Chapter 2
ETHAN
The plant is named Greg.
I don’t know much about plants, but the lady at the shop said this one was “low-maintenance” and “hard to kill,” which felt vaguely like an insult. Like she took one look at me and thought, this guy needs something that can survive neglect.
She wasn't wrong.
Still, Greg looked friendly enough—if green foliage can look friendly—and I figured it was time I brought someone into my life who didn’t talk shit, ghost me, or cheat on me with a guy named fucking Brody.
Brody. Even thinking the name makes my jaw clench.
Greg sits on the diner table across from me, right in the middle of a red vinyl booth. I glance up at the laminated menu, then back at him.
“What do you think, buddy? Pancakes or waffles?”
Greg, shockingly, doesn’t answer.
A shadow falls over the table.
“Uh... you want some food with your ficus?”
I look up. And then immediately forget every food item I’ve ever known.
She’s got a notepad in one hand and an arched brow that could cleave through steel. Thick-rimmed glasses, auburn hair tucked into a low bun, and lips that tilt into something dangerously close to a smirk. She looks like the type of girl who corrects your grammar mid-flirt—and somehow makes it hot.
“He’s a monstera, actually,” I say, straightening Greg like she’s offended. “And his name is Greg. And we’ll have the pancakes please. Two forks.”
The waitress—her nametag reads Piper in fading letters—blinks once, slowly, then jots something on her notepad.
“Great. One lonely dude’s breakfast. Coming right up.”
The words should sting. Another stranger calling out my obvious issues. But the way she says it—matter-of-fact, almost bored—makes me grin instead.
“That's a pretty big assumption. How do you know I'm lonely?”
She looks at me like I'm an idiot. “You're talking to a plant.”
Touché.
She walks off without waiting for a comeback, ponytail swinging, and I swear I see Greg lean a little in her direction.
“Traitor,” I mutter.
But I can't stop watching her as she moves behind the counter, flipping mugs with practiced efficiency, dodging her coworkers like she's done this dance a thousand times.
There's something about the way she doesn't give a shit about customer service pretense.
No fake smile, no “How's your day going?” Just pure, unfiltered judgment delivered with minimum wage indifference.
It's refreshing as hell.
I force myself to stop staring. I don't do crushes or dating anymore.
Not since Paige.
I glance at Greg—solid, leafy Greg—and remind myself why we’re here. Fresh start, new habits. Less dating, more healing. Less feeling, more focusing on finishing my final game project and proving to my dad that I didn’t tank my future on a whim.
A different waitress brings over my pancakes and I eat them fast. I may not be a quarterback anymore, but I still have the appetite of an athlete, and I go to the gym enough with Troy and Freddie to allow for it.
“Hey, uh, Piper?” I call out, because I’m weak and Greg’s a terrible influence.
She turns, eyebrow raised again.
“Do you think he needs more sunlight?”
She stares at me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m joking.
“He looks fine to me,” Piper says after a pause. Then adds, deadpan, “But if he dies, I’m assuming you’ll hold a memorial here. Want me to book the booth now?”
I laugh before I can stop it. Real, unfiltered, goddamn laughter. And for the first time in months, it doesn’t feel like pretending.
Greg wobbles slightly in his pot as I lean back.
Piper drops the bill on the table without a word. Just slides it over with the grace of a sniper and the indifference of someone who’s survived many, many awkward flirt attempts.
“You’re not even going to try to upsell me on pie?” I ask as I pull out my card.
“You seem like someone who doesn’t need more sugar in his system,” she says. “Also, you’ve been here for an hour talking to a plant. I figured I’d let you leave with some dignity intact.”
I give her my best charming smile—wounded, but flirty. “Wow. What’s it like being this supportive of small plant-based families?”
She doesn't smile. But her mouth twitches. Barely. A micro-expression that suggests maybe, possibly, I'm not the most pathetic customer she's dealt with today.
Victory.
I leave a probably excessive tip and scoop Greg off the table. He jostles in his pot, but I hold him steady, cradling him like the emotional support plant he is.
“Thanks, Piper,” I say as I back toward the door, probably looking exactly as ridiculous as she thinks I am.
“Good luck with your... chlorophyll soulmate,” she calls, already turning to the next customer.
But I catch it—the tiniest upturn of her lips as she says it. Like maybe she's surprised herself by engaging with the crazy plant guy for this long.
Outside, the winter sun is too bright and my hoodie’s too thin, but I walk back to the house like I’m in a goddamn indie film, plant in hand, still grinning like an idiot.
Greg catches a ray of sunlight, leaves practically glowing.
“Don't get cocky,” I tell him. “She was just being professionally tolerant. Plus, she's clearly too smart for both of us.”
I don’t even make it through the front door before I regret everything.
“Troy!” Freddie’s voice booms from the kitchen. “Ethan’s back and he’s brought—wait, is that a tree?”
“He’s a monstera.”
Alfie pokes his head around the corner, frowning. “Why are you carrying it like it’s a baby?”
“It has a name,” I say, stepping into the kitchen like I belong in this house. (I do. I pay rent. Usually.)
“Greg,” I announce proudly, holding him up like Rafiki presenting Simba.
There is silence.
“You’re having a breakdown,” Troy says flatly. “Should we stage an intervention or just set your room on fire now and save time?”
“He is someone for me to care for, a friend,” I say, setting Greg gently on the kitchen island.
“Oh, this is about Paige, isn’t it?” Troy replies. I hide my wince at her name.
“This is not about her.” “Some people drink. Some people rebound. Ethan goes insane,” drawls Alfie.
Freddie’s eyes widen, mock horror setting in. “Oh my god. Is Greg your rebound?”
“Greg’s the only one who hasn’t let me down this year,” I say solemnly.
Alfie, to his credit, just tilts his head at the plant like he’s trying to understand the origin of my latest brain worm. “You do know he’s not going to grow emotional roots and validate your life choices, right?”
“I don’t need him to,” I say, patting Greg. “I just need him to stay alive longer than my last relationship.”
There’s a pause. Then Troy snorts. “Better start praying now.”
“Or get a cactus,” Alfie mutters.
“Whatever, losers,” I say, grabbing a glass and filling it for Greg. “You’ll all see. He’s the start of a new era.”
“The…plant era?” Freddie asks.
“No,” I say dramatically. “The single era, I am done with relationships for now. I will stay with Greg until after college, when I’ll possibly open myself up to dating again. Until then, it’s one night stands only. Or celibacy.”
The boys exchange a look.
“Yeah, ok fine, one night stands.”
“I’m not sure whether to laugh or call a therapist,” Freddie comments.
To be honest, I’m not sure either.
Troy laughs like he’s already planning how to kill Greg.
Alfie just walks off muttering something about “If it sheds, it’s not living in the common room.”
“What are you up to tonight? Wanna come to the movies with me and Lilah?” Troy asks. As lovely as third wheeling their movie night sounds, I pass.
“I’m busy. Dad’s picking me up to go and watch the game.”
Troy nods. “Next time, then.”
I grab Greg and head upstairs.
The moment I shut my door, the silence swells. It’s not lonely exactly. Just... echoey. Like the room remembers she used to be here.
I set Greg on the windowsill and boot up my laptop, but I don’t open the game files. Not yet.
Instead, I pull open the photo gallery on my phone.
There she is. Paige.
Smiling in the middle of that stupid pumpkin patch I never even wanted to go to. Her head on my shoulder. Her hand in mine. Like she actually wanted to be there.
I stare at the photo for a long time. Then my thumb hovers over the trash icon.
Just press it.
Do it.
She cheated. She said I was just a “filler”—a distraction until someone better came along. So why is it so hard to let go of this?
The door creaks open without a knock.
“E,” Freddie says, leaning in. “You working on your showcase build tonight?”
I quickly lock the screen and toss my phone onto the bed like it’s radioactive. “Yeah. In a sec.”
“You good?”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Just needed a second to... reposition Greg.”
Freddie smirks but doesn’t press. He walks over and ruffles Greg’s leaf like it’s a real person. “You know she was a dick to you, but not all women are like that.”
“You think?” I ask quietly.
“Yeah. You just... you fall hard and fast man. Maybe slow down, get to know somebody. Let them get to know you properly.”
I snort. “Comforting.”
“Look, it’s okay to move on slowly,” Freddie continues, settling against my doorframe. “But you do have to move on eventually.”
“I am moving on!” I gesture dramatically at Greg. “Greg’s basically a chick magnet. Like a small dog but leafier. This hot waitress at Dora’s was totally into him today.”
Freddie raises an eyebrow. “The plant was a chick magnet?”
“Well, she was into me too. Kinda nerdy vibes—glasses, sarcastic, probably reads code for fun—but like, sexy nerdy. You know?”
“Did you get her number?”
“I was... establishing rapport. Building connection. Playing the long game.”
“So, no?”
“No.” I deflate slightly. Truth is, she was hot.
Smart-mouthed and quick-witted in a way that made my brain light up even through the post-Paige fog.
But flirting at parties, making out with random girls when I’m drunk—that’s one thing.
That’s safe. No expectations, no feelings, no chance of hearing I’m just a placeholder again.