Page 42 of The Problem with Falling
His shoulders dropped slightly, and he fiddled his hands together nonstop, forming fists repeatedly before letting them go. “Oh. Okay.”
I sat next to him and copied his hand gestures.
We were quiet, staring out at the lakefront, uncertain if any words could make things better. I wondered what Peter did this time to push Jensen over the edge. Even though he said he was fine, he seemed extra tense that morning. Extra fragile. To the point that if I tapped my finger against his shoulder blade, he’d shatter into a million pieces.
I rested my hands on my lap for a second before I flicked my pointer finger across my nose. I pointed toward the right corner of my land. “Was thinking of getting that area dug up to plant a garden. Figured maybe you could help with the build.”
Jensen looked up for a moment and huffed before dropping his head back down. “Don’t do that, Theo.”
“Do what?”
“Try to make me feel better.”
“I ain’t trying to make you feel better. I’m telling you I want a fucking garden.”
“I’ve been trying to get you to plant a garden for years. Why now?” he quipped.
Because you’re sad, idiot.
With a shrug, I let out a small breath. “I’m sick of buying overpriced tomatoes.”
Jensen snickered.
A laugh.
I’d take a laugh.
“How big of a garden are you talking?” he questioned.
“Giant,” I expressed. “Grandma would love some squash. Zucchini. All kinds of things she could add to her sourdoughs, honestly.”
“Some red peppers could be good,” Jensen commented, sitting up a bit straighter. He gestured toward the area. “You could probably get a good herb garden going, too, if we space everything correctly.”
“You think? I figured it could all grow together. Spacing be damned.”
“Spacing be damned?!” Jensen remarked with a look of shock.
“Language,” I scolded.
“You said it first.” He tossed his hands up in a frenzy. “But the idea of just tossing together a garden without a plan is wild.”
“Oh?” I shrugged. “Didn’t think it mattered.”
“That’s because you don’t think, bonehead,” he commented, standing to his feet. “Lucky for you, I stopped by. I can whip up a plan and something for the landscape of it all, if you want.”
I tossed my hands up in surrender. “Only if you feel up for it.”
“What’s the budget?”
“Balls to the walls. Bring me your best A-game landscaping, and we’ll make it come to life.”
His eyes lit up. “Balls to the walls?”
“Don’t say balls. That’s not very gentlemanly of you.”
“You said balls.”
“I’m not a gentleman.”
