns back to the girl, showing her how to box breathe.
The little girl mirrors my wife. Inhales, exhales, slower now. Fallon keeps talking, spinning this little story about Basil making her braver each day. How taking care of himpulled her out of herself. She had to be there for him with water, food, and the right amount of sunlight to help him grow.
When the girl finally laughs, a thin, shaky sound, the mum exhales with her.
“Thank you,” she whispers, eyes wet.
Fallon returns to her signing table and motions to the mum. “Come, let me sign your book so you can get your angel home.”
The crowd hushes too, noticing this moment Fallon is having. No one bristles on the line when the mum and daughter walk right up to the table. They all bought her book because they understand mental health challenges. That and the look I just sent down the row.
With the book signed, the mum walks away with her daughter’s hand in hers.
Fallon smiles, and I swear she glows. Not just beautiful, she’s fucking radiant.
The signing ends, and when Fallon stands to wave goodbye to the last reader, I settle behind her, resting both hands around her curvy waist.
“You handled all this like magic, love,” I murmur against her hair. “I’ve seen you do a lot of things. But that with the little lass? That was…” My throat tightens. “Christ, I’m proud of you.”
She goes still, fingers twitching with mine. “My mom understood me. But she died. And then I had to figure it out for myself.”
Now I see, she’s holding her stomach. “Fal, what’s going on?”
“I’ve been waiting for the right time. Things have been so busy.” She pulls out her phone and shows me a photo she took of a positive pregnancy test. “If this one’s a girl, she might have the same thing as me.”
For a second, all the noise in my head disappears. I putmy hand on her stomach in awe, like I did for much of her pregnancy with Patrick. She created a perfect life for us. In so many ways.
“She feels strong, love.” I swear I can almost feel this baby’s heartbeat beneath my palm.
With her first pregnancy and the shadow of her old medications hanging over us, I didn’t want to take any chances with Fallon’s health or the baby’s. After a full medical and psychological evaluation, a top specialist corrected her ADHD diagnosis to obsessive-compulsive disorder and severe anxiety. The panic from that anxiety and meds had caused the blackouts, like the day she misheard me in the tea shop and thought I’d called her my girlfriend.
Her conversations with the plants aren’t madness or a psychosis. They are a simple coping mechanism, a way she learned to survive the loneliness. The plants were her confidants, her calm in the noise.
