Page 44 of Sweet Silver Bells
He supposed it could be funny, explaining to the neighborhood that his little house exploded from wild holiday plants.
Your willingness to accept that was awfully fast, Hunter.
Olivia held her hand out over the leaves, petting them, and like a cat, Hunter swore he could almost hear it purr back at her. She hummed, the leaves curling under in response, comforted,nurtured, the red color brightening even more. Hunter had never seen a natural color so brilliant.
“Where should we put them?” Hunter asked.
“They are asking for more light,” she said. “The poor things have been practically deprived, but still bloom to the best of their ability. They are valiant, strong.” She lowered her voice, speaking to the plants, “I’m proud of you all.”
There was no tune to her voice, but the plants still reacted, shooting up, each growing four or five feet, nearly tumbling over as the shiny gold foil paper that held their plastic container crinkled with ferocity. Olivia beamed at them, her children.
Hunter put his hands on his face and bent, crouched down to brace himself. There was no silence once the foil stopped resisting, no cracking of the containers that split down the middle, no dirt flooding the floor. Instead, his ears were immediately hit with an uncontrollable, free laughter. Hunter looked up at Olivia, partially hidden by the foliage surrounding her. Her hands were on her belly, and her face was pointed at the ceiling as her body shook from joy.
Hunter wasn’t sure if he should be offended or not.
You probably should.
“I didn’t know what was going to happen,” he said, and stood awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, grimacing.
“Are you scared of me, Hunter?” she asked, and the laughter finally ran out of her body like helium being squeezed from a balloon. The energy was lighter; there was a joy in his living room that wasn’t there before, that hadn’t existed in any way.
“Terrified, if we are being honest.” He chuckled.
It wasn’t a lie.
“I think I rather enjoy that.” She tenderly moved her hands through the poinsettias that now stood at her eye level. “I suppose we could move them in front of each window. They will need larger pots. Do you have any to spare?”
Hunter shook his head, bewildered that he would be expected to have such a thing lying around.
Maybe for her, you should.
“I can get some. I can go now if you’d like. I can bring back some takeout, too.”
“Take out?” Olivia cocked her head.
“Food prepared in a kitchen, a restaurant,” he clarified. “Catering, perhaps.”
She nodded.
“What kind of food did you eat in the forest?”
“I stood in the rain, I soaked up the moisture from the soil, I pulled in vitamins from the sunshine when I dipped my toes out of the edges of the trees.”
You’re going to make this as hard as possible for me.
“Olivia, what did you like to eat before you became a part of the bark?”
“Hmmmm.” She smiled. “I don’t remember eating much. I was always a bit of a waif as a child. I suppose that I appreciated sweets and beautiful pastries that were displayed near the champagne fountains on birthdays and during balls.”
“During Christmas?” Hunter asked.
She nodded again.
“If I leave to get sturdy pots for the poinsettias, will the house still be standing when I return?”
Olivia smirked. “Perhaps.”
“How does it work?” Hunter asked. “The plants grew without you singing. You only spoke to them that time.”
