“At the beginning.”
THIRTY-THREE
“UNLIKE MORNING GLORIES, LOVE CAN BLOOM
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY.”
—Lavender, Aromateur, 1949
I MISS THErooster crowing, and sleep until past noon. I take my time dressing, feeling more at peace than I have in a long time. My aunt’s presence calms me like chamomile tea. Mother is more like triple espresso. Mirror-image gray streaks. Identical, yet opposite.
Once outfitted in my favorite gypsy skirt and oversize sweatshirt, I hunt for Aunt Bryony. Overnight, order has been restored to the garden, leaves swept, branches trimmed, dead flowers picked off. She must have worked all night and all morning.
I find her in the workshop, vigorously shaking a fist-size mixing flask. Spider plants have been placed at strategic locations, one near the lavender stain and a few on the worktable. A line of test tubes stand in traditional arc formation at the table.
She wipes the sweat from her brow onto her apron and smiles. “Good morning.”
“Good morning. Thanks for cleaning up. You should’ve let me help.”
“Oh, we saved the mud tubers for you. Neither Kali nor I wanted to get our nails dirty.”
“Kali was here?” Something bright and effervescent bubbles up inside me.
“I like her. She smells wholesome.”
Aunt Bryony smiles at me, probably detecting the bright mandarin I must be giving off—the childhood scent of hope. If Kali came to help with the garden, maybe she’s over being disappointed in me. Maybe things can go back to the way they were. “Why didn’t she stay?” We always have lunch together on Sunday.
“She said she had things to do.”
“Oh.” The mandarin must be fading. It’s strange not to smell my own emotions anymore.
“I see your mother never joined the twenty-first century.” Aunt Bryony nods to Mother’s antique beam scale. “Still doing everything the long way. They even have machines that will shake the vials for you, did you know?”
“She doesn’t trust them.”
“Naturally.” She holds the mixing flask up to the light and swirls the liquid, which is the same dark amber of her eyes. She unstoppers the flask and sniffs. “Perfect, as always.”
“Thanks.”
She fills the sink with soapy water. I collect glass vials in atub and bring them to her. “Actually, the last batch didn’t work so well.”
She hoists an eyebrow at me and an owl-like seriousness descends upon her features. “Neutralizing mist always works.”
“But—”
“But nothing. Now, tell your Mother her spurge weed’s going mushy.”
I nearly drop one of the vials. “Wait, you’re not going to see her?”
“No, honey.”
“It was so long ago. I’m sure if you explain to Mother what you wrote in the letter, she’ll understand.”
“We drifted too far apart on our own boats. And you know swimming was never our strong suit.” Aunt Bryony returns Mother’s apron to its hook. “Come, walk me to my car.”
Thanks to Aunt Bryony and Kali, the main garden and the house are up to Mother’s standard of cleanliness. Still, I can’t help but frown.
Aunt Bryony takes my cold hand in her hot one. “Cheer up, honey. Your mother will always be on your side. You know, between the two of us, your mother is actually the nicer twin.”
