Chapter 27
Venus
I can’t comprehend the mental complexities of being a parent. The idea feels too beautiful and overwhelming to consider for long, like my brain might combust with the effort. In this regard, I’m certain that Henry knows best and infinitely more than I do.
But this interaction felt like a test. Henry looked anxious, leaving me alone with Olly. Does he genuinely think I’m incapable of basic care or even momentary engagement with a child?
Olly steps up onto the large planter I’ve turned over for him to use as a step stool and asks, “What can I do?”
“You are going to finish this garden.” I hand him my gardening gloves. “Hands up, please.”
He lifts his hands and giggles as I put on the gloves. They’re too big, but they’ll have to do. The last thing I want is to discover the hard way that he’s allergic to peat moss or tree fern fiber. He smiles at me behind his floppy fingers, and I smile back.
It’s hard to believe that only moments ago, I was terrified to meet him.
Of course, my nerves were all but obliterated by the fact that he knew all about me.
I still feel warm over his embrace, like it preheated the oven for our relationship, such as it will be.
I don’t know what to think about Henry sharing our stories with him.
Flattered? Saddened? Annoyed? Proud? So, I file those wonderings away for later and refocus on the task at hand.
Olly is delighted to learn that the flytraps and pitcher plants rely on bugs for their food. He doesn’t appear bored when I explain in full detail how their digestive systems work. He even asks thoughtful questions.
“How do bugs taste?”
“They’re disturbingly crunchy, in my experience. I don’t like them, but plants don’t have taste buds like we do.”
“Can flytraps eat people?”
“No, we’re too large and complex for them.”
“Do the bugs feel it when they’re eaten?”
“Um, I don’t think so.”
“How do you know so much?”
“I read a lot.”
“Dad says you’re a brainiac,” he says, giggling.
“Yes, I’ve been called that before. I don’t like it.”
“How come?”
“Brainiac sounds like maniac.”
He giggles again, though I’m serious.
“Dad says you’re not like other people.”
My shoulders deflate over the possible meanings of such a remark to a child. Was it a warning? “I’m not. Neither are you. Everyone is different. Mango isn’t the same as any other snake.”
“Do you think Mango would like to sleep under my pillow?”
“Yes, I think Mango would enjoy that, if your father allows.”
“Can Mango take baths with me?”
“Yes, if your father allows.”
“Are plants afraid of the dark?”
“No, they need a break from the hot sun, just like we do. Besides, plants don’t have eyes or fears.”
“Are you afraid of the dark?”
I pause to consider his question. “I’m not afraid of the dark, but there have been times when I’ve been afraid in the dark. Do you understand the difference?”
He nods, pressing the sandy dirt around a lopsided flytrap. “I’m afraid of a lot of things. Dad says I need to be brave, like you.”
An uneasy lump forms in my throat, and I’m unsure of what to do with that information.
I’ve never considered myself brave for exploring nature—it’s what I’ve always been taught to do.
The other times that Henry considered me brave stemmed from my desire to help him and my need for his friendship.
Having someone to be brave for makes all the difference.
“No, not like me. Be brave, like you. You have a brave heart, Olly. Look how you handled these carnivorous plants. Besides…” I ease Mango free from where he sticks out of Olly’s pocket. “Mango needs you, now. Be brave for him, too. He won’t be afraid of the dark as long as he has you.”
Mango doesn’t have fears or feel anything anymore—that’s understood. And surely, a child as intelligent as Olly understands that while accepting the allegory I’m proposing.
“I used to be brave for your dad,” I go further, “and it helped me be brave overall. Your dad was also brave for me.”
“How?”
My shoulders bounce. “By being my friend when no one else would.”
His brow quirks. “Because you’re different?”
“I suppose so. But I’d rather be different, like Mango, than be another boring, old rock. Wouldn’t you?”
Olly’s cheeks puff into a big smile as he takes Mango into his hands and holds the rock up toward the newly finished garden. “Look, Mango. We did it.”
The rooftop door swings open with a screech, and Henry bumbles onto the roof, as if hurried. He almost looks surprised to find us alive and well.
“Oh, well, Olly. Your father’s back. I guess we can’t rappel off the building now or set anything on fire,” I say, locking eyes with Henry. Olly giggles, remarkably catching my sarcasm.
Henry’s shoulders slump, and he sends a hand through his mussed hair. “I wasn’t rushing to get back. I didn’t want to impose on you. That’s all.”
I don’t believe him, but I let it go. I help Olly off his planter perch and lean down to face him. “You understand that I was joking, correct? We don’t rappel off buildings or set fires, not for fun.”
“I know,” he chuckles. “That wouldn’t be safe for Mango, anyway.”
“Precisely,” I grin. “It’s been a great pleasure to meet you, Olly.”
“Wait, you’re leaving?” he whines.
“The garden is finished. My work here is done.”
“But I want to show you my bedroom, and my sword—”
“Play sword,” Henry corrects.
“—and I went on a boat this weekend—”
“Olly, I’m sure Venus wants to hear all about it, but we have to go to Grandma and Grandpa’s, remember?” he tries, softly.
“Can Venus come? Grandma won’t mind,” Olly says.
A sardonic laugh bubbles from me, but I stifle it quickly. Grandma would mind very much.
Henry looks almost desperately conflicted, not wanting to disappoint his son or offend me, so I do what I always do. I save him.
“Olly, it’s a very considerate offer, but I have dinner plans.” I gather my tools, piling them unceremoniously in the empty bins.
“Will you come back another time?” Olly asks.
“I will return to check on the garden,” I say, “if that’s acceptable.”
“On a day that I’m here?” Olly pushes. “I go to Mom’s on the weekends.”
I meet eyes with Henry, who gives me an encouraging nod.
“I will arrange it with your father to make sure you’re here, and I’ll teach you everything you need to know about caring for our garden. Is that acceptable?”
“Very,” Olly chirps and then salutes.
They walk me to the Land Rover, Henry toting a bin and Olly carrying my trowel. Once the items are inside, Olly latches onto my waist and squeezes tightly.
“We should be best friends and go on adventures like you and Dad did,” he says, face crushed into my side.
Henry’s brow quirks over the rims of his glasses, and he seems about to counter his son’s request, but I say, “I’d like that,” before he has the chance.
Because it’s true, for Olly, but noncommittal for Henry’s sake.
On the drive home, I’m fraught with mixed emotions. I replay the entire encounter, analyzing my words and actions to find faults that I didn’t see at the moment.
I don’t find any, though. Perhaps conferring with Ivy and Dr. Broderick might enlighten me.
Until then, I resist my insecurities and take some satisfaction in knowing that Olly and I got along so well. He was an inquisitive delight, and I excelled socially, for once.
My hands twist on the steering wheel as irritation slips in.
Henry tells his son about our adventures, but warns him that I’m not like other people.
Henry builds me up in Olly’s mind, but is reluctant for us to spend time together.
Henry knows I’m an adult, highly intellectual, and capable, and yet, he felt nervous leaving me alone with Olly. What does Henry think of me?
She’s smart, but… Always with a but.
At home, I enact my dinner plans—spaghetti, Dad’s jarred sauce, and veggies from the garden—feeling muddled and bothered.
Henry doesn’t want me in his life or Olly’s.
He only wants an idealized version of me that he can control and manipulate to teach lessons or be entertaining.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he uses me as a cautionary tale.
Venus is different than other people. She gets in trouble when she doesn’t listen to her teachers or do her homework. I’m nothing more than a bedtime story.
After dinner, I water the plants outside that need it, and as I wander through the garden, I see our old path through the woods. Henry’s there, not a half mile from me, at Maggie’s.
But for the first time, I have no desire to go there.