exhausted body dragged me into sleep.
And when I woke up, it wasn’t quite as hard to get myself out of bed. There was a tiny kernel of hope that maybe I’d gotten through to Josh. And maybe I’d hear from him.
Even if I didn’t, at least I’d tried. I’d done something. I’d gotten my say. It wasn’t exactly cheering, but it made me feel a little better about this whole breakup thing.
I had to water again. The sun was as searing as ever, even at nine thirty in the morning. I had breakfast with my sisters first. They were quietly watchful but didn’t crowd me with a How’re you doing? inquisition. I showered and threw on a blue sundress. It was the one dress I had that happened to have pockets, which meant I could keep my phone on me at all times. You know, just in case. Then I headed into the backyard.
As soon as I stepped off the laundry room steps, I knew something was wrong.
My mom was standing in front of the garden with one hand covering her mouth. She saw me and took a halting step toward me.
“I just got back from a walk,” she said. “I thought I’d check to see if there were any tomatoes ripe enough for lunch, and . . . Oh, honey, I’m sorry.”
I shook my head in confusion as I walked toward her, but as soon as I got a look at the garden, I knew what she was talking about.
It had been decimated.
The ground beneath the tomato plant was littered with half-gnawed fruit, including lots of green tomatoes. The lettuce leaves were riddled with rodenty bite marks, and two of the cucumber vines had been torn out of the ground altogether. As for the radishes, it was like they’d never even been there.
I slapped both hands on top of my head.
“Yesterday,” I croaked, “when I watered, I forgot the cayenne pepper!”
I couldn’t believe how quickly my garden had been destroyed. It was like the animals were getting back at me for my spicy repellant.
“I’m sure it was deer,” my mom said. “They can tear a garden to pieces just like that.”
I thought of Granly, sitting at the kitchen table, watching beautiful forest animals sample her veggies, loving how delicately the deer tiptoed through the plants.
I dropped to my knees at the edge of the garden, not caring if I got dirt on my pale blue dress. I began yanking the stringy remains of my lettuce plants out of the earth. I tossed them into a messy pile at my side.
And it was only when my mom crouched down to put her arms around me that I realized I was sobbing.
“I wanted it to be different!” I said through angry tears.
“Different? What do you mean?” Mom asked.
“From Granly’s garden,” I cried. “Hers got all eaten up, but mine was supposed to be different. It was almost there!”
“Wait, look!” my mom pointed at the one cucumber plant that was left intact. Then she stepped into the garden and said, “And there’s a lot of squash still here, and I found three lettuce plants that they missed.”
“Okay,” I said quietly, wondering why I wasn’t comforted at all.
Mom picked her way back through the messy thatch of plants. She handed me a big, unscathed squash, its yellow skin waxy and perfect.
“Thanks,” I muttered, swiping away my tears. Only when she sat next to me did I realize she was crying too.
“I’m sorry, Chelsea,” she sighed. “About . . . everything.”
I nodded sadly. Then we sat there in silence but for the occasional sniffle and, of course, the hot-day hum of the cicadas.
“Why do you think it was so important to you,” Mom wondered, “that your garden turn out differently from Granly’s?”
I shrugged.
“I guess,” I said, feeling guilt wash over me, “I kind of wanted to . . . move on? To not always be stuck in this place where it feels like we have to do all these things that she did, but without her. I guess I just want to get to that place where she’s not here but life goes on and . . . and it’s bearable.”
It felt kind of terrible to utter all these things out loud, especially to my mom. But it also felt kind of wonderful to say them, like something that had been clamped down on me had suddenly released its grip.
Mom sighed.
“It has become more bearable, hasn’t it?” she said. “I think being here has