Page 33 of Late Bloomer
“Pepper,” I say, widening my eyes and leaning toward her until we’re almost nose to nose. There’s a small catch in her breath, so quiet I wonder if I imagined it.
“Yeah?” she whispers back.
“Overthink it tomorrow. For now, rest that head.” I reach between us, lightly booping her nose with my finger. You’dthink I’d just body-slammed her to the ground with how heavily she falls back, blinking at me with a stunned expression.
I take advantage of the momentary lull in her protests, and slide off the bed, shooting her a wide grin before I leave the room and shut the door behind me.
Diksha’s car rumbles up the gravel drive thirty minutes later, two other people hopping out with her as soon as she cuts the engine.
“How is she?” Diksha asks in greeting, looking up toward the second floor of the cabin like she wants to plow past me and march straight to Pepper’s bedside. It strikes me then how deeply Diksha cares for Pepper, how all her snap and bite is a defense mechanism to protect her friend.
“After I threatened to tie her to the bed if she didn’t stop trying to escape to take care of the flowers, she begrudgingly agreed to rest. Room is nice and dark and quiet.”
Diksha nods, eyes still fixed on Pepper’s window. “Good.”
One of the people with Diksha clears their throat, snapping her out of her trance. “Shit, sorry. Opal, this is my partner, Tal.” Tal gives me a small wave and stilted smile. “And this is our friend, Alfie. We thought another set of hands wouldn’t hurt since it’s already so late in the morning.”
I throw up a peace sign in greeting.
“I brought provisions too,” Alfie says, his British accent brightening each word. He gives me a broad grin as he lifts awoven basket overflowing with baked goods. “Some of Pepper’s favorites.”
“He owns one of the best cafes in Asheville,” Diksha says, snagging a ridiculously large biscuit from the top of the pile and taking a bite.
Alfie rolls his eyes in feigned modesty, waving away her words. He plucks a lemon poppy seed muffin from the mountain of pastries, handing it to me. I’m not sure if I’m PMSing or just emotionally frazzled from seeing Pepper hurting so badly, but the gesture and the smile attached has me getting a bit misty-eyed.
“Thank you all so much for coming to help on such short notice.”
“No ask is too big when it comes to Pepper,” Alfie says.
“We should probably get to it,” Tal says, bundling up their shoulder-length black hair into a sleek ponytail as they march toward the barn, Diksha close behind. Alfie darts into the house to deposit the pastries, and then we both jog to the others.
“Alfie and I can take the snapdragons,” Tal says, nodding to a plot of flowers blooming in a cone shape down the stalks, their bell faces smiling in the sun. “You two want to handle the lilacs?”
Diksha gives Tal an incredulous look, eliciting a sigh from Tal. “We’re the only two that know what to do. It would waste more time to leave them to their own devices,” Tal adds, nodding at me and Alfie.
“Fine,” Diksha says through tight lips, stalking toward the tall lilac trees.
“Love when you talk about me like I’m a toddler,” Alfiesays with a teasing wink, following Tal as they move to their designated plot.
Feeling like more of a nuisance than a help, I follow Diksha to the pale purple blooms. The smell is heavenly, rich and heavy and undeniably sweet. I press my face against the cluster of small flower heads that bow the branches under their magnificent weight.
“Make sure the stem has at least half its buds open,” Diksha says without preamble, gripping a cluster and unpocketing her shears. “And cut pretty far down. You don’t want any of the flower heads to be touching the water in the bucket.”
I watch as she pinches a spot about six inches from the base of the blooms, cutting at a sharp angle. She deposits the stem into a bucket of water, moving quickly and efficiently to the next waiting branch.
It doesn’t exactly seem like rocket science, so I give it a go, grabbing a branch and moving to cut.
“No,” Diksha says, her tone harsh as she grips my wrist. “That’s way too low. You won’t get any regrowth this season if you cut like that.”
She shakes her head, then moves my hands out of the way, cutting the stem and putting it in the bucket.
“Honestly, I can handle this myself,” she says, maneuvering around me as she continues to harvest. “You can go back to the cabin. We’ve got it covered.”
“Why do you dislike me so much?” I blurt out. A deep and sharp type of fear pumps through me at the look Diksha turns my way.
“Excuse me?”
I want to stand down. I want to swallow my words, sprint back to the cabin. Avoid any and all confrontation because, in the end, isn’t that always easier than having rough conversations?
