Eggplant, Sprout and Alfalfa

My brother and his fiancee have a vegetable garden. You know, with dirt and green things that grow into tomatoes and peppers and zucchinis and food you can eat.

Tiffany and I have seven potted plants.

To be fair, my brother and his fiancee have a backyard. We have a fire escape. But we don't keep our plants there because you have to climb out the kitchen window over the sink to get to it.

Tiffany is in charge of our plants, and she has named them. There's Alfa-alfa, named for Alfalfa for his spiky green shoots, but spelled like the adorable way Tiffany pronounces that word. There's Sprout, the sad little succulent I picked out that lost all its branches save one. There's The Tall One, Orchid, Bamboo and Pinky. These names are less original but practical. Pinky, in particular, is troublesome. She sheds her tiny pink flowers whenever you move her. Sometimes Tiffany carries Pinky in one hand to the sink to water her and the dust buster we got free with left-over credit card points in the other.

"Laugh it up," she tells me, as I chuckle at the sight. "Damn pink plant."

We keep the damn pink plant because she's beautiful and Tiffany's dad gave her to us even though she's messy and has a funny smell.

I came home the other night to find this...

"Hi Babe! I brought home another adoptee. I'm thinking of calling her Flow. What do you think?"

...on our dry erase board.

For a second, I let myself daydream that we were in a place in our lives where our adoptees were stray cats or dogs. But, as I put down my bag, I saw Flow. She was soaking water in her new soil in our kitchen sink. She has thick shiny leaves that are purple at the bottom. I found out later Tiffany had rescued her from a colleague's spring cleaning.

"What do you think of Flow?" Tiffany asked, bursting in the door.

"I like Flow fine."

"I'm not sure about the name... how about Eggplant, for the purple roots?"

I smiled as Tiffany bustled around, moving Sprout and Alfa-Alfa, cooing to Orchid and running her hands over Bamboo. She cursed Pinky's flowers in a loving way.

Later, as we got ready for bed, I scribbled in my notebook.

"I know you're writing about our plants," she murmured sleepily. "But I'm not sure about Eggplant. I think I like Flow better." *

"I like Flow fine," I said again, turning out my light and smiling into the dark.

*She later changed her mind back to Eggplant.