A R B U T U S

[epigaea repens] ➳ hospitality.

MOST MORNINGS, WAKING UP was skidding out of a dream. A little bumpy and full of reluctance, but a safe ride nonetheless.

Some mornings, though, waking up was tearing out of a nightmare, friction singing my skin as I wrestled and slipped and fell.

This was one of those mornings.

Three knocks on the front door jolted me into the fabric of reality. I blinked at the ceiling, harsh air scraping out of my lungs, heartbeats like boulders dropped onto my chest. A jagged pain pierced the ball of my shoulder, holding me down when I tried to wipe my cheeks.

I knew it wasn't real. But hot tears tore down my face as I wrapped the comforter around me, the world spinning sideways until everything slowed to a pause.

According to my clock, it was only 6:50, which meant my father was still home along with whoever had just entered our living room. When I finally came to my senses, I climbed out of bed with a sigh, still heavy as though I'd been drugged.

The first thing I did was look out the window. Grey clouds marred the skyline, and their shadows drenched the grass before even their rain could. There wasn't a flower-thieving boy in sight.

"Good," I muttered. I hadn't wanted him to see me cry.

I descended the stairs a few minutes later. Doug Merritt was on our couch, which instantly embarrassed me. Though he was the same age as my parents, the only thing lacking about his life was his hair. His bald head was as shiny as the expensive watch on his wrist.

"Morning, Ren," he greeted with a wave. From the recliner, my father nodded expectantly at me.

"Morning, Doug," I returned, resisting the urge to call him Mr. Merritt. He'd given me grief about that during our first month in town. "Hey, Dad. Hi, Jackie."

Doug's daughter occupied half of the loveseat, her long hair flaring red under the ceiling light. "Hi."

I wasn't friends with Jackie Merritt. She was a year younger than me, but the awkwardness of the situation was the deal breaker, not her age. Like the rest of her family, she knew exactly why we had moved to Newberry. I figured she'd never tell, but that didn't stop humiliation from flooding my gut.

Dad broke in. "Doug and Jackie wanted to ask you for a favour, Ren," he said, the tilt of his head suggesting that I was to agree. "It's a good thing you're up."

I gulped. Considering all that the Merritts had done for us, I had always known they would someday come for their recompense — but I didn't think that day would be today.

Doug beamed, then nudged his daughter firmly. "Go on."

I leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Cheeks blossoming to match her hair, Jackie started, "We know you've been growing flowers. You know, to help with your... coping, and stuff."

Coping was one way to put it. I fingered my necklace. "Yes?"

"I'm running this program at the community centre — for volunteer hours, for school — and we wanted to add a greenhouse aspect to things," she said, trailing off painfully then starting again, eyes flickering to her father's. 

"It's for mental health patients and the elderly, since tending to plants is supposed to have therapeutic effects. It would be cool if you could help out, since you seem really... passionate about flowers."

Tongue-tied, I shot Dad a desperate look.

"What do you say, Ren?" Doug asked, drawing my attention back. "Jackie's been working on this for a while and she could really use your help."

My father cleared his throat.

"I'll have to see the schedule," I said, mind reeling for an excuse. "My friend Leo wants to sign me up for peer tutoring, and that's almost everyday after school, so..."

"What about mornings?" Jackie asked timidly. "We thought that would help people get into the routine."

I gritted my teeth. "Maybe. Like I said, I'd need to know exactly when. But it sounds cool."

That seemed to satisfy both Merritts. Jackie looked at the floor, and Doug grinned merrily. 

"Ren loves her plants. She waters them every single day," Dad told them. He chuckled, then gestured into the kitchen. "I made pancakes. Jackie, you can have some too."

I trailed gratefully through the door with a smile for Doug, who prodded his daughter until she followed me out. In the kitchen, I grabbed a jar of Nutella from the cupboard, then slid a pancake from the platter onto my plate as Doug restarted the conversation in the other room.

Jackie stood awkwardly by the sink.

Her parents had Photoshopped eyes in all their real-estate ads, but hers were big and grey even now, flecked like the counter island. We both averted our stares at the same time, tension oozing into the cramped kitchen.

"I like your necklace," she said. She pointed at it, then slid her hands into her pockets.

"Thanks." I glanced at the butterfly on the silver chain. I lifted the spatula to offer her a pancake but she waved my hand away, leaving me to tack on, "It's special."

"I'm sure," she agreed. "Um, so you're friends with Isaac Marshall now, right?"

I froze.

"I saw you eating lunch together," she continued. "I — I think it was you."

I contemplated my pancake, wondering if a similarly-sized hole would be wide enough for me to sink into. "That's interesting," I said. "I wouldn't call us friends."

"Okay." She chewed her lip, and I spooned chocolate onto my plate as our fathers' laughs rumbled through the walls. "I just wanted to warn you because people are kinda talking about it."

"You don't have to warn me."

Jackie nodded vehemently. "I know. But if my dad heard you guys were hanging out, he wouldn't even let you do the greenhouse thing with me. And I could really, really use your help, so can you think about it, Ren? Please? It's important."

Discomfort churned my stomach. "I'll try. But I don't see the big deal," I said, mentally retracing my last few days. "I barely know Isaac."

That was true. Another staring contest fizzled out and Jackie shifted uneasily as I stuffed a piece of pancake into my mouth. "Okay. Just... don't forget," she said, turning out of the room. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

My gaze found the rainclouds behind the window again. It wasn't pouring, but the skies were unleashing more than a drizzle now, which meant Doug Merritt was here to drive me and Dad to school and work, like the hospitable friend he was.

I personally thought he needed to mind his own business.

Craning my neck, I tried to get a better look at my wooden planters outside. Darkened in splotches by the rain, they weren't as pretty as they usually were. It didn't help that my tulip box sported broken stems, and flower petals were still scattered in the grass, remnants of the last time Isaac had been around.

I touched my necklace instinctively, Jackie's words echoing in my head. Apparently it was wrong even to associate with him. At least, according to the most popular family in town, whose words may as well have been gospel. 

Not for the first time, I wondered if I was starting to turn a blind eye, if Isaac was just like the last boy I'd cared about — made of false promises and tethered to a trail of severed things left behind.

A/N: @wildandsmart13 made the beautiful cover at the top! Isaac was notably absent here but rest assured he'll be back soon. Thanks for reading! ♡