HOW TO CARE FOR HOUSEPLANTS
Ellie saw the class advertised on her local café’s noticeboard. It was the illustration that caught her eye: an abundance of watercolour snake plants and potted succulents jostling for space among a few typed words. “Do your houseplants droop when you so much as look at them? Are you sick of killing your cacti?”
For years Ellie had tried to cheer her basement apartment with greenery, but nothing ever lasted beyond a few weeks. Her bedroom was a graveyard of houseplants.
“Sorry I’m late!”
When she put the class in her diary she’d been determined to be on time. But then her boss had emailed asking if she “wouldn’t mind being a lifesaver” and doing some work over the weekend. Her neighbour June needed help with her food shopping and her sister had called wanting to off-load about an argument with her in-laws. The time rushed on and Ellie realised she’d forgotten to have breakfast again and hadn’t brushed her hair and only had five minutes to get to the village hall.
The instructor, a young woman in a leather apron, looked up as Ellie stepped nervously inside.
“Hi! There’s a space on that table over there.”
Ellie mumbled another apology as she took the empty seat next to a man with dark brown hair and a friendly smile. She was a little relieved to notice that his hair looked just as unbrushed as hers.
“Hey, I’m Matt,” he whispered as the instructor turned back to her table of plants, saying something about overwatering and humidity. “So, you’re a plant-killer, too?”
Ellie laughed.
“The very worst.”
She remembered the potted rose her mother bought her for her last birthday. Ellie had been determined to keep this one alive. But after several weeks of late nights at work and impromptu babysitting of her nephews she glanced one morning at the rose to notice the petals had dropped and the leaves were shrivelled.
Throughout the class the instructor talked through the different types of houseplants and the conditions they need in order to thrive. She told them that plants, like people, just needed a bit of care and attention. She showed them peace lilies and orchids and pretty potted violets. And as the instructor taught, Ellie and Matt whispered back and forth like schoolchildren. They talked about their lives and their failed attempts at indoor gardening. He made her laugh. And as she did she realised that maybe she didn’t laugh enough any more. Not since her life became so busy. Not since she stopped properly looking after herself.
“Do you want to go for a drink, and maybe some food?” he asked her at the end of the session as Ellie slipped her notebook into her bag and stood to leave. She looked at him carefully. His eyes were the colour of ferns. She thought of the email from her boss and the unfinished work that was still waiting for her at home. She pictured her fridge, empty apart from a leftover takeaway. She thought of the rose she neglected until it wilted, and all the other plants she was supposed to love but forgot about along the way.
And as she looked at Matt another image slipped into her mind as quick as a blink. The fire glowing in the local pub. Two glasses of wine and a hot meal shared with this kind stranger who somehow didn’t feel like a stranger. A moment of pause. A little care and attention.
“OK,” she said with a smile, “I’d like that a lot.”
He grinned back at her. And something inside Ellie unfurled and grew.