Chloe's Garden

“Excuse me.”

A man’s voice croaks in my ear. I look up from my screen, slightly dazed. The man reaches past my ear to pull a copy of the Latest Bestselling Mystery from the bookshelf. “Libraries are for reading,” he adds, shuffling away, leaving only the faint smell of cigar smoke behind.

I huff to myself. Pardon me that I took a few minutes to glance at pictures of all of my friends decorating their dorms for their very first semesters at school. Maybe he does have a point. Wallowing in self pity in a library is a bit too cliche, even by my standards. I put my phone back in my bag and sweep the shelves with my eyes.

You don’t even know what you would have majored in, that little voice in my head reminds me. I wasn’t a great student, and my passionless existence would have surely continued into college. It would have been a waste of money and time. Dejected, I decide to move away from the mystery section and into Psychology Corner.

Among the cluttered nonfiction titles, something catches my eye. A small leather notebook is tucked between Am I the Crazy One? Raising a Teen in the Modern Era and Dating in Middle School: What a Parent Needs to Know. I snatch it quickly, sure some stranger will see me hovering between the titles and think I am going for gold at the Hover Parent Olympics.

I open the tiny book without thinking. On the left page is a little doodle of a liquor bottle, and on the right is a poem:

When I was only twelve years old

(Mom pretends that she forgot)

I found some whisky on her shelf

From it, I drank a lot

When I got sick upon the couch

Sure I was nearing death

I heard my mother curse and shout

And then, she smelled my breath

“What have I done?” Oh how she cried

My shame so great, I wished I’d died

But mother’s hand can’t reach me now

To take this bottle from my mouth

I chuckle aloud, but this piece reminds me that this was likely someone’s misplaced personal diary. I doubt this was meant to be left here for consumption, considering the contents. I check the front of the book for something to identify the owner. Returning this can be my good deed of the day, and I feel like I owe this girl, seeing as I just read her journal. Maybe we’ll become friends, I daydream. I could use a friend, seeing as all mine have left me to pursue their dreams.

Luckily, there’s an address on the inside cover, and I recognize the street, just a few blocks down from the university. Maybe she’s a student? My dreams of friendship waver, but I remind myself she’s likely local, at least for now. I tuck the tiny book into my purse and head out to my bike. I’ll probably have to knock on a stranger’s door like a freak of nature, but I hope that my future best friend can forgive our awkward introduction. As I pedal, I remind myself that I’ll have to confess to my sneakiness, the sooner the better.

I arrive at her door in minutes, and suddenly, I am acutely anxious. The house doesn’t look like it’s split into apartments, so the property probably isn’t a student residence. There is a garden a few feet back from the road, meticulously tended reds and purples. Chrysanthemums perhaps? I know nothing about flowers.

I ditch my bike next to the silver SUV in the driveway and head to the door. One... two... On three, I ring the doorbell. Almost immediately, I see a woman peer behind a curtain. She has massive, morose dark eyes, a strikingly melancholic feature. She opens the door slowly, the wind ruffling her gray-streaked blonde hair.

“Yes?” She says, raising her brows, and I can’t tell if it’s a gesture of annoyance or curiosity.

“Uh,” I stutter. I take the book from my bag and hand it to her, awkwardly. “This had your address in it,” I say, relieved as she takes the book from my hand.

“Oh!” Her sadness disappears momentarily, flickering with a spark of familiarity. “This is Joelle’s. My daughter.”

I clear my throat. “Does it belong here?”

A slow nod, accompanied by a sigh. “Yes, I suppose it does.” She looks away. “Good timing. I’m moving next week.”

“Oh, where to?” I ask, unsure whether it’s appropriate to continue the conversation. All I can think of is the poem

“Arizona. I figure a change of scenery will do some good.”

I smile, just a little bit, trying to appear affirming. “I think that would do anyone some good.”

She tucks her head back inside, going to close the door, and I step back, assuming the conversation has reached its natural conclusion.

“Wait!” She returns to the door frame. “I know this is a strange question, but I really appreciate you bringing that back to me. It really means the world. Could I invite you to sit out back on the patio for some tea?”

Why not? She seems pretty lonely, and I doubt anything too nefarious could occur in a yard so close to the street. “Sure, thank you so much,” I reply, following her past the gate.

“I’m Chloe, by the way,” she says over her shoulder. “What’s your name?”

“Luna,” I reply. “That makes my parents sound a lot more creative than they really are.”

“I’m sure they love you very much, though.” She already has a clean cup set out, I notice, but don’t comment.

“Yeah, they do. They deal with the constant burden of my presence very well,” I add, sardonically.

“I doubt your presence is a burden,” Chloe replies. “What got that into your head?”

I sigh as she pours me some tea from her fancy, stone-carved kettle. “Well, I was supposed to go to college this year.”

“And... why didn’t you?” Chloe leans back, crossing her fingers together.

“Well, I couldn’t decide on a major. And I don’t have tons of money to throw around if I don’t really know what I want to do.”

Chloe tilts her head. “Well, if you wanted to figure out what it is you’re going to do, and you don’t know what you’re going to do, shouldn’t you try some new things?”

I shake my head. “I’m too old for new things.”

Chloe erupts into laughter. “Oh lord, kid. You need to get out there! I know my daughter was an undecided major when she went into school, and one semester she came home and said it was done, she wanted to major in Horticulture. She had to transfer schools and everything.”

I pour myself more tea. “That’s pretty cool, though.”

“Yeah, I always thought she would go into the arts, but people surprise you.”

I nod, and then I talk about a time someone surprised me, and she talked about her very surprising mother who once bought a convertible off someone’s lawn on a whim and drove her to school in it every day for six years. Then I tell her about how the only time I ever saw my dad cry was when I ran over his foot in his brand-new car, and that his shorthand for feeling betrayed after that was “In my own convertible” because people buy those when they get midlife crises.

We talked like this until the sun began to set. I never asked about the flowers.

I clear my throat. “Well, seems like I should get going, since I have to bike home.”

“I won’t keep you any longer. You’re probably bored talking to an old lady like me.” She walks me out front, and I pick up my bike

“You’re not old! And you’re not boring, either.” I look around at the fading light on the garden, and I have to add, “I know you said your daughter got into horticulture in school. But isn’t that what you do? Maybe you inspired her.” I motion to the garden. “I mean, this is art, isn’t it?”

Her eyes fill suddenly with tears. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“I really think so. I mean, you must be proud.”

She laughs, discreetly wiping a tear. “I guess I am.” She pauses. “Have a great night, Luna.”

“You too!” I say, peddling away. I had never considered an undecided major before. Maybe it was something to try.

I walk into my house, surprised to see an envelope on the table addressed to me. I glance at the return address, and see it’s from Choe. I’m not sure how she got my address, but since she’s all the way in Arizona, I don’t see the harm. I open the envelope, and something falls out.

It’s a check. A check for $20,000. My mind reels, and I check the accompanying note.

Hi Luna,

I hope this isn’t too strange, but I wanted to give you this gift to help you on your way. My daughter, Joelle, passed away a few years ago. It was just me and her for a long time, and I was stuck for so long after she left. That garden you saw was hers, but I have kept it up all this time. I felt that it was a piece of her that was still alive, and I could never leave it. But I realized, they weren’t my daughter. They were just her flowers.

Anyway, I knew I needed to start again, somewhere without all the memories, but I was so scared to leave. I set out a cup for my daughter, because I wanted to talk to her about why I was leaving. I am a skeptic of all things spiritual or psychic, but when you showed up I felt that it was a sign from my daughter that she knew I was reaching out. Sitting and talking to someone over tea without the weight of the world over my head, that was pretty great too. You’re a brilliant young woman and I wanted to give you something to help start you on your way. It was what was left of the money I had saved for Joelle’s college, and I never could quite figure out what to do with it. But when I met you, I knew.

Good luck out there.

Embrace the undecided.

-Chloe