“Me, too.I’m glad you came home early, Christie.”
He waves his free hand with a flourish.“Well, I missed your dad, and I was jealous about your self-care slumber party.Besides, Wren wanted to travel to Scotland for a druid ceremony, anyway.But she predicted that you’d find yourtrue escapebefore she left—she’s always been somewhat of a soothsayer.It won’t surprise her, but she’ll be thrilled that you’ve ended up with your fern guy after all!”
“Fern guy?”Henry asks, as Ivy returns to the deck with Gil behind her.
“Oh, no!I mean, was I not supposed to say?”Christie’s eyes dart from Henry to me.“Me and my big mouth.”
Ivy rushes over, her brow peaked.“You didn’t tell him?”
Henry twists in my direction.“Tell me what?”
“I discovered a new species of fern and named it after you.”
“What?”he gapes.
I point to the spindly fern with brown flowers, like dandelion heads, wrapping my calf and moving up my leg.“Henry’s fern.”
He looks aghast.“You named a fern after me?”
“Yes.”
“Thatyoudiscovered?”
“It’s not uncommon for a botanist to discover a new variety.About thirty percent of?—”
Henry kisses me—hands to my face, lips pressed on mine, his tongue taking a gentle dip into my mouth.I laugh, returning his affection amid the hoots and claps of our observers.
“On that note, I’ll grab the lasagna,” Christie says.
“I’ll get the salad.I love eating alfresco,” Maggie says, following him inside.
The crowd disperses to arrange our dinner.But Henry stays with me.
“You’ve been holding out on me.That’s so fucking romantic,” he whispers at my lips.
“Oh, no.Not romantic.Practical,” I counter.“The plant needed identification.”
He chuckles.“I’ve turned you into a romantic.You’reromancingme.”
“No, I’m not.Romance is a construct of novels and rom-coms.It’s not real.”
“Then how do you explain the weak feeling in my knees and the butterflies in my stomach?What would you call it?”
“Medical distress?”I try, not wanting to give him complete satisfaction.Still, I feel my cheeks turning pink with his attention.I love this game we play.
“The onlydistressI’m feeling is how long I have to wait to get you naked again,” he says in my ear before nibbling my earlobe.“Will you stay at mine tonight?”
My lips part to say yes, but Ivy bursts through the sliding glass doors with more wine and the crowd following behind her, and announces, “Gil and I are moving in together,” as if she can no longer contain the news.
A second round of excitement and well-wishes commences.Christie claps while Dad says, “Wonderful news!”
Henry offers his congratulations while sneaking sexy glances at me.We settle around the table, heaping our plates with lasagna, salad, and bread over our excited conversations.
I’ve never seen our family this animated and happy for each other.Growing up, it always felt like an every-person-for-themselves existence, each in our separate corners.I recall Ivy’s distress over us and what she called our “weirdness.”Why can’t we go to football games?Or have a TV?Or get our nails done, like normal people?To which Dad, rubbing his chin, pushed up his glasses, and said,“Hmm.Why would we want to be normal people, Ivy?”
Trying to be “normal” is rather miserable.Whenever I tried, I only wanted to escape the straitjacket confines of it.Even Ivy, with her team of friends, found herself disappointed by trying to fit in and live up to societal ideals.In the end, those friends scattered like dried leaves.Now she has the friends she chooses rather than the ones she had to work to keep, and her roots.Us.
Now, I like our roots.If I had a second chance at growing up, I’d choose more of us embracing our weirdnesstogetherrather than fighting it apart.Weird, but true to ourselves and each other.
