First-Time Gardeners

“Hey,” she says to me, jabbing my arm with her elbow. “Look outside.”

Outside, snow remained in persistent patches around our yard atop sickly yellow blades “It’s the same as yesterday,” I say. “Cold and dead.”

Suddenly, her hands are gripping my face, and she turns my head swiftly to the left. “Right there!” she exclaims, releasing my face to point towards a slash of green poking through the snow. “Isn’t she beautiful?” she asks. I roll my eyes, prompting another elbow jab.

“Alright,” I say. “She’s beautiful.”

“I’m gonna name her,” she says, staring intently at the bud. “I’m thinking maybe Lily, but I don’t think she’s a Lily, so that might get confusing. Maybe Emily? Emilily?” She laughs at her own joke, and I laugh at her laughing at her own joke. “See, I’m funny,” she says, misinterpreting what caused my laughter. “I don’t know; what should we name her?”

“Oh, it’s we now? I thought you were gonna name her.” After I say this, her expression dims. Her smile disappears, her vision locked solemnly on the world outside our window. Her nails dig indents into the soft edge of the windowpane. “Baby, I was kidding–”

“I mean, we are a we, aren’t we?” she asks, turning to face me. She grabs my hand and squeezes. Her hazel eyes are intense, and my brow furrows as I nod.

“Of course, we’re a we, Baby. We’ve been a we for years now. I love you.” I squeeze her hand in return. “Is everything alright?”

“Why do you hate the springtime?” she asks, avoiding my question.

“I don’t hate the springtime,” I scoff. “I have allergies. I prefer the cold. Some might even call me coldhearted,” I joke. “But I don’t necessarily hate the spring.”

She nods, deep in thought. Her mouth opens to speak, but no words come out. I don’t usually understand why her mood changes so quickly. She doesn’t always have the words to explain it to me. I can always tell when something is wrong, but I can’t always figure out what.

“Unless you want me to hate the spring?” I ask (mostly joking) to cut the silence. She chuckles, shaking her head. Then, tears form in her eyes. My heart starts to race. “Is it flowers? God, I can’t remember the last time I bought you flowers.” She laughs harder, almost nervously, her head continuing to shake. My head spins. I feel sick. I hate it when she cries. “We could plant a whole garden if you want,” I say frantically. “I have no clue how to take care of a garden, but if you want a garden, we can figure out how to take care of a garden together,” I assure her. “We can figure it out.”

Apparently, that was the right thing to say. She stops crying, hazel eyes looking up to me. They close as she takes a deep breath, and another, and another, and another.

“As soon as this snow clears, we’ll plant a garden,” I say. She shakes her head. The back of my mind starts to race again. Didn’t she just want a garden? Does she not want a garden?

“Plants are alive,” she says, stating the obvious. I nod. She continues, “I have always wanted a… garden. You have not expressed any interest in having one. Now, you tell me that if I want a… garden, we can figure it out– together.” I nod again.

“My mom had a garden,” I say. “Didn’t seem too hard.”

“Your mom had a few gardens,” she says. My head tilts to the side. Huh. I thought she only had one. “Your sister– she has a garden. My brother and his wife have a garden.”

“Okay, geez. You obviously know a lot about gardens. I didn’t even know my sister has a garden. I’ll have to ask them for gardening advice,” I say, touching her shoulder. Her brow is raised, and she is searching for something in my eyes. What else does she want me to say?

“Your sister is working on her second garden,” she says.

“Lady, how many gardens do you want?” I laugh. “Our yard isn’t that big.”

“Two to three,” she says without missing a beat. “Eventually we might have to move into a bigger place. I know that you aren’t totally sold on having a garden, especially so young–”

“I think twenty-two is plenty old for a garden, Babe–”

“But gardening is very, very important to me. It always has been. I have always dreamed of having a garden of my own, and if you don’t have your heart completely set on having this garden with me, then…” She trails off as the tears restart, staring back towards Emilily. “Then we can’t be together anymore.” She chokes on her words. “I really don’t want to lose you, and I really don’t want to lose this garden.” Her hands glide gently over her lower abdomen as she cries. When I place my hands over hers, she looks at me.

Suddenly, I think I know where she is going with this conversation, and I think she can tell by the look on my face. I can feel the air on my eyeballs as my eyelids retract, the air on my tongue as my jaw drops. She squeezes my hand. “I know we weren’t planning on having a garden this year, but–”

I cut her off with a kiss and pull her into my arms, my heart pounding, tears of joy streaming down my face. She. Her. Us. She’s beautiful, I think. “You’re beautiful,” I say. I am such an idiot. How did I not understand that sooner? “This is just–” I kiss her again until our smiles cause our teeth to clash together. This is the happiest day of my life.

“So you still want to figure this out… together?” she asks anxiously.

“Of course,” I say. “We’re gonna be the best gardeners on this side of the world.”