I don’t reach for the box that contains a ring. My eyes gloss over, and the bridge of my nose burns something fierce as I simply stare at it.
“Do you like it?” Savannah asks softly. “It matches, see?”
I turn my head and nod just as she lifts her wrist. The same flower, a prairie rose, hangs dead center on her thin bracelet. My lips part, but I quickly shut them again and turn my attention back to the ring box sitting on the table.
Instead of continuing to feel like I was climbing a steep mountain, my life began to glow when I crossed paths with Savannah. Sometimes I play a slow-motion movie in my mind, trying to relive the time we first agreed to switch houses for a semester. Then, the time I finally moved back and felt a strange wave of contentment. I was never the same after that.
Making friends with Blythe also made me realize that I may have found more than friendship or romance here. We all rely on each other. I found family.
Clearly, I’m painfully nostalgic. I make no apologies for that. But a gift like this exasperates my sentimental side to an almost torturously high level.
With a wistful sigh, I finally pick up the ring and admire the tiny details on the band made of two twisting vines. I’ve noticed Blythe’s necklace that matches. And Savannah’s bracelet, of course.
I take the ring out carefully. It’s too big for my middle finger but fits perfectly on my thumb, which makes me smile.
“It was B’s idea to make it a thumb ring. She said it fits your personality.”
Alright, I’m going to be a blubbering mess about this.
“Thank you,” I whisper, holding my hand up to admire it through the pooling liquid in my eyes.
After standing, I move behind Savannah and bend to wrap my arms around her. The side of my head presses against hers, and her hands come up to squeeze my forearms that cross over her collarbone.
“You’re welcome,” she chokes out dramatically.
I let out a watery laugh while loosening the intensity of my hug. “Love you,” I whisper.
“Love you long time,” she answers quietly. Then, she pats my arm and blows out a breath. “You’re going to make me ruin my makeup.”
I lean back to stand up. “But I haven’t even told you how much it means to me yet. The significance it holds. Oh! And I haven’t described how I’ll cherish it forever or how I’ll always be here for you no matter wha?—"
Savannah cuts me off by putting her fingers in her ears. “Ahh. Stop. Tell me tomorrow when I can cry about it. I still have to go back to the office today, and I don’t need streaks of mascara running down my face.”
I smile and move to the living room, running my index finger over my new ring. “The wallpaper looks good. Don’t you think? Thanks for helping me get all this knocked out over your lunch break.”
She stands next to me as we admire the wall that had a massive hole and a tree branch knocked through it less than a month ago. Me, in my threadbare tank top and cutoff overalls with one strap unbuckled. Her, in tailored taupe trousers and a tucked-in silk blouse.
Tripp and Warren fixed the wall, and I spent more than two weeks fussing over paint colors before finding this wallpaper. It’s a vintage cream color painted with a delicate pattern of palebluebells. It doesn’t exactly match a single thing in my cottage decor—which makes it fit the eclectic space perfectly.
“It’s understated and whimsical,” Savannah points out with a nod. “I’m in love.”
I place my hands on my hips and tilt my head with a warm smile. My phone rings from the island counter, and Savannah turns to slip on her heels that she left near the couch.
“You’re coming over for dinner tomorrow, right?” I call over my shoulder on my way to the kitchen.
“Yes,” she answers as she puts on her sunglasses and opens my front door. “I’m bringing the lemons.”
The door closes behind her, and I laugh. Of course she’s bringing the lemons. Before the incoming call goes to voicemail, I swipe across the bottom of my phone screen to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Check your email,” Hazel rushes out.
I jog over to my bed, slump down on the mattress, and open my laptop. My inbox finally loads, and I click on the most recent unread message that she forwarded to me.
An article appears with a title that makes me sit up straight and place a hand on my chest.
Curiosity Takes Root: The Garden App That’s Changing the Way Kids Learn
