The Garden

“Grow up.”

His words felt like a slap in the face. I bit back a gasp on the other end of the phone. I’d heard them before, too many times to count. It was part of growing up with an older brother. But this time they seemed, no they were too harsh. 

“Take it back.” My voice was little more than a whisper. Jordan snorted, which stung even worse. 

“Grow up, Maysie. It’s time to let it go.” 

Let it go? 

He hung up, leaving me alone in the silence that filled my car. My breathing was ragged, but I wouldn’t let myself cry. I couldn’t let him win, let him prove that I was weak. 

I dropped my phone on the passenger seat and gripped my steering wheel with white knuckles and imagined pounding my fists against the horn, over and over and over, until the whole neighborhood was awake. Until they all knew that Maysie Hale had had enough. Instead, my hands trailed limply down to my lap, too exhausted to feel anything. I gathered my phone and purse, pushed open the door, and made my way to the house. 

I wouldn’t be living here much longer. I knew I couldn’t afford the rent, but the thought of leaving home made my throat tighten every time I looked at the “for sale” sign out front. That was the reason I’d called Jordan. I’d come home from a long day at the community college, only to be confronted with the fact that there was no one here to greet me. Soon even the familiarity of our tiny brick house would vanish just like everything else. 

Jordan had no sympathy. He’d left home a year ago, as soon as he’d been old enough to join the military. He was training at some boot camp, pushing down every emotion I couldn’t seem to ignore. He had grown up. Maybe that had made things easier. Maybe his harsh words had been the brotherly advice I’d called him searching for in the first place. 

Grow up.

“Maysie, are you with us?” 

My eyes jerked up to meet those of my physics professor. They were warm, dark eyes, like mom’s. Like Jordan’s. But right now there was a crease between them. Professor Laughlin was worried about me. I half-remembered hearing my name called moments before, at least once. It wasn’t the first time I had drifted off during roll call. 

Drifted off. 

Where to, I couldn’t say. Nowhere in particular, just somewhere. That was the only way to describe the feeling that was somewhere between being underwater and in a dream. 

I cleared my throat and said, “Present,” tucking my hair behind my ears and straightening in my seat. 

Grow up. 

“A word, Maysie?” 

I took a deep breath and turned from the door to face Professor Laughlin. I nodded, descending the aisle to reach her. 

“How are you?” 

The words weren’t meaningless small talk; she genuinely cared about the answer. And she knew it wasn’t ‘fine’. 

“Well, I still haven’t found a place to live, so that’s… stressful.” I could only force half a smile, and even then, it felt like a grimace.

The crease between her eyes deepened. 

“Is there a deadline for your house search?”

“The new owners are moving in next weekend.” 

“Don’t you have an older brother?”

“He’s in Florida. At a military base.” 

“I see.” She pressed her lips into a thin line and looked past me, thinking. Her next words were the last thing I expected to hear.

“Do you mind getting your hands dirty?” 

Two days later, I was pulling into Professor Laughlin’s driveway, two suitcases in tow. The rest of my belongings I had stashed in a storage area. My tires stirred up a cloud of dust as I bumped along the dirt lane. I came to a halt next to a graceful weeping willow. The house was white. And huge. I gave the dust a second to settle down before opening my door. 

Everywhere I turned was green. To one side, beyond a fence, was a field of waving grass, and between the house and the field was a garden. Chicken wire surrounded rows of flowers in every color I had ever seen. A glint from the opposite side of the house caught my eye. A giant greenhouse stood on the other side of the willow. 

Do you mind getting your hands dirty?

She was a gardener. The question now was, 

Does she expect me to garden?

I examined my hands. My mom’s engagement ring was on my right, where it had been since the accident. Normally my nails would have been coated in polish, sometimes a different color for each one. But lately, I hadn’t even thought to paint them. If there was nothing to keep clean, maybe getting them dirty wouldn’t kill me. 

I occupied myself for a day and a half with unpacking my suitcases and organizing my belongings in the guest bedroom Professor Laughlin had given me. But spring break had just begun, and that meant spare time. Too much spare time. No distractions from my brother’s words, still ringing in my ears.

Grow up. 

I shook myself, clambering off the bed where I’d been sitting numbly for an hour. It was time to do something. Anything. I left to find Professor Laughlin. 

She was in the flower garden, on her hands and knees in the dirt, wearing a straw sunhat and gloves. I smiled. Who would have pictured my prim physics professor in this position? 

She noticed me and waved me over, standing up and tossing a weed into a bucket. 

“Is there something I can help you with, Professor?” I almost winced at how desperate my question had sounded. 

Please, give me something to do.

Grow up. 

She laughed, shaking her head, and my heart sank. But all she said was, 

“My name’s Rosalynn. Not Professor.” 

She tossed me a second pair of garden gloves. Apparently she’d been waiting for me to join her. She showed me the best way to pull stubborn weeds, made sure I could tell them apart from the flowers, and let me at it. Weeding her garden was strangely satisfying. With each root I ripped from the earth, I imagined another painful memory being pulled from my mind. Before long, there was nothing left, just the warm sun on my back and the smell of the earth.

The freedom was incredible. 

“You’re a hard worker,” Rosalynn said, as I rinsed the last bits of dirt off my hands in the kitchen sink, leaving just a little under my fingernails. 

“I need something to distract me,” I replied, then pressed my lips shut. I’d been filtering my words to everyone so carefully in the last few months. How had I let that slip out?

Grow up.

“Well, I can provide plenty of distractions for you, while you’re here,” Rosalynn promised, smiling warmly. “But I hope by the time you leave, you’ll be able to stand up to your pain, rather than running away.”

She walked away, placing a hand on my shoulder as she passed. Her words had been so gentle, yet they carried the same message as my brother’s.

Grow up. 

Every day I worked with Rosalynn, pulling weeds or watering the flower garden, or harvesting vegetables from the greenhouse. And every evening, we sat in her living room, combing through newspaper and online apartment advertisements. Each day, the numbness I’d been feeling was peeled away. When I was busy with Rosalynn, working and chatting and laughing, I felt light, strong. I felt good, better than I had in months. But every night, I cried myself to sleep. That felt good, too. 

I’d expected the work to distract me, to keep my mind from remembering Mom’s smile and Dad’s laugh. But I remembered them more and more as I worked, recalling some of their favorite phrases. 

Do or do not. There is no try. 

Yoda. My dad’s favorite fictional character of all time. He had fought my mom to dress me up as the tiny green character my first Halloween. He had won. 

The only way to do great work is to love what you do. 

Steve Jobs. In high school my mom had urged me to write a research paper on him after discovering that quote. Hours of blood sweat and tears had gone into that paper. But my mom had supplied me with all the coffee and blueberry muffins I’d needed to finish it. 

My parents had always encouraged hard work. That was why they’d been so proud of Jordan when he’d joined the army. I wondered if that was why he thought he had to work so hard now. Why he thought both of us needed to grow up and let it go. To keep making them proud. 

“Jordan?” My voice shook, but only barely. I hoped he didn’t notice. I hadn’t spoken to him in weeks. Neither of us had dared to call the other since his harsh words. 

Grow up. 

I had no idea how he would respond, and his first word seemed as tentative as mine.

“Hey.”

“Jordan.” I sagged in relief. “I have something to tell you.”

“Yeah?”

“I - I found an apartment to rent.”

“Oh, I’m glad.” He sounded so sincere, so caring, like the brother I had grown up loving. But there was a strain behind his words. Something was still unsettled between us. 

“There’s something else.” I took a deep breath. “I’m growing up.”

“Maysie,” he began, sounding guilty, but I cut him off.

“But I’m never going to let it go. To let them go.”

A rattling sigh came through the phone.

“I’m such an idiot.” His voice sounded tight, barely more than a whisper. I waited.

“I never meant - I don’t want you to…” He gulped, and I realized he was crying. Jordan Hale, the soldier, was crying. 

“Listen, Maysie.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for what I said.” 

“I know,” I whispered. 

“I was just worried about you. You’ve only been half yourself since they’ve been gone, only a shell of the Maysie I know and love. And I know Mom and Dad would have hated to see you like that, too. So. I was just saying, even though we’ll never forget them…” Jordan sighed.

“We have to go on living without them.” I finished. 

“Yeah.” He sniffed. “Maysie?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

A smile spread slowly across my face. 

“Love you, too.”

“That’s the last of it.” Rosalynn shut the drawer in my new dresser, finishing the process of unpacking my things. 

“Thanks,” I said, spreading a blanket on the bed. I crossed to give her a hug. “Thank you for everything.” 

She squeezed my shoulders. 

“Oh, I almost forgot, I have something for you.” 

She disappeared from the room, returning with a potted orchid. Its petals were white, like a blank piece of paper, the color of beginnings. 

“Thank you.” I was surprised to find a lump in my throat, blocking my voice. This flower wasn’t just a gift. It was a reminder of what I’d been through, what I’d learned, the pain I had felt and the memories I’d cherished in Rosalynn’s garden. 

“You’ve grown so much in the last week, Maysie,” my professor said, a glint of motherly pride in her eyes. “I’ve watched it happen. And now you need something to grow with you.”