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“Sure. They look good together.”
She kneels down at the edge of the lily garden. “Tell me about calla lilies.”
I hand her a pair of gloves and shears. “Well, first of all, calla lilies aren’t technically lilies.”
She looks disappointed to hear this.
“They’re classified in a different family. The botanist who discovered it made a mistake, but by the time they realized it, the name had stuck. A true lily has six separate petals—actually, three sepals and three petals. A calla lily has a spathe,” I say, tracing my fingertip along the delicate curved edge of a purple calla. I glance over to see her bite her lower lip, because yeah, it does kind of look like a vagina. “It’s not even considered a petal. And it protects this spadix here…” I point to the round-tipped yellow spike at the center of the flower. “The spadix is actually made up of a bunch of tiny flowers. You probably can’t tell, but the spadix is a bit fragrant. To attract bees.”
“Say ‘spadix’ again.”
“Spadix.”
“God, you make it sound so sexy.”
I smile and continue with my lesson. “As much as a calla lily may look like a human vulva, there are in fact, tiny male flowers, at the tip of the spadix, and the female reproductive organs are deeper inside, near the bottom. Of the spadix.” I point to the stem. “Cut them near the base. At an angle. Put them in water right away.”
Instead of an eye roll and a sarcastic comment, I get a grin and a nod.
“Calla lilies are very adaptable. They’re native to South Africa, but they’ve naturalized in western Europe and the US. They have pretty powerful defense mechanisms, even though they look really elegant and innocent. They’re very toxic.”
“You don’t say.”
“They produce calcium oxalate to protect themselves from predators. If a mammal tries to eat it, there can be burning sensations, irritation, dehydration, possibly even death.”
“Well, maybe it’s worth it.”
No comment.“Calla lilies like it wet.”
“Well, I never.”
“But not soggy.”
“I get that.”
“And one of their methods for adapting to their environment is the water stoma, which rids the plant of excess water. To prevent it from drowning.”
“How does it do that?”
“It’s called guttation. If there’s too much moisture in the soil, all this pressure forms in the roots of the plant, pushing the water up and out through the pores of the leaves…These other lilies in the middle and back, farther away from the sprinklers, they need medium watering. They’ll bloom in about a month, and most of these are really fragrant. They’ve got the stamens and pistils, and…” I look over at Lily, who has been quiet for longer than usual.
Her eyelids are heavy, her breaths shallow. “You wanna go inside real quick?”
I look over at my dad, who’s got earbuds in now—probably listening to a history podcast. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I took a slightly longer break.
“Race you,” I say, dropping everything and sprinting toward the patio. “Is Vicky here?”
“Nope!”
When we get to the front hall, I slow down to let her go up the stairs first. Because I’m a gentleman and because I will never pass up an opportunity to get a look at that ass. We’re both shirtless by the time we’re in her bedroom. I shut the door behind myself, and my pants are off. Lily flings herself facedown onto the bed, crawls over to the bedside table to grab a condom, and then flips over, leaning back on her elbows.
“Take off my pants for me, would you?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” She has already unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans. I peel them off her down to her knees and then yank them all the way off. She’s wearing plain white cotton panties, and damned if it doesn’t somehow look just as sexy as her tiny lacy numbers.
“Now get out that stamen and give it to my pistil good,” she says with a straight face, tossing the condom package at me.
That’s really not how it works, botanically speaking, but she’ll get it good anyway.
