Page 55 of Fun Together
She sighs and waits for me to say something.
“I’m at Andrew’s place and I think I killed one of his plants.”
“That’s even worse. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
“This is bad.”Faye bends down so she’s at eye-level with the dead leaf.
“I know.”
“These are impossible to kill,” we both say at the same time.
“Should I just pull the dead leaf off?” I ask, reaching out to touch it.
She grabs my wrist. “No!” She lets go and says, “That could make the plant freak out and decide to self-mutilate it’s other leaves.”
I widen my eyes. “Plants can self-mutilate?”
“Yes.” She looks unsure. “I think.”
“Is that why that one is called a monster?”
She looks to where I’ve pointed to a large plant in the corner of Andrew’s living area and giggles. “That’s amonstera.”
“Are there, like, plant doctors? Maybe someone in the agriculture department at State could help.”
She rubs her hands up and down the tops of her bare arms. “That could be an option.”
I walk over to the thermostat and turn it up a couple of degrees. Maybe I gave the plant hypothermia when I adjusted the room temperature last night? Andrew keeps his apartment at a sauna-like temperature, and I couldn’t take it. “Maybe I should just hide it.”
“Hide it?” She looks skeptical. “From the man who paid someone to create an app where he could track his plant inventory and health?”
“I’m so dead.”
She walks around the small table. “When’s the last time you watered it?”
“Um, two days ago.” I know it wasn’t yesterday because I had a softball game then crashed afterward. The day before that I was involved in a minor traffic incident that resulted in three-hour AutoZone visit. “Give or take.”
“Let’s give it a little water and see how it looks tomorrow. No reason to worry just yet.”
“Good idea. Maybe it just senses that Andrew isn’t around, and this is some type of plant separation anxiety or something?” How do these things survive in nature?
“Sure, or that.” She looks around. I see her eye the empty pizza box sitting on the kitchen counter, and then the duffle bag sitting on the dining table. “Are you staying here?”
“Oh, uh, yeah. I figured the place was sitting empty and only a few nights. And . . . . the plants were lonely?”
Plus, it momentarily got me out of my parent’s house. I forgot how nice it is not to share your space with decades of family junk. I’m hoping Andrew won’t mind. Again, I didn’t want to bother him on his trip to ask. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
“Andrew doesn’t know you’re sleeping here?” The way she asks this confirms that I am making a mistake by not asking him. But what’s the harm, really? It’s not like I’m using his toothbrush.
“He’ll be back in a few weeks, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt anything.”
“It’s your funeral,” she says, grabbing her purse from where she’d placed it on the kitchen counter.
I don’t want her to leave yet. “Let me buy you dinner. As a thank you for helping me.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she says. “I didn’t really help that much anyway.”
“As a thank you for the emotional support, then. How about Mexican food?”
