“So, uh, brushing up on canning?”
Leila jumped, almost dropping the jars she had bundled in her arms.
“Hah! Easy there,” Jon said, a soft smile on his face. “I see you’ve decided to follow in your ol’ man’s footsteps, and start pickling. I’m… I’m so proud right now.” He feigned wiping a tear from his eye, and then crossed his arms and stared at her silently, his mouth still turned in that accusatory grin he was so good at. “Though it’s a slightly odd time to start. Storm and all.”
“What?” Leila asked, shifting uncomfortably. All that “ol’ man” talk that Jon was so fond of always made her feel a bit weird. It’d had only been a few months, here in this new home, even less time since the adoption went through. And while the Klines certainly didn’t seem like they’d be going anywhere anytime soon, at least not without her, the mom-and-dad-type talk made her incredibly uneasy. Especially when Jon was so quick to toss it around, goofy as he was.
It wasn’t fair to toss words around like that, when they could be taken away just as quickly as they were said.
And they often were.
She’d seen it. She’d felt that sting before.
“What’s going on with all the sticks?” he asked, nodding at the sink.
“They’re from the willow,” Leila said, trying to hide the melancholy in her voice as she made her way over to the sink and looked down at the snapped-off twigs. A bubble of pain blossomed inside her chest and she pushed it back down. She nodded towards the kitchen’s large bay window, which showed off a view of the backyard and the now-split tree. “After that, she’s probably not going to make it.”
“She?” Jon asked, still smiling.
“Yes, like all living things that give life on this planet, the willow is a she,” Leila said with a smirk. She reached into the sink and plucked out one of the willow’s sticks, examining the end where she’d broken it.
“Ah, my little feminist,” Jon said, beaming proudly. “You’ve got something right here—” Leila felt Jon picking something out of her hair. She shot her head back and gave him a scowl.
“Jon! Come on, man, don’t touch my hair!” she shouted, running her hands over her thick curls that took an eternity to get just right. Granted, it was all a mess right now after climbing up the tree, but still. He had to learn. She figured he should know better after all these years with Liz.
“Sorry, sorry! You had some leaves,” Jon said, still smiling. “I’m working on that.”
“I know. Thanks. I appreciate it,” Leila said, returning to look at the sticks. She opened one of the kitchen drawers and plucked out her Leatherman, a multi-tool she used when out fussing in the gardens with Jon or pruning shrubs in front of the house. He’d given it to her a couple of days after she’d gotten settled in the new home, when he caught her staring through the bay window at him and Liz working in the garden. This was one of the many endearing quirks that Jon had, his misguided attempts at being sweet and the “cool” parent, like giving Leila— mostly a complete stranger—a knife less than a week after she arrived. She smiled, thinking of the fight he’d had with Liz about it, as she slid it out of its worn fabric case. Bits of frayed string stuck out this way and that, and she opened the silver-colored gadget to the tucked-away blade inside.
“So—” Jon started.
“Look, I know what happens,” Leila said flatly, as she peeled away some of the bark on the ends of the sticks, revealing the green, cutting an inch or so from the bottom of each small branch.
“Happens?” Jon asked while she worked.
“Yes, to the tree.” Leila nodded up towards the window without actually looking out it. She started to fill the mason jars up just a bit with water, a few inches or so. She placed one down in the sink with a satisfying clink and looked back up at Jon.
“It’s damaged,” Leila said, curtly. “And now you and Liz are going to get rid of it.”
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