Olly giggles over it.“They look different.”
“They were younger,” Mom says.“I thought you might hang it up with all of your superhero posters.”
“Oh, cool.”He hops off Mom’s lap, flies Mango around the room, and carries the frame to his bedroom.
“He’s feeling better,” she quips before her eyes find mine again.“Tell me, Henry.What can I do?”
What-ifs swarm me with her question.What if Mom hadn’t said those words to Dr.Blake?What if she’d been a mom to Venus all the time, even when she was upset?Would Venus have stayed then?Now?
I also remember how hard it must’ve been for Mom—Dale bullied her, too—and she was constantly on high alert over worries about me.She was a single parent, even when she was married to Dale, the primary source of our family’s income, and was constantly summoned by school nurses or administrators over me… and Venus.
Olly is blissfully low-maintenance by comparison.
I refuse to make the same mistake with Mom that I did with Venus the first time she left—assigning blame and holding on to anger.Venus wouldn’t want that, regardless.
“Um, I don’t know what to do.She’s still here.Dr.Blake and Ivy are with her.But she doesn’t want to see me.I made her promise not to leave without saying goodbye, but I don’t know… she’s distancing herself, making it easier for her to leave when the time comes.She’s trying to protect us.She believes leaving is the best thing she can do for us.How can I convince her she’s wrong when she’s believed it for so long?”I shift in my chair, feeling uneasy just talking about it.I smirk sheepishly.“After prom, I’m tapped out on big, romantic gestures.”
Mom’s brow cinches in the middle.“Venus doesn’t need romance, and if anyone needs to give her a grand gesture, it should be me.I’ll speak to her.”
“I don’t think that’s a good?—”
“Henry, trust me.I’m the one who’s messed up.I should be the one to fix it.Besides, I can’t make it any worse, right?”
“That doesn’t fill me with overwhelming confidence, Mom.”
She stands, slinging her purse onto her shoulder and gathering my messy papers into one stack.“There are a few things I need to take to her, so I’ll deliver your research as well.”She holds up one of the leftover invitations that Marnie made for the museum’s launch party that must’ve gotten mixed in.“I’ll deliver this, too.Shemustrespond to an invitation.Right?”
I smile.“Well, that would be customary.”
CHAPTER50
Venus
Dadand I stand on the front deck of the fairy house, staring at the crowd of future botanists and environmental scientists from the special topics course on rare plants.I planned it weeks ago, unaware that Dad would be here or that I would be a mess, held together only by my scarf, boots, and overalls.For once, I almost blend in.Everyone wears boots and gardening gloves.They carry their own field journals.They eye us with hopeful anticipation—today, it’s their turn to get their hands dirty.
I’m excited for them.
For me, too.It’s a pleasant diversion.I need to accept the New Zealand position, but every time I sit down at my laptop, my fingers freeze after typing‘Dear Dr.McCullum’.Perhaps it’s the worddearthat hinders me.Though an acceptable salutation, it feels disingenuous.He is not dear to me.Only a few people in the world are, and those people are here.Not New Zealand.Not at the other end of an email.
Myla Rose looks up from her clipboard.“Everyone’s here, Dr.Blake.”
“Thank you,” Dad and I say together, though she was talking to me.
We share a bemused glance before he clears his throat.“Apologies, Venus.”
“No need to apologize,” I say, before announcing, “To avoid confusion, please refer to my father as Dr.Blake, and to me as Venus for today.”
Myla smiles, bouncing on her boots.“Yes, Venus.”
“Today, you’ll assist with routine maintenance of the gardens,” I continue before my father, and I take turns describing their duties.“During the second hour, we will be harvesting flytraps and pitcher plants for the on-campus garden installation that we’ll build during class time tomorrow...Your challenge for today is to study flytraps in various stages, and to identify invasive species or any other threats.”
The crowd disperses at my instruction, spreading into the garden or congregating around the baskets and tools I’ve laid out.
Dad gives me a surprised look.“A campus garden?”
I shrug.“A raised, circular garden near the turtle pond.It will be called the Blake Bog.It’ll be similar to the installations at the Raleigh Botanical Garden.The campus should have carnivorous gardens.Don’t you think?”
“Why yes!Of course!How did that come about?”
