Page 7 of Love Grows

I shook my head. “I didn’t start running the place until I was thirty. I finished high school then went straight to uni. I was doing an arts degree.” I flipped my hand. “Human rights and social science.”

Steph’s eyes lit up. “That’s a fantastic major to study.”

“Oh. I didn’t finish it. Uni wasn’t for me. My brain wouldn’t work the way it had to, so I couldn’t keep up with the lectures, and the tutorials, and the assignments. Let alone the exams.” I shrugged. “I left after two years.”

Steph continued fondling the leaves. It was very distracting. Suddenly a hot little sizzle, like when your stomach has stumbled onto a rollercoaster going full tilt and you’re gleefully tossing handfuls of glitter while screaming in fear, whispered through my body.

“What did you do then?”

“Well, I started working here. My parents were pretty laid back with the dropping out of uni thing. They just wanted me happy, and working here made me happy. Then I did the diploma and here we are.”

“That’s so understanding.” Steph smiled, then her face fell and she folded her arms. “I went from high school to a year as an exchange student in Italy then to a bachelor of business and economics with an honours year, and then I had to start at my parents’ business.”

That solved my curiosity from last night.

Steph gave a little half smile, almost in resignation. “Seventeen at high school, then twenty-four when I started at middle management. Talk about young. It was a lot.”

I gestured for her to follow. “Sounds it.” Then my curiosity leapt into my frontal lobe again. “If it’s okay to ask, what was your parents’ business?”

Steph’s expression was hard to read. Her face had shut down and I assumed it was because of my question. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean?—”

“Developments,” she answered and went back to fondling fronds.

“Okay.”

Developments was an incredibly vague line of work to be in. All manner of questions filled my mind. Development of what? Developing where? I left the questions unasked because Steph’s expression didn’t invite any more.

“Well, I guess your parents’ business is still going.” Not a question. A statement left hanging.

Steph gave a quick laugh. “It is. My brother runs it. I have a somewhat casual role to play, hence my request to be a member of staff here.”

“And the plants love you already.” I gestured at the tables at the back of the nursery. “And that’s where I utilise my love of social science and wellbeing.”

We made our way over to the tables and I opened a locked cabinet, then swung back the metal grill door to reveal the ten bonsai plants I kept there.

Steph gasped. “They’re beautiful! Where did you get them?” She peered into the large cabinet.

“These lovely specimens were donated by one of our customers who wanted them tended to by people who would appreciate the entire process.” I stroked one of the pots. “These are for my bonsai group: Bonsai Brains.”

Steph looked like she wanted to chuckle but seemed to hold it back, so I smiled which did the trick. She let out a short laugh.

“Bonsai Brains?”

“Yeah, there’s a group of ten teenagers, aged sixteen or seventeen, who come in on Saturday afternoons to spend an hour looking after their particular bonsai. The kids are recommended by the therapist at the private psychiatric hospital in the next suburb. She vets the patients and sends the ones who would benefit the most in my direction. If I’ve got a vacancy that is, which I haven’t at the moment. Bonsai Brains has been full for about four months. It’s therapy for their anxiety or neurodivergence or diagnoses like bipolar. Anything that means their brain stops them from slotting into society easily because society sure doesn’t shuffle over to fit them in.”

Steph held my forearm. “That is amazing. So what happens to the bonsai plant if someone leaves?”

Normally I wave my hands about while I talk but I liked the feel of Steph’s hand on my arm, so I stayed still for a moment.

“They leave the bonsai to the next person. Part of their therapy is the permission to let go. Lots of neurodivergent people have a hard time letting go because it means something in their routine disappears.”

“Change is hard.” Steph let her hand drop and I missed it immediately.

“You’ll be meeting some as they come in today. Be aware, though. You’re a change. They might blank you for a session.”

“I’m in their session?” Steph’s eyes were round.

“No, I run it. You’re in charge of…” I gestured to the entire nursery.

---