Eric:You missed Owen’s birthday. He had a great time with his grandparents.
I don’t need to download the photo to know it will be Owen smiling with Kelsey’s parents, probably all of them at the cabin.
Eric:By the way, GramGram saw the art set you sent last week and liked it. She bought the same one to give him so we’re going to return yours.
Eric:Kelsey says to tell Lucy thanks, by the way. After all of those wedding orders were canceled, they took away the promotion they promised her at work.
A noise comes from the bedroom, and I scramble to make it look like I’m not an eavesdropper. Or is that term only for overhearing? Mompicks up her phone and skims through the messages, her face telling me nothing.
Why bother pretending? “I didn’t mean to look, but I saw the texts from Eric,” I say. “He said the ghost scent led to cancelations for the weddings Kelsey told us about.”
“I saw. That makes sense.”
“It does? They’re in love.”
“We gave them a dampener,” Mom says. “If it caused them to feel a little less in love, they might be reconsidering the speed of their relationship.”
“At least they still have their true love,” I say, glad we haven’t destroyed those hearts. They had their true loves in their lives, and that remained a gift. “That’s something.”
I wait for her to get on my case about understanding how my moli works, but once again, she doesn’t. This freaks me out a bit.
“I’m sorry you have to be with me instead of back home,” I say. “For Owen’s birthday.”
She gives me a dry look. “Do you think Kelsey would have welcomed me at the party?”
“I guess not. Is Eric just trying to guilt-trip you?”
Mom collects her purse and heads to the door. “One of the women in the register said trying to determine motivations is futile. I find that’s as good a philosophy now as it was two hundred years ago.”
“He’s a dick.”
Her head snaps back to me. “Luling. He is your brother.”
“So?”
“So. Enough.”
I know that tone. I wait until she’s out the door to mumble a few choice names for my brother when she can’t hear, then join her at the elevator. She’s frowning at the buttons. “Mom?”
“I liked that art set.”
That’s all she says. We leave my building, and her mood slowly improves with the warm sun. We collect the plants and soil from the corner store, and when we get to Auntie’s Closet, I find the shovel belonging to the previous owner, who for some reason left it when she sold to Ana, along with three circular saws and a welding mask. Mom has gone back to her own imperturbable self. She runs her hands over the lavender and I do the same with the rosemary, for the pleasure of releasing their oils.
The first hour is all heavy labor, as we need to pull fragments of broken patio stone from in front of the store to make the space. Mom goes to get cold drinks as I break up the dirt and turn it over. It’s compacted like concrete.
“Oh, a garden!” Krystal stops on the sidewalk. “That’s going to be pretty.”
We chat for a minute before she tells me to hold on, she’ll be right back. When she returns, it’s with a few shiny rocks. “Plant them in the corners for good luck,” she says.
“Thanks, Krystal.”
She winks. “I know you think it’s woo-woo shit, but do it anyway.”
I’ve never had much of a community in the other places I’ve lived. In fact, I’ve been much like a bird, ready to fly at the slightest sound. Here, I’m building a nest, and I like it.
Mom comes back. “Put your hat on.”
I do and we take a break, blinking in the sun. It’s nice to be outside, looking at nothing much in particular. Mondays are always slow in the market; they’re one of the times it becomes a place you can see as an actual neighborhood, rather than simply a destination.
