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Junie points toward the plant. “That’s emotional support basil.”
Theo studies the bent stems. “It needs the support.” He carries it to the kitchen window.
“Don’t judge him,” she says. “He’s been through a lot.”
Honey helps lower me onto the couch as if I’m breakable. I’m not breakable, but I’m wobbly and very willing to be fussed over. Junie sits on one side. Honey takes the other. Scarlet kneels at the coffee table with my mother’s box.
The tape has been reinforced in every direction.
“She didn’t trust the postal service,” Honey says.
“She once mailed me cookies inside two tins and a plastic storage container. They could have survived reentry.”
Scarlet opens the box. Home reaches me before we lift the tissue paper. The clean scent of laundry soap. Ginger. Orange peel. My mother’s lavender hand cream. She packed this as though she had been waiting years to mother this part of me.
The first thing Honey pulls out is a pair of cream socks covered in tiny oranges.
My hands clap together.
Theo glances over from the kitchen. “Sentimental oranges.”
Junie looks between us. “I need more information.”
“Mom bought me a pair like these after my first day teaching,” I explain. “I called her from the parking lot because a sophomore released feeder crickets in my classroom, the fire alarm went off, and I was sure I had chosen the wrong career.”
“You cried for an hour,” Honey says.
“Mom brought me orange socks and takeout. I wore them after every terrible school day that first year until the heels wore through.”
Junie holds the new pair to her chest. “I get it. Sentimental oranges.” She sighs.
“Exactly.”
Theo gives a small nod and hides a sweet smile by busying himself with the basil.
The box holds ginger chews, peppermint tea, cooling cloths, electrolyte packets, loose sleep shorts, crackers, honey, two freezer packs wrapped in hand-sewn fabric, a tin of flower-shaped cookies, and a tiny pack of stickers shaped like oranges, frogs, and suns.
Theo picks up the frogs.
“They’re for Darwin,” I say.
He studies the tiny stickers. “More for the cooler?”
“Darwin has room.”
At the bottom of the box rests a folded note with a pressed sprig of rosemary tucked inside.
Sweet girl,
Congratulations on your first heat! I wish I could be there to fuss over you during your post-heat in person. Since I can’t, I packed everything your grandmother kept after a heat, along with the things you always liked when you were sick or overtired. Rest longer than you think you need. Eat before you feel hungry. Let people help you.
The Vines omegas have always kept notes on plants, water, and people. You come by that honestly.
I love you. Call when you feel steady.
Mom
My vision blurs again.
