Page 44 of Three Meows

“You’re right,” I replied. “This section contains plants that need very specific conditions to survive.”

He nodded, taking in the sprawling greenery around him. “It almost looks fake,” he murmured.

“This greenhouse is a feat of engineering. Look up.” I gestured toward the ceiling. “There are special lights to provide enough sun during winter, and climate controls regulate the moisture in the air. Sprinklers and irrigation systems keep everything hydrated. There’s even equipment to measure CO2 levels. Thanks to all this, you can even find tropical plants here.”

I waved him deeper into the glass-covered space, and he followed eagerly. I swear there was a bounce in his step as he followed after me like an eager puppy. His excitement reminded me of my younger self, learning about plants from my mother. For a moment, I closed my eyes, letting the memory wash over me.

When I opened them again I led Elijah to the section with desert plants to stand in front of a collection of succulents and cacti. Their shapes and textures were mesmerizing — spiky, plump, smooth, and sharp. Big and small.

Elijah’s eyes widened as he spotted the biggest cactus in the room, its towering spines reached almost to the ceiling.

“I don’t think we have space for something that big in our flat,” he teased.

“You’re right, we don’t,” I agreed with a laugh. “But look here.” I pointed to the base of the cactus, where smaller plants were arranged in an intricate display. The terrain was tiered, peppered with sand, gravel, large stones, and tiny pebbles to create an illusion of a more natural space.

“Aww, cute little ones,” Elijah cooed at the plant life as one would at a kitten.

“See?” I said. “There are plenty of smaller ones — small enough to fit on a windowsill. You could take one of these. Or ten,” I added with a wink.

Elijah stammered. “I couldn’t! I mean… I could just buy some cacti from Walmart or something.”

I stared at him, aghast.

“Absolutely not. You have a chance to get your plants from a garden created by a renowned horticulturist and you want to settle forWalmartinstead?” I crossed my arms. “That’s it. You’re gettingtwenty.”

“Ten is enough!” he protested, his voice rising in alarm.

I turned away, hiding a smirk. He didn’t realize he’d already lost the battle when he started bargaining.

“Here’s the deal,” I said. “Pick at least one cactus or succulent now, and we’ll negotiate about the rest later.”

“Deal,” he said quickly, clearly relieved.

I watched as he crouched to examine the display. He hesitated between a plump, stone-like succulent that looked suspiciously like butt cheeks, and a small cactus with a vivid red flower. Whichever one he chose, I planned to grab both.

In the end, the blooming cactus was his pick. I led him further into the greenhouse, knowing the fun had only just begun. Thesewere only two sections of the greenhouse and the rest contained many wonders.

We spent nearly an hour wandering through the massive space. Elijah ran his fingers over delicate petals, his eyes wide as he admired the vivid colors of berries and blooms.

This place felt timeless — not just because winter had no impact here, but because it hadn’t changed at all since I last visited. That visit, years ago, was just after my mother’s funeral. I came here hoping to find comfort, but all I found was emptiness — a deep ache that wouldn’t go away.

In my grief, I had destroyed several plants. They had been replaced as if my tantrum hadn’t happened at all, and the garden was now more pristine than ever. Every plant seemed perfectly chosen, each one working in harmony with the others, whether aesthetically or symbiotically.

Back then, every plant was tended with love by my mother. She used to say those plants were my siblings, and she doted on them as if they were her children. Now, the garden was maintained by hired staff, who upheld the status quo but never added to it. The space felt frozen in time. Forgotten and unexchangeable.

But as I watched Elijah fawn over the plants, eagerly picking his favorites — first five, then eight — I realized something. Maybe this garden didn’t have to stay the same forever. Perhaps it could stay amonument, an epitaph to my mum, but from it something new could grow. Something beautiful and alive and thriving. A little fragment of my mother’s legacy that I could carry forward but shape myself.

Elijah pointed at another flower. “What about this one?” he asked.

I told him everything I knew about it, sharing the tale of how stubborn the plant was and how mum spent many an hour fretting over it. Only after several minutes it occurred to me totell Elijah the fact that it wouldn’t survive in our flat without temperature controls.

He looked at me with that little furrow between his brows, which told me he was thinking too much. “Say, Lisa, it seems like you really love plants too,” he said slowly. “Why don’tyouhave any in your flat? Is it… because you just moved in a few months ago?” Elijah was giving me an easy out, but I didn’t take it.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “For the longest time, I couldn’t even look at flowers. They reminded me too much of my mum.”

“Oh,” he said softly. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” I interrupted. “Actually, you’ve made it better. I was afraid to come here, but now that I did it, I’m glad.”

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