“Mary, what happened?”
“What do you mean?” She follows my eyeline to her cane. “This old thing? Thought it looked good with my outfit.”
My brow furrows, and she swats at the air, attempting to erase my concern.
“Don’t worry about me, what you need to worry about is those calatheas that came in this morning. We’ve got our work cut out with those. I don’t know what they did when they shipped them, but they look like they’ve got one foot in the grave. And I know a thing or two about that.”
I snort. “Stop it.”
“Look at me! I know about the grave.”
I shake my head and take my time following her to the back, moderating my pace so I don’t pass her. She doesn’t need a reminder that she’s a little slower today.
“Terry’s covering the front for now. He’s gotta be up there anyway to reorganize the lawn ornaments to fit in our backstock of gnomes,” she says over her shoulder.
“I thought you said you were just going to let them rot in the back ‘cause no one buys them. Your words, not mine.”
“Eh. It’ll be Halloween soon enough. Maybe someone can use ‘em for decor.”
“I love the way your brain works.”
She grunts at me as we make it to the cramped back room. Gingerly, her fingers brush over one of the calatheas resting atop a work counter. My thumb may not be as green as hers, but I’ve been working on it. In all the time I’ve spent trying to make the Vista City Kings cheerleaders, I’ve fallen in love with plants, and—despite the mildew-stenched walls—this shop. There’s a reason this place has stayed open for nearly forty years. If I ever want my business to last longer than next month, I need some pointers.
Mary coaxes the plant out of its plastic encasement and moves it to a larger pot. “This one needs some extra attention, so it’ll sit next to the register for us to keep an eye on.”
A wide grin splays across my face. Mary does a double-take, all tenderness leaving her voice as she backs out of theroom. “Don’t look at me that way. Get to the shipment, girl!”
Today’s delivery is only a few pallets. They’ve gotten smaller and smaller over the year I’ve been here. It’s kind of sad. I don’t say anything, but I know it’s because business isn’t exactly booming these days. I hum along, snipping and repotting some of the more pitiful-looking botanicals.
Driving from house to house for plant sitting is fine, but being at McMurphy’s is the highlight of my week. The back room is quiet, a safe haven where I can test my knowledge without anyone biting my head off. Mary leaves me to it. It’s her silent encouragement that helped me gain the confidence I needed to open my own business. It’s her who I’ll ask about my last plant murdering incident that awarded me a less-than-stellar rating. Mary’s a grumbly little thing, but deep down inside her, there are cracks of sweetness and goodness. I’ve seen them. Plus, she’s a whiz in the plant department.
Her shop offers me a bliss I’ve never found on a stage or at cheer try-outs. Even after making the team, I should still be walking on the moon, but that high was fleeting, as are most I’ve found. Troubleshooting these calatheas today is just the dopamine hit I needed. I inspect each one from root to leaf, humming them an Avery-original melody as I make my rounds. I once read that singing and talking to plants can help them thrive. From that day forward, I addedsingerto my invisiblespecial talents resume.
Mrs. McMurphy bursts back into the room, startling me. “What you trying to sing there?”
I laugh at her word choice. “Trying?”
“Oh, come on, girl. You’re a dancer and a plant enthusiast, not a vocalist.” She shakes her head. “Cheerleader. Whatever. Do you all actually do any cheering?”
“We boost morale with dance.”
“So no cheers? Just shaking your keister in short skirts and tight tops?”
“We have pompoms,” I amend.
“Oh, now we’re talking.” She rolls her eyes.
I throw my head back and laugh. I can’t help it. Who says stuff like that out loud?
She mutters something and steps into her little office before reappearing across the work table from me. “Did I tell you about the boy that came in the other night?”
I shake my head.
“Althoughboyis probably the wrong word. He was a man. A large one. Tattoos. Cleared us clean out of orchids.”
I stop snipping and turn to face her. Tattoos? Orchids? He’s already sounding very… familiar.
She shakes her head. “Handsome, but dumb. Overpaid by a good bit, but hasn’t been back to reclaim it, so…” She shrugs a shriveled shoulder.
