Buffalo sure looked different from a fancy high-rise apartment than it did from the grungy streets of my neighborhood.
Thinking of home, I remembered I was in a hurry. I had just turned to go when my gaze snagged on two plants in the windowsill that looked sickly and sad. I emptied my hands by fitting both sausages into my mouth and then swiped my palms on my jeans. It’s not like they were clean anyway. Forgetting the rush, I went to the plants, gently fingering the droopy leaves and dried soil.
Seeing them in such condition made me feel heavy, their struggle to live nearly palpable.
“Those who cling to life defy death,” I whispered, pulling them both into my chest.
I didn’t remember when or where I’d heard that saying, but it was something I would never forget. And seeing these two plants defying death with everything they had made me feel some type of way.
I didn’t know which way. Just the kind that made me want to help them.
“What are you doing?” Kieran’s deep voice made me jolt.
I spun, some of the dirt in the pot spilling over the edge and onto the floor.
His stare was divided between the plants and the mess. “You got dirt on the floor.”
“Well, the soil is so dry. No wonder it’s blowing around,” I said, starting toward the kitchen.
“Where are you going?”
“To water them,” I answered, though it should have been obvious. Well, maybe not, because it was clear he never thought to do it.
Carefully, I placed the pots in his spotless stainless-steel sink and reached for the faucet.
He caught my hand. “You can’t water them in there.”
“Do you have a watering can?”
“No.”
“Here’s good.”
I turned on the water, and he made a noise. I ignored him to inspect the faucet, which was much fancier than anything I’d ever seen. “Oh, does this have a spray?” I tugged the nozzle free from the spigot. A hose came with it, and I was impressed. “This is perfect for watering Cliff and Atlas!”
A very loud silence nearly stabbed me from the side. Then a throat cleared. “Cliff and Atlas?”
I pointed to the two plants.
“You named them?” Why did he sound pained?
“Shouldn’t every living thing have a name?” I countered.
He said nothing.
I turned on the spray and adjusted it so I could gently water them. “This one is Cliff,” I said, fingering a droopy leaf. Even its green color was fading. “Because he’s practically clinging to the edge of a cliff, trying not to die.” I pulled the faucet over to the other. “And this is Atlas because it’s currently searching for a way to live.”
“You can’t name them that.”
I glanced over my shoulder. He was glaring. “Why not?”
“Because it’s ridiculous.”
“Do you have better names?”
His glare turned into a look of constipation. “They don’t need names.”
I turned back to the sink, sprinkling some water on their leaves once the soil was hydrated. “There you go, Cliff and Atlas. Drink up. I’ll stop and get you some plant food after work. You need the nutrients.”
