Page 12 of My Book Boyfriend
“Hey, Miss Lily,” Jade says from the gazebo, where she’s hanging out with a bunch of other teenagers. They wave. I say hello back.
I walk over to my favorite little enclave in the middle of the common juniper, next to a tall, white pine and sit on the iron bench. There’s the smell of wet dirt, pine needles, and possibility. A crow caws. Some birds chirp. A shout and a burst of laughter from the gazebo make me smile. Across the way are the elevated, wooden boxes we’ve built for planting vegetables and fruit covered by tight, iron wiring. Next to them is a milkweed patch for bees and caterpillars. I hope we can do that project again. The children love taking home their caterpillars and then releasing them into the garden when they turn into butterflies.
A sense of peace comes over me.
It will work out.
A mom comes in holding her daughter’s hand. She passes by me. “Hi, Lily. She just wants to see if any of her pansies have come up yet. She’s not very patient.”
On her way back, the mom says, “I saw your poster, and we both wrote letters to Strive Developers asking them to save the garden.” She shows me a picture on her phone of her daughter’s letter, the childish scrawl in black crayon accompanied by pictures of butterflies and daffodils and carrots.
Tears come to my eyes. I get down to her daughter’s height. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
Some things are worth fighting for.I’m just getting started, Strive Developers.
I walk over to Jade and her friends. “Jade, you have a pretty activeTalkTackaccount. Do you think you can create some videos supporting the garden?”
“Sure. That will be fun,” Jade says.
We brainstorm some ideas, and Jade is very enthusiastic.
At six, I lock the entrance to the community garden and walk home. The temperature is dropping again, and people stride by, desperate to return to their warm apartments and families.
I unlock the front door of our building and check my mailbox in the foyer. Another postcard from my dad, this time with a picture of the Taj Mahal.
“Having a great time” is scrawled on the back.
He’s not one for a lot of words. My mom always said he was the strong, silent type. Still. He could write something more or call via WhatsApp, except he refuses to believe me when I tell him it’s free.
I take the elevator up and unlock the door to our apartment just as Aiden comes out of his. He looks like he’s dressed to go out. He’s wearing a white, button-down shirt and a blue jacket with jeans, carrying a small, navy backpack.
“Hi,” he says, smiling. He runs his hand through his blond hair.
“Hi.”
“I’ve missed seeing you these past few mornings,” he says.
We usually leave for work at the same time and bump into each other in the hallway, when he’s not traveling.
“I thought you were away,” I say.
“No. I had to get to the office brutally early for work,” he says. “Trust me. I was not a sight to be seen.”
He comes over to where I stand, my door barely open. Tiger sticks his head in the crack, trying to escape into the hallway.
“Do they like the cat grass?” he asks, standing close, just a little bit closer than necessary, as if he wants to be near me.
“Tiger and Darcy like it. Bennet is a little suspicious.”
“I found you these great reader socks at the airport bookstore. I’m on my way out now, but I’ll drop them off later.”
Socks? That’s not remotely romantic.
But they arereadersocks.
“Did you get a chance to read that Pam Houston short story I sent you?” I ask. In the story, the man always talks about the future but never makes it clear if the woman is included. It seems apt.
“No. Work has been brutal. But I will. And we can discuss it when we next have brunch, okay?” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “I’ve got to go.” He dashes down the stairs.
