What's Good; What's Left - pt v

Vesta’s thumb hovered over the call button on her phone. She’d been trying to steel herself for so long that the screen went dark, so she had to quickly turn it back on again to face the icon she’d saved for her old therapist. She should call him– her conversation with Prose at Beanny’s cafe had really illuminated where she’d gone wrong. It was the first time since arriving in Burrowgatory that she would not be attending therapy. The thought made her nervous.

Just as she had mustered up the courage to make the call, her phone erupted with a ring.

Primrose was calling.

Vesta frowned, wondering what about– she was told that there weren’t any packages to or from the Embassy to pick up or deliver– she wasn’t even certain she was going to head up at all that day. Maybe it was an emergency. She answered.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, Vesta,” Primrose greeted. “I’m sure you remember when, a little over a month ago, now, we planted ambrosia together…?”

“I do recall,” she answered. “We’ve been tending to it ever since.”

“Yes! Well, the fruits of our labour have paid off. The ambrosia is ready to harvest. I figured you would come by later this afternoon, but I really have a lot to do. It would be wonderful if you could find time this morning to come by the Embassy.”

“I’ll be there,” she promised. “I should be there shortly.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you then.”

The pair bid their goodbyes and hung up the phone. A small part of Vesta was relieved not to have to make that call to her old doctor at the moment.

Vesta rushed through the door to the Garden of Virtues to find Primrose sitting on a bench, waiting for her. He stood as soon as she entered.

“You arrived quickly!” Primrose exclaimed.

“I didn’t want to miss this,” Vesta replied.

He guided her over to the flowerbed, where the ambrosia was blooming. Vesta hadn’t checked up on it every day like Primrose had– the last she saw, the blossoms were still curled in on themselves. Seeing them all in bloom like this… Vesta didn’t know if there was any one word to describe how she felt. There was a part of it that was nostalgic, certainly. More than that, though, she realized that she had never before been able to get anything to flower. She had definitely tried, in her childhood, to help out in the gardens; but she had always either tried too hard or lost interest, and was thus never able to grow anything. It was a sense of fulfillment– though it was also completely accidental. 

“They are beautiful,” Primrose commented.

“They are,” Vesta agreed.

“We should get started.”

Primrose handed Vesta a set of garden shears. She took them, somewhat apprehensively. She knew that the point of growing these flowers was to harvest them, but she wanted to relish in her small victory a little while longer before she took a blade to them.

It was going to happen sooner or later, though.

Primrose guided her to a place close to the bottom of the stem, and told her to cut at a ninety-degree angle. She very carefully followed his instructions, and laid the flowers down in a basket he had set on the ground. When he was certain that she had the technique down, he used his own shears to do the same thing.

“Wouldn’t it be more efficient to use the shears for more than one flower?” Vesta asked. “This seems excessive.”

“Perhaps,” Primrose answered, “but with ambrosia as scarce as it is, I don’t want to take any chances.”

She nodded, understanding.

“How was your delivery last week?” he continued. He would rather strike up a conversation than work silently.

“Fine,” she replied. She would rather work silently than have a conversation.

“I’ll have another shipment for Beanny soon,” Primrose said. “I’m not one to engage in gossip, but-”

Vesta sighed harshly and rolled her eyes. How many times had she heard that in her life?

“I’m not!” Primrose knew well by then about Vesta’s aversion. “She only told me you’d made a friend.”

She scoffed. “I accidentally tripped over someone and then offered to pay for their coffee.”

“That was nice of you,” he said. “You know, they’re a regular at the Cafe.”

“That’s great for them.” 

“You know, if these deliveries become a regular thing, you could see them more often. They have some sort of music class, don’t they?”

“Why do you know all of this?”

“Cherubuns talk,” Primrose replied. “Well, most of us do, anyhow.”

“I know. Why do you care?”

He shrugged. “You don’t seem to have many friends, or connections. I think it would be nice for you if you had more than one person to talk to.”

“For your information, I was about to call my therapist to book an appointment when you called.”

“Is that so? Good for you.” Primrose nodded his head approvingly. “I’m sorry I stopped you.”

“It’s probably for the best.” Vesta sighed. “He dismissed me after the last session.”

“Oh… I’m sorry to hear that.”

She shrugged. “It was my own fault. I didn’t want to open up, but still expected him to be able to help me. I… realize that was probably foolhardy.”

“Probably. Well, all you can do is try to be better– I’m sure he’d be happy to help.”

Vesta shrugged again. “It doesn’t make it any less humiliating– he said as much to me to my face, but I didn’t really understand what he meant until a stranger in a coffee shop laid it out for me.”

“The friend you made at the cafe?”

“Friend is perhaps a strong word. We didn’t exchange any contact information. But, yes.”

Primrose couldn’t help the small grin that came to his face. He just loved to be right. “You should pursue that friendship. Clearly, this person would be good to have in your life.”

“Prose, or my therapist?”

“Both, though I was referring to Prose. That is the person you met at the cafe, yes?”

“No, I invented a third person to trip you up.” Vesta rolled her eyes sarcastically.

“Well, I’ll get the delivery ready for you, and I’ll send you out at the same time,” Primrose said. “Maybe you’ll see them again.”

“Maybe.”

“You should also call your therapist.”

“What, now? Aren’t we in the middle of something?” She gestured to the growing pile of ambrosia flowers in the basket between them.

“Of course I don’t mean now. Later. I just mean to say that you should.”

The pair finished harvesting the flowers. Primrose continued to badger Vesta about her relationships, which, while annoying, was… somehow not unwelcome. It was nice that someone was thinking about her; she wasn’t certain that had ever been the case. She almost wished she’d taken the time to get to know Primrose before they fell– but given how particular he was with every little routine and ritual pertaining to the preservation of heavenly culture, she was certain they would not have gotten along. Maybe it was the perfect time for them to have met. Maybe she should try to see Prose again…

First, she had to call Ponder.