“A baby?”I retorted.“You’re not a baby.”
He shrugged, looking sheepish and bothered.“My dad calls me that sometimes.”Even thinking about it forced him to use his inhaler.
“He’s wrong.You’re the bravest, kindest person I know.Everyone gets scared.I was scared.You made me feel… better.Safe, actually.”
I meant every word, despite his shock.He had to be the bravest and kindest—he was friends with me.His surprise drifted softly into something like pride, like he couldn’t believe himself to be any more than a tagalong on my adventures.“Me?Really?I, um, didn’t think you even liked me all that much.Your face always looks so… bored.”
“Henry, examine the evidence.I wouldn’t build a lean-to with anyone I didn’t like.Besides, my face doesn’t… I don’t look…”Struggling to find the right words, I used my father’s.“I didn’t come with as many smiles as other people.However, their rarity makes them more precious.That doesn’t mean I’m not smiling on the inside.”
His eyes widened behind his round, rain-specked glasses.“Are you smiling now?”
The question made me laugh.“Yes.”
“Good,”he said with a cough.
“You’re soaked.Your mom’ll be mad.Let’s get you home.”
But halfway there, he turned to me.“Venus, whenever you want to feel better… I’m here.”
I took him up on his offer, andknewagain, the first time I tapped on his bedroom window, desperate for an escape from the trouble I was in at home—I forget the infraction that time.He let me in and held me until the sun rose enough to find my way home again.We were twelve.
And all the times thereafter.I don’t think I could pickonemoment.It waseverymoment.
I went on to climb mountains instead of trees, explore biomes instead of backyards, and try to make a difference, but only because he’d made such a difference to me.
Iknewthe night I told him.I love you, Henry.In the greenhouse.That last night.
Soon, darkness falls, and the automatic twinkling lights come on, warming the deck and gardens in a soft glow.I’m reminded of the stars at sea, flickering, and moonlight catching the tips of waves—the warmth and welcome of light.Ivy and Christie coo collectively, as if this doesn’t happen daily.But I understand the appeal.It’s always been a lovely home, an oasis.
Once the plates are cleared and a tiramisu is served, Dad says, “Congratulations on your discovery.”
“Oh, what discovery?”Christie coos.
Before I can explain, Dad says, “Henricus filicis.It was in the department’s newsletter.”
I fidget with my bracelets under the table as the others give me questioning looks.
“The Henry fern,” Dad finishes.“Venus discovered a new species, and that’s what she named it.”
“New species are discovered every day,” I say, warding off their commentary.“It’s not that surprising for a botanist.Its distinguishing characteristic is that brownish seed balls appear on its fronds, similar to dandelions, that scatter easily into the air.It’s prevalent in North Wales.”
The stares continue as if I’m not explaining myself well.
“Who’s Henry?”Gil asks with a playful smile.I wish we could revert to nervous-Gil, the one who didn’t ask pointed questions.
“Venus’s best friend, boyfriend, soulmate,” Ivy says shortly, leaning closer to him.“Or he once was.Do you plan on seeing him while you’re here?”
“No!”
Buster startles at my bark, answering with a determined yap.
Ivy tilts her head, glancing from Dad to me again.“Well, you know?—”
“Venus doesn’t want to discuss Henry,” Dad says suddenly.It’s unlike him to interrupt or come to my aid.He fiddles with his napkin, nodding toward my sister.“So, we shouldn’t.”
Christie follows Dad’s lead by explaining the special espresso beans that give his tiramisu its delicious flavor.I retreat inside for a refill on my Vodka Cranberry.
When dinner ends, people linger in the living room over coffee and tea.I thank them all for a lovely evening, as is customary, and wander alone through my father’s lush backyard, a maze of herbs, vegetables, greenery, and flowers.But even his upgraded irrigation system and blooming rose bushes around the perimeter fail to keep me from glancing over my shoulder at our old trail.
