Olivia

Day 1

It came the day after she passed. 

A white parcel with no label. As I gazed at the package sitting on our living room table, I struggled to see why something—anything—had showed up for me at all.

“It’s been here a few days,” my roommate called from the kitchen. “It looked a little suspicious, but we didn’t open it.”

I touched it gingerly. Someone at UPS must have goofed. There was no return address, let alone anything to identify the sender. And though there was no text indicating “Fragile Contents,” I had to imagine, once I peered inside, the contents may have liked a say in the matter.

It was a house plant. The poor thing came potted and everything; a milk-white ceramic base cradled its delicate roots, and bamboo shoots supported its webbed leaves. I placed it on a small table in the corner of the room.

At two and a half feet, it was an impressive specimen—at least, it must have been at some point. Unfortunately for my new “housemate,” I’d been away at a funeral. There wasn’t enough love to spare for another.

My roommate joined me in the living room, a bowl of Kraft mac and cheese in hand.

“Looks a little worse for wear,” he said in between bites.

Indeed, it did. Of the five leaves I counted, three were withered, a dusty gray overtaking shades of green and yellow. Another leaf was on its way out, its stem drooping slightly, but noticeably. The fifth was desperately clinging to life; its edges flirted with brown, but it was holding its own in the battle for nourishment. Perhaps there was hope.

“Did it come with instructions?” I asked.

“How would I know? I said we didn’t open it.”

I rummaged through the box. While I found no instructions, I did find a miniature watering can, buried within the packaging. The light of the room reflected off its metallic surface—gold, of all colors. I found it ironic; like King Midas, I had a golden touch, but wasn’t having much luck with it.

* * *

Day 4

Thursday morning. My routine was the same as always: Get up, get dressed, make the bed, brush the curls. Working over Zoom makes the repetition particularly mundane, much as I do love my job.

As soon as the hour hand struck noon, I descended from my “office” into the kitchen. Chicken patty sandwich was the plat du jour, as it always was. As my bun warmed in the toaster oven and my patty sizzled in the microwave, I talked with my roommates, as we always did. The four of us complained about our lives, our jobs, and our loves, as Millennials often do.

The same daily motions—save for one addition. On my way back to my room, I grabbed my holy spritzer and made it rain upon my plant. My roommates crowded behind me, peeking over my shoulder like schoolkids observing an ant hill.

“What are you going to name it?” one joked.

“I donno,” I said, taking the suggestion seriously.

“Do you even know what kind of plant it is?” a second gibed.

“Man, I don’t even know who sent it.” 

Three days, and I still couldn’t figure it out. I fumbled with my smartphone and scrolled through past text messages. Email threads. Discord messages. Nothing.

If I couldn’t find the sender, at least I could entertain my friends with what, exactly, this thing was. They suggested I search the app store for a program that could recognize a plant based on a camera pic. To my surprise, there were several apps that popped up. 

I put the mysterious house guest into frame. “Say cheese!” I said, before snapping away.

The phone had an answer within seconds. It was called a Monstera. According to the description, some call it a Swiss cheese plant, based on the slits in its leaves. The first thing I thought of was Frankenstein’s monster.

“A Monstera, huh?” my third roommate quipped. “Never heard of it.”

“Gotta make up your mind on that name,” said roommate number one, who hadn’t missed a beat.

“Why’s that?” I asked.

He went silent. “It helps with the healing.” He was serious.

I paused and thought about that, long after my roommates returned to their rooms to squint at their laptops and pluck at their keyboards.

* * *

Day 18

We were in a good rhythm. Water away, wait a few days, see what comes from it. I’d never taken care of a house plant before, but I had taken to this one quickly.

Its leaves came back quicker than I’d expected. A roommate had taught me how to snip what was dead and make room for whatever came next. At first I’d doubted whether we could save it; perhaps I’d missed my shot. But sure enough, as if to quell my fears, my Monstera formed new roots, which turned to shoots, which turned to leaves.

I took inventory. Three dead leaves, two browning, four just beginning. I felt a smile cross my face, and had the sudden urge to exhale. It seemed the worst was behind us.

I had another urge, one to name it in honor of her.

And so I did. Olivia.

* * *

Day 32

I’m not sure why it took a month to run this thing to ground. Surely, whoever sent the mysterious Monstera—Olivia—would have revealed themself by now. That’s what I initially figured—but my anonymous gifter had other plans.

By the time I finally found out, my plant was perking up nicely. 11 leaves. One had grown to touch the window sill, as if it were reaching for the sun. Spring had sprung, and my Monstera was bouncing and grooving.

The message came via Slack. It was from a co-worker—formerly my company’s top-performing salesperson, currently my boss’s boss, always a trusted friend. It was a simple message, one that caught my eye even as I struggled, coffee in hand, to come alive at 9am.

So, how’s my baby doing?

I parsed the words, sipping from my French brew. It suddenly hit me.

You sent it?!

I watched the screen as my co-worker typed a response, wondering what the story was.

I heard about your grandmother. I’m sorry.

Another message followed.

Monsteras are full of life. Figured it would brighten your day.

I found a smile cross my face once more.

It almost died, you know. But it’s coming back now.

Make sure it gets plenty of sun.

I will.

I’m sure we talked work that day. I’m sure we did. But on Day 32 without Grandma, that was the conversation that stuck with me.

* * *

Day 65

Olivia has a buddy next to her now, currently nameless. I “stole” it from a Sheraton hotel downtown. (I took it, with permission, during a work conference.)

I considered giving the plant to the co-worker who’d given me mine. She’d contracted COVID, right before the week of the conference. I wanted to pay back her kindness—but when I texted her to tell her about my gift, she surprised me again.

Keep it. I have hundreds.

I don’t think she was exaggerating. She wasn’t the type to embellish.

Before I had a chance to respond, she sent me a follow-up.

The first was for grief. Let the second be for joy.

Heart emoji.