Page 36 of Shit Happens in Ivydell

Granting Yourself Permission

I finish painting Jensen’ssign and decide to refresh mine while I’m at it. It doesn’t occur to me until I’m done that maybe I should’ve asked for permission before I altered mine. It feels so natural to call it mine, but it’s not.

What’s done is done.

It had to be done, really. The pots I bought for the extra marigolds are bright and bold. The faded sign would’ve looked even more shabby next to them.

Maybe I could freshen up all the signs. That’s a way I could contribute to help make things look nice for the festival, and leave a small remembrance that I was here. That I was a part of Ivydell for a brief while.

While Jensen’s sign dries, I walk over to Petra’s casita to confirm it’s okay if I repaint everyone’s. She’s gathering herbs from her aging greenhouse. The plastic panels are yellowed from the sun.

I crack the door. “Can I come in?”

“Get in here. I could use an extra set of hands.”

The smell is intoxicating. Herbal scents have always been my favorite, and with this many of them combined, I could sit out here for hours. “What do you need me to do?”

She hands me a small wooden bowl. “Pick some spearmint leaves for me.”

“Sure.” I stand across from her at a table of herbs that I’m positive is all mint, but they’re not all the same.

“Which one is the spearmint?”

“Brighter green with the larger, more textured leaves. Peppermint is smoother and darker green. Purple stems.”

“Ah, okay.” I pluck a bright green leaf and give it a sniff before I put it in the bowl, just to be sure. Yep, that’s definitely spearmint.

“Something on your mind?”

“I was wondering if it would be okay if I repainted all the signs for the casitas. To freshen them up before the festival.”

“No, that’s not necessary.”

“But can I do it just because I want to?”

She scowls like I’m trying her patience. I don’t mean to be, but I expected her to say yes. Figured asking was a formality. Never imagined she’d say no. We’re doing other things to make the place visually appealing. Why not update the signs?

“It’s just that the signs—”

“I might have already updated mine,” I blurt, fearing she’s about to reveal something sentimental and meaningful that will make me feel ten times worse about changing mine without her blessing.

She sighs, but laughter chases it. “You know what? I think it’s the perfect tribute to her.”

“Oh, shit. Was Gran the last person who painted them?”

“She was. And I think she’d absolutely love to have her granddaughter freshen them up. Go for it.”

“I’d like to leave yours alone if that’s okay with you.” It feels like the best way to honor both her and Gran.

“I think her ghost would kick my ass if I let you do that. The brush has been passed. You are now the official sign painter of Ivydell.”

“Perfect. I’ll come back around in another thirty years when they’re due for their next makeover.”

A curtain of sorrow passes over her face. She tries to pretend nothing is wrong, tells me that filling the bowl with spearmint leaves is the cost of my painting permit.

Dammit. She’s in her seventies, and I just told her I’d see her again in thirty years. Could I commit any more blunders today?

As I continue to pick the mint leaves, the release of the oils perfumes the air between us. It’s a mood lifter, and before long, Petra’s face is free of any sadness. And I feel slightly less guilty for being an oblivious asshole.

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