by Kerri Carr
I go with dress pants and blouse. Can’t go wrong with business casual. Now that I’m feeling and looking good, I turn on my computer for the first time in months and dig up my old resume. It hasn’t been updated in years, but I print it anyway because they’re no lying about the fact that I haven’t worked in a long time. I don’t see a point in trying to hide it.
*****
Wen I pull up to the store just outside of Dunbar, I have to double take to make sure that the building isn’t vacant. There is no sign out front, but I see an old rusty Ford with mounds of soil and plants in the bed. I park mom’s Jetta in the gravel parking lot and wonder if I should turn back. I’m afraid of going inside to find a maniac who could bury me alive.
Stop being paranoid, Tal, I think. With the place looking so run down I no longer feel the need to look to presentable. I don’t bother checking my lipstick, I just get out of the Jetta and make a bee line for the front door.
A little bell rings on the door I push to enter, but I do not see any employees around.
“Hello?” I call out. No response.
The inside of the shop doesn’t look nearly as bad as the outside. In fact, it seems that whoever owns the place put all their effort into making the interior beautiful and applicable for the plants, even if that means letting the exterior look like a dump. This doesn’t look like a run of the mill flower shop, I think. This looks like the kind of place that could house many species of plants.
Other than the clerical desk and cash register, there are rows and rows of trees growing in their soil. I’ve never seen trees like them, but they look like a cross between a fern and a palm. Atop the trunk are little red pine needles. Before I know it I’m walking forward with my head craned upward. As I progress down the aisle, the trees’ needles turn from red to purple and then to pink.
At the end of the row, I see a door leading into the back of the building. I was so entranced by the vibrant colors of the needles that I forgot I was here for a job; and that someone else is supposed to be in the building, but I don’t know where yet. My curiosity is so peaked that I need to continue through the door to see what else has this store has to offer.
From the road, it was impossible to see the massive greenhouse connected to the shabby building. If the trees and their intricately colored pines were a sight to fathom, then the trees inside the greenhouse are unfathomable. Their giant leaves are neon colored, some of them even changing their color as if in a permanent state of seasonal change.
“They’re quite rare,” a voice says, making me jump what I estimate to be three feet in the air. When I turn around I see a man, maybe five foot ten with tight yet shaggy dirty blonde hair. What strikes me first is his bright, perfect smile. Then I’m caught in his eyes—in the light they first reflect a shade of yellow but as he steps closer to me they reveal themselves to be a light green, almost invisibly so, like sunlight breaking through the top of a tropical canopy.
“I brought them here from far away,” he says, looking up and pointing to the one closest to us. Its leaves remind me of pterodactyl wings, but the color is a dazzling pigment of blue—sky blue. From down here it is like the leaves are windows to the sky.
“They’re beautiful,” I say, unable to take my eyes from their silky blue surface. In a moment I find the strength to look away from the trees but then am immediately hung up in this man’s gaze.
“My name is Miller,” he says, extending his hand. I go to shake it only to find that it’s covered in soil. “Miller Ableton. How may I help you?”
“Hello Mr. Ableton,” I say, looking down to the moist dirt on my hand.
“Sorry about that,” he laughs. “And you can call me Miller.”
“My name is Tally,” I smile. My germophobia is kicking in and I want to get this potentially bacteria-ridden soil off of my skin. However, I don’t want to seem rude or like I can’t get my hands dirty. That’s most of what the job entails when working with plants.
“Nice to meet you, Tally. Something tells me you’re here regarding the job posting. I wasn’t expecting you to show up so soon.”
What is that supposed to mean? I wonder. He said he wasn’t expecting me to show up so soon…
“What I meant is that I didn’t think anyone would be interested in the job. Sorry. It’s been a while since I’ve talked to anyone in person.”
I don’t really know what to say but it’s not because I’m at a loss, it’s because I am somehow soothed by the sound of his voice. It doesn’t sound like he’s from around here, but maybe further south.
“I know the feeling,” I say. I don’t want him to feel awkward but I’m grateful that he was the first to make things weird—not me. That’s a first. “I actually did come for the job, yes. I brought my resume, though I just realized I left it in the car. I have a degree in Earth Science, and I love plants but I haven’t had a real job in a long time.”
I don’t comprehend why everything is coming out so jumbled. It’s like all the things I didn’t want him to know rolled out of my mouth. “But I still think that I would be qualified for the job.
“Not that the job is for people who haven’t had a job in a long time, I just think that based on my knowledge and passion I might be a good fit.”
The same smile he expressed when he greeted me returns, but this time with a wry chortle. “People aren’t so sure of themselves in Louisiana,” he says. “I guess you could say modesty is one of my biggest weaknesses.”
“I didn’t mean to sound sure of myself,” I say, feeling my cheeks go flush. I stop myself from opening my mouth because I know I’m just going to dig myself a deeper hole.
“I think we’re both digging holes for ourselves,” Miller says. It’s like me and this guy are on the same wavelength, I think. Either that or he’s able to read my mind. “But I’ll tell you what. I’ll save you the trouble of going back to your car to get the resume of you can just give me a hand planting a new batch of Obedons.”
Obedons? “I’ve never heard of that genome,” I say.
“Like I said. Not from around here.” He walks past me and I get a whiff of his fresh mountain scented soap and soil. As Miller makes his way deeper into the greenhouse, he turns down an aisle of trees and I can no longer follow him with my eyes.
“Wait,” I call out, trying to catch up. “Does this mean I have the job?” Although I can’t necessarily hear an answer, that doesn’t mean the answer is no. Maybe that’s all it takes, I think. A little gusto and friendliness and you’ve got a job.
*****
The first few weeks of working with Miller make it feel as though time doesn’t pass at all. I wake up, eat breakfast with Mom and Dad, go to work where Miller spends most of the day trying to make me laugh while he tends to the greenhouse and I handle the billing and accounting end of his enterprise.
Although I wish I could spend more time with the plants themselves, working around them still inspired me to utilize my college education. A lot of the plants that Miller works with are domestic to Pennsylvania, the Midwest, and the East Coast. Some of them come from his area in the South, but there are a handful of plants that I can’t find no matter how many old textbooks or Wikipedia entries I skim through.
At first I think it is curious that there are no other employees working for Miller—at least none that I’ve met yet. So far it has only been him and me in the building. I only know from the plans and data that I’ve entered for Miller that he intends the business to be used for medicinal purposes. He works with exotic plants to create herbal supplements and medicines that help cure ailments, diseases, and pain.
It has been pretty relaxing as far as entry-level jobs go. Miller is a kind employer with few rules. The most important one is to not ingest any plant matter that he does not approve himself. Not that I would ever consider putting a neon leaf in my mouth, but his concern is always adamant.
Miller does all of the heavy labor himself. I’m still early in my pregnancy, now in my fourth month, and I won�
�t be capable of doing many physical things soon. “Miller, what do you say I carry some of the soil for a while? You look like your back is about to break.” I’m in the middle of eating my third breakfast sandwich of spam, eggs, and cheese, and I’m surprised he hasn’t asked me about it yet. I feel like such a glutton.
“I could use the exercise right now,” I say, trying to convince him that I’m adept.
He’s heaving and sweating but he turns to me, looks me up and down, and says, “You sure you’re able to lift things right now?”
Does he know that I’m pregnant? I haven’t said anything to him yet because I like to keep my personal life separate from business. “Yes, I’m sure I’m able to lift things,” I say, wiping the egg white from my face as I stand up. Miller watches me and swigs a bottle of cold water. Once the water is gone he goes to his special fridge where he keeps the various juices he concocts from the plants in the greenhouse. Leaning over to pick up the sack of soil, I am quick to regret offering this torturous service. This bag of soil feels like it weighs at least 50 pounds.
I hoist it up into the air but the weight overpowers me and I slip forward, throwing the sack forward and spilling it all over the ground.
“I think I pulled my shoulders out of socket,” I cry. I’m probably overreacting, but it’s hard not to when you’re with child. Miller stares at me with the green bottle of juice in his hand. It’s like he’s hypnotized, or perhaps just trying not to laugh at me. I could understand why somehow would bust out in tears at the pathetic sight of me. I make my way back to my desk a few feet away and sit down so that my shoulders don’t fall off.
Before I know it, Miller’s hands are on my shoulders, rubbing so gently that I can barely feel the pressure.
“A little harder,” I say. “Don’t be afraid to hurt me.” His fingers grip down around each side of my collar bone and I feel the strength of his entire upper body weight now funneling into me. “That’s better,” I say, trying not to moan.
“I’m telling you,” Miller says with that smooth, southern drawl. “One sip of the juice and it’ll take all your pains away.”
“You’re not trying to drug me, are you Miller?” Although I’m just trying to get a rise out of him, he releases my shoulders.
“That’s not funny,” he says. “I take my medicinal work very seriously. It’s my life’s dream to be able to develop a potion that can heal. I put my heart into this.”
“Okay,” I say, trying to roll my eyes and look cute. The last thing I want is to hurt his feelings. “I’ll try the juice.”
“Well, maybe now I don’t want you to try the juice.” Here comes that stubbornness again.
“I’m sipping the darn juice,” I say, reaching out for the cup and tilting it to my mouth until the watery green liquid hits my lips. The pungent smell like pine, maple, kiwi, and sage hits my nose before my tongue can process a taste. I swallow it down, and the remaining drops in my mouth remind of fresh cut grass and kale. Perhaps spinach.
“Yum,” I say, forcing a smile onto my face. “What’s in it?”
“I know that you hate it,” he says.
“Stop doubting my reactions!” I can’t help but get a little defensive. Suddenly a rush comes over my skin, as if being covered in aloe and mint. It’s a rush stronger than caffeine and nicotine combined.
“Wow, this stuff packs a punch,” I say, noticing the goose bumps rising on my skin.
“It is meant to provide you with a lot of natural energy,” Miller says, taking a drink for himself. He licks the green residue from his lips. “There are nutrients from all over. Your body may not be used to the effects.”
I put my hand to my chest because it feels like my heart is beating especially fast. “Does this increase your heart rate?” I ask.
“No, it doesn’t,” he laughs. “However, it does make you perceptive of the activity happening within your body as well as outside your body.”
Outside my body? Oh God. I hope I don’t start hallucinating.
“I told you that I’m pregnant, right?” I ask, standing up and going for a cup of water. “I don’t know how this happened, I feel like I’ve been stuck in a daydream.”
“Tally, I know how you feel. I feel the same way. Since you walked in for the job it’s been like a constant dream. I don’t know your whole situation, but yes, I assumed you were pregnant by your eating habits.”
I let out a laugh, thinking of my spam and egg breakfast sandwiches this morning. I can’t control these intense cravings I get. It’s not my fault. “Alright, you got me, Miller. But that doesn’t explain what is going on between us. You said you don’t know my whole situation, but the fact is it isn’t simple. I don’t even know if I want to get into right now.”
“We don’t have to get into now or ever, if you don’t want to,” he says. “But I can’t deny what I feel for you. Whatever it is that has happened in your life, I can’t imagine how it could alter the way I feel.”
“You have a pretty good vocabulary for being from Louisiana,” I say.
“You’ve got a pretty bad sense of humor for being from Pennsylvania,” he smirks.
I don’t want to tell Miller about Raymond, yet. Outside of my inner family and friends, I’ve never really talked about the loss of my husband—especially not with another man. Why am I all of a sudden so interested in Miller? It’s like right now, with this zesty feeling overcoming my body, I see him in a completely new light. I see him as a responsible, hard-working man who has the true potential to care for a woman. Part of me wants to believe he’d even love and appreciate my child.
“I just want you to know,” he says, “that I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose you as an employee, as a friend, or…”
“Or, what?” I ask.
“Or something more.”
We both hesitate after that statement, staring into each other’s eyes. His eyes are the most translucent shade of green I’ve ever seen—they’re almost completely transparent. I feel like I’m looking through glass but there is nothing but a black abyss on the other side.
I have to believe that he’s not a black hole. I know there is something special in his heart. I just haven’t discovered it yet.
“We barely know each other, Miller.”
“I know that, but I feel like I’ve known you for years.”
I can’t deny that I feel the same way about him. Even during our first conversation it was like we spoke the same language. I haven’t experienced this feeling with anyone other than Raymond. I feel a massive amount of guilt rising at the thought that I might feel an even deeper connection with Miller.
The next thing I know is that my hand is reaching out to his like an irresistible gravitational force. Don’t touch him, I think. In this case it is not a case of mind over matter.
“Tally, I don’t want to do something we’re going to regret.”
At this point I’ve already crossed the line of regret. My thin fingers finally reach his soil-covered ones, I have to live with my choice to feel him. “I don’t think there’s time to live with regrets,” I say.
He curls his fingers around mine and I feel his knuckles graze against my palm. Pushing my thumb into his hand, I decide to hold on to his hand—it being my last lifeline as I melt to the floor. My body no longer has control over itself. I’m not sure if I’m slinking down like a puddle of goo because of something in the juice or because the inner conflict of Raymond versus Miller literally has me decomposing on the spot.
The remains of the soil spill cushion me against the stone floor. I lie flat on my back and spread my arms and legs open like I’m trying to make a snow angel in the dirt. I probably look as stupid as I feel but so help me if Miller tries to make fun of me I’m going to use the pregnancy as my excuse for insanity.
However, Miller doesn’t even open his mouth. He slithers down the soil next to me and wedges his hand under my head like a pillow. I’m on my back and he’s on his side looking at me, his left hand under my he
ad and his right hand hovering over my arm as if contemplating whether or not it can graze my skin.
“Miller, this isn’t exactly easy for me,” I say, inviting him to caress me. “But I’m interested in you as something more, too.”
It’s like a fire flickers in his translucent green eyes. His face careens toward me slowly, the crevice between his lips as wide as a single hair. Opening my lips to receive him, both of our eyes close and the contact of his flesh in conjunction with the rejuvenating mint feeling on my body makes me reconsider the true definition of fire. I feel like thousands of molecules are combusting within me, and the true spark of life ignites from the friction of our lips.
“Miller,” I whisper. My hand has found its way to the back of his neck. Our eyes peel open. Are we both afraid to look at each other? Though our eyelids are almost completely closed, I wonder if he is searching as deeply into me as I am into him.
“We just kissed,” I say. I’m not really trying to relay common information—I’m trying to convince myself of the truth. You just kissed another man, Tal, I think. You’re a widow carrying your deceased husband’s child and you just kissed another man.
“We don’t have to go any further,” he says. His glance bounces from my left eye and right eye, like he’s trying to perceive both sides of my mind.
“I’m not saying that I don’t want to go further.” My other hand reaches for his belt line, and I’m unfastening his belt, which clanks as I struggle to free him. “I don’t know what I want.”
“Yes you do.” His voice is determined, like he cannot be refuted in this knowledge of my desires. “You know what you want but you’re afraid to reach for it. Do not be afraid, Tally. Your fears will prohibit you from reaching your true potential.”
My true potential? What does he know about what I’m capable of? Now that his belt is free, I work on the button of his black denim pants, and once they’re loose I unzip him only to find that he’s commando—no underwear. He hasn’t trimmed in a while but that’s okay because I like a thick bush on a man. When Raymond and I were in Café Le Franc in Paris we overheard a couple talking about the sensuality of long hair—and ever since then I’ve adopted it into my own sexual side.