I shrug lightly.“Administrators are surprisingly amenable toward requests from faculty who’ve gone viral in a positive way.”
“Does that mean you’re still considering their offer?”he asks, leaning closer.“You said you were accepting New Zealand.”
“I will.I am.Soon.I’ve neither accepted nor rejected anything yet, but teaching holds the least appeal.I want to be in the field, doing the work that brings about real, large-scale environmental impact.”
Dad nudges my shoulder softly as we survey the area—students fan out amongst the wild and lush bog, edging carefully between growth on the pavers and bending to examine the flytraps nestled near the ground.
“Look what you’ve done here.In my experience, the biggest impact comes from small acts and concentrated effort.As long as there’s dirt under your boots, you can make a difference.”A gentle hand lands on my back consolingly.“Perhaps your decision will come easier without hefting theentireworld on your shoulders, hmm?”
A sigh escapes with my tentative nod.Dad’s words bring some consolation, especially in view of the twenty-four bodies in our domain, excited and respectful about the world they’re observing.There’s more hope here than I ever had with Dr.Miner, especially at sea.A glance at my dirty boots makes me smile—I didn’t have the earth underfoot there, either.
“Excuse me, Venus,” Myla says, timidly approaching the deck with Jayden behind her.“Jayden had a great idea.”
I manage a weak smile at my most loyal students.“I’d like to hear it.”
“Me, too,” Dad says.
Myla gives Jayden an encouraging smile, and he says, “Um, so I was on my 5k at Long Leaf park this morning, and thought, why isn’t there a carni-garden there?”
Dad and I share a glance while we mentally translate his question.
“Is that what we’re calling them now?”Dad asks.
“No, but expanding carnivorous gardens to the parks department is an intriguing proposition,” I say.
Dad rubs his chin.“Perhaps we could create more natural habitats to combat those being destroyed by development.”
“We should explore this further,” I say.
“Can Jayden and I come up with a proposal for it?”Myla asks with excitement.“We’d love to research it together.”
“By all means.Perhaps we… I mean, you and Dr.Blake can meet next week.”I turn to Dad with a questioning look, realizing I shouldn’t make plans.I’ll probably be on a plane by then.
Dad agrees to the meeting, and once a time is established, the students disperse into the carnivorous field.He gives me a look as if this proves his earlier point.I shrug lightly, and we separate, infiltrating the garden on either side to assist students in their endeavors.
But my thoughts are elsewhere.
Two nights ago, after my dramatic display at the airport, Dad, Ivy, and I returned with Buster to the fairy house, where we initiated what Ivy called a “self-care slumber party.”We ordered takeout, dished about our boyfriends, and performed beauty rituals that even Dad participated in.Ivy took selfies of us on the couch, our faces covered in clay masks that she claimed would “detoxify” our skinandour bad feelings.
My bad feelings remained, at least until I purged my innermost thoughts and feelings about Henry and my future.We bonded over glossy fingernail polish, scented lotions, and the sweet validation I didn’t know that I needed.My family understands my conflict and has stressed the importance of exercising patience with myself in making such an impactful decision.
My inability to type my acceptance letter proves I’m reluctant about New Zealand.I keep thinking of Henry’s words.Everything’s okay.It’s just a storm.It’ll pass.But what will pass exactly?My discomfort with choosing New Zealand, missing Henry, Maggie’s disapproval, or the need to escape back to my former existence?Will I get to New Zealand and discover I’ve made a colossal mistake?Would I realize the same if I stay?
The pressure to decide mounts, making me perpetually nervous and uneasy.
How can I leave?
How can I not leave?
How can I stay?How can I go?
The class concludes three hours later, but students linger in the gardens, continuing their work and enjoying the beautiful day.I watch them from the deck, in case they have more questions, but as they mill about, a car snakes up the dirt driveway, parking diagonally between a Braxton pear tree and a longleaf pine.
I’m not pleased to see Maggie.She wears a cornflower blue dress and sensible shoes—her office-wear as if she’s on her lunch break from the library.Reading glasses are hooked to her collar.She retrieves a box from the backseat, hefting it awkwardly in her arms.
She makes her way to us on the deck, looking apprehensive.She leans the box against the bottom railing of the deck’s steps.A weak smile emerges as she motions to the students.“Um, what’s going on here?”
“A special topics course on the rare plants of North Carolina,” I answer.
