The malachite plant is turning into something.

What, exactly, I’m not sure, but something. The tiny little shoot that Aiden coaxed out of a gemstone is now a six-inch tall youngling, the stem growing thicker in diameter. The veined leaves are an unusual shade; sea green, like Caribbean waters. They still click like glass when they brush together, but they're velvety soft, paper-thin, and very breakable. I plucked one experimentally when the plant first started sprouting, and it immediately fell apart in my hands, releasing a fresh, woodsy fragrance that clung to my fingers for days afterwards.

Now that I know how fragile this little life is, I’m taking extreme care while handling it. The new pot I brought over to Aiden’s place is too big for the shoot, but that’s okay. This should reduce the number of times we have to repot it, and therefore the number of opportunities to injure it. Besides, I get the feeling that the malachite plant wants some room to spread out.

I’m starting to understand it better. I’ve been taking careful notes on its unusual qualities.

For example: the flat circle of copper I put in the bottom of the old pot wasn't there when I emptied out the soil. It was just gone. No sign that it ever existed in the first place.

I’m putting three pieces of copper in the new pot, just to be safe. I’m terrified of killing this thing. It’s rare that a plant dies on my watch, but I have no guidebook for this one, nowhere to search up information on what it needs and what could be fatal to it.

I’m thinking about the chestnut tree behind the apple orchard. How easily even a giant like that could fall. What can kill a chestnut besides blight? Oh, not a lot. An excess of clay in the soil. Fluctuating weather that freezes and then melts the sap, causing the tree to scald. Too cold of a winter. Pollination at the wrong moment. Bugs. A hard frost in early spring. Even the wrong level of water in the soil can stunt the growth and turn it into a bush instead of a tree.

And that’s for a plant I could spend hours researching. The malachite plant is a complete mystery, and it’s the only one in the whole fucking world. If it dies under my care…

Yeah, I can’t even think about it. But I can think about how a dead chestnut leaves behind its living roots. How ten or twenty baby chestnuts might shoot up from the stump. The thought calms me down a little as I slip the malachite plant into its fresh pot and pat the soil down around it.

All of the leaves suddenly shift of their own accord, turning to face the sliding glass door. I turn, too, just in time to see Aiden slip inside. The leaves wave gently, as if in a breeze, greeting their power source.

“Hi,” he says, slipping his work bag off of his shoulder, his hair all messy and damp from the rain outside. “How did it go?”

“Okay, I think. The plant is growing faster, living here with you.”

Aiden joins me at the desk for a closer look. “Yeah, I noticed that.”

“I have a feeling that it might be a baby tree. Hard to say for sure just yet, though.”

“Hmm.” Aiden touches a finger to a leaf, and it curls around his fingertip like an affectionate pet. “Well, if it is a baby tree-”

“A sapling, technically.”

“It can’t stay in a pot forever, can it?”

“Nope.” I stare down at the plant, chewing my lip. “We’re going to have to find someplace to plant it permanently.”

Aiden straightens up to look at me, his eyebrow arched. “Why do you sound so stressed out by that prospect?”

“I don’t know, it’s just a big commitment, that’s all!”

He chuckles and winds his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder as I sweep the extra soil back into the bag.

“Speaking of commitment, um, stuff. I’m gonna talk to my aunt tomorrow. I decided yesterday, while we were at the orchard.”

I twist to look up at him. “Really?”

He nods, blue eyes determined.

“Yes. Definitely. Are you still down to come with me? I’m going to do it after work.”

“Yeah, of course! I was actually gonna swing by City Hall tomorrow, anyways. Gabby wants to hear how it went with Ellen. I can drive us over after that, I’ll just come when you’re wrapping up.”

“Perfect.” Aiden leans down to kiss my nose. “Thank you.”

He really doesn’t have to thank me. I want to tell him how much it means to me, that he’s about to share all this with Ms. Callahan. How fucking crazy it makes me feel inside, knowing that he’s doing something so permanent that’s based around us.

He can’t take this back. There’s no time traveling to undo anything. We only have one conduit left, and we need it to return the pocket watch to ourselves.

It’s sort of nerve-wracking, even for me, and I’m not the one who has to do the talking.

But I’m hoping that this will go okay. It's so clear to me, how much Ms. Callahan loves Aiden. I think she just wants him to be happy, and that’s all I want, too. We’re on the same team, honestly.

I turn in Aiden’s arms, then rock onto my toes to kiss him. His hands spread on my back, pulling me in closer, and I can completely understand why the malachite plant is always adoringly following his movements.

“Heliocentrism,” I mumble, against his mouth.

“What?” he murmurs.

I pull back and stare into the bright pools of his eyes, his sweet smile.

“Nothing.” I laugh to myself, then lean up for another kiss. My daily dose of sunlight, raining though it may be.

~~~~

City Hall is bustling today, the hallways crowded and loud. I'm not exactly surprised when Gabby calls to ask if it’s okay to postpone our meet up. It’s no big deal. I’m here for Aiden, too, and so far as I know our plans are still on. The only problem is that now I have some time to kill before he’s done for the day.

I stop in the hallway, watching the rain roll down the windows, considering what to do next. There’s a tiny coffee shop in City Hall - near the side door, if I’m remembering correctly. I know that it’s late in the day, but Aiden, like me, never turns down extra caffeine. I have enough time to stop and grab us both a cup before I head to his office.

I round the corner, look up from my phone, and stop.

There’s a small indoor courtyard by the coffee shop, a quiet space in all the noise. Alix and Ripley are sitting there together.

Ripley has an elbow propped on the table, his chin on his palm, listening to Alix with a smile on his face. She’s talking animatedly, so much so that one of her gesturing hands knocks her thermos off-balance. Ripley steadies it before it can fall, and I notice that his fingers are once again stained their usual bright colors.

I start to back away, but Ripley glances up and spots me. He waves, and Alix twists in her seat.

“Hi, Jamie!” she calls.

“Hi! Don’t mind me, I’m just grabbing-”

“Come sit with us!”

Oh, god. Here I am interrupting again, but I can’t think of a not-rude way to refuse her offer, so. I snag a chair from another table and sit down next to Alix, across from Ripley.

“What’s up, interns?”

“We were just talking about that petition!” Alix answers. “The one about the trees by the school, did you hear?”

“Oh, yeah! I still have to sign that.”

“Please do, it’s gotten so few signatures,” she groans. “I’m really bummed out. It got a handful at the beginning, but apparently people were signing it as a joke.” She scowls darkly, tapping a manicured finger on her thermos. “I don’t see how that’s even remotely funny, honestly.”

“You’re pretty passionate about this, huh?” I ask, and Alix nods.

“Yes, I am. It’s like I told Ripley when those people first started coding the trees to be cut - that grove has been there since forever! When I was in middle school I used to go sit there after a bad day. It’s sort of special to me.” She sighs deeply. “It sucks that they’re cutting them down.”

“Sounds like they won’t be cutting for a while, at least,” I tell her. “Gabby said that whoever messed with the codes really set them back. Who knew that Ketterbridge had a vandalism problem?”

“It’s not a problem if you ask me,” Alix says heatedly. “I have mad respect for whoever did that. They were brave and they made a statement, which is more than those people complaining about it can probably say.”

Ripley lets out a very soft laugh through his nose, then immediately pins his lip between his teeth.

“What, you don’t agree, Ripley? I’m with Alix, I think it’s kind of awesome.”

“I’ve…” He wraps his fingers around his coffee. “Heard people say it was too much.”

“Okay, but if it wasn’t too much, would someone have started a petition?” Alix spins to face him, speaking so aggressively that he blinks in surprise. “Would it have been brought to our attention in the press department? I don’t think so. Sometimes too much is a good thing. Besides, it looks so fucking cool! I have the photo saved to my phone. I just keep staring at it.”

Ripley is smiling again, this time even wider than before. “Hm.”

“I saw that you already signed the petition, by the way.” Alix reaches out and folds her hand around Ripley’s, which is resting on the table. “Thank you. I’m trying to get more people to do it, but it’s hard.”

She gives his fingers a squeeze and lets go. Ripley takes his hand from the table; he ducks his chin and looks down at his coffee, his green curls tumbling into his face. “No problem.”

“Alix!” someone calls. We all look across the courtyard to see a woman with an iPhone crammed between her ear and her shoulder, holding a stack of folded newspapers and looking somewhat frantic. “Could use you right now!”

Alix springs to her feet and grabs for her thermos, but miscalculates and practically punches it over. Ripley’s hand darts out to catch it before it flies off the table. He offers it back to her, clearly trying to contain a laugh.

“Oops, sorry! Thanks!” She smiles brightly at him. “Text me?”

He nods silently. Alix gets halfway to the woman who called for her, then stops and spins around, revealing a brief flash of the pink streak in her hair.

“Oh - bye, Jamie!”

“Bye!” I turn back to Ripley, grinning. “So. You two are doing coffee together, now?”

He stares pointedly over my shoulder. I’m fluent enough in Ripley-speak by now to know what this means. We’re not discussing this.

“Okay, okay, we don’t have to talk about it,” I tell him. Someone steps through the nearby side door, letting in a gust of cold air, and I shiver. “Aren’t you freezing, by the way? It’s so chilly outside now, and with the rain...”

At least Alix had an oversized cardigan. Ripley is wearing a short-sleeved dress shirt, like he does every day. He shrugs, clearly grateful for the change of subject.

“I like it better when it’s cold.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it, um.” He fades off for a moment. “Kind of sucks to wear a binder when it’s really hot. So fucking sweaty. And hard to breathe, sometimes.”

“Oh.” I draw back, surprised. This is the first time that Ripley has ever brought up the fact that he's trans in a conversation with me. I feel sort of touched, but I try to keep it casual. “I guess I didn't know that was an issue."

“Mhm. I literally put an ice pack in there, once.”

He bites back a smile as I let out a startled laugh.

“In your binder?”

“Had to do it. Couldn’t take it off at school, and I was dying. I told the nurse I had a headache and then ran off with the ice pack. No regrets. It felt amazing.”

I laugh again, then grin in delight when Ripley does, too.

“Well, if it’s ever hard to breathe, you’re welcome to a puff from my inhaler.”

“Thanks. Good to know.” Ripley flashes me another quick smile, then looks up over my shoulder. “Hey, Aiden.”

“Hey.” Aiden messes up my hair with one hand and Ripley's with the other, dropping into the seat next to me. “Did I just see Alix roll out of here?” He winks at Ripley. “You went to one of the intern lunches, didn’t you?”

“I… yes.” He fidgets with one of his green curls. “It was okay.”

“Told you.”

Ripley shoots Aiden a crooked smile, then hesitates.

“Has, um. Has Noah said anything to you guys about the design I drew for him?”

“He still didn’t say anything?” I stare at Ripley, taken aback. “That’s so weird, I swear he loved it, Ripples, and I gave him the original - he really hasn’t said-? I'll text him.”

“No, no,” Ripley says quickly. “It’s okay. I was just wondering.” He checks his watch, then gets up and grabs his coffee. “I should get back to Gabby, she's slammed. See you guys later.”

Aiden waits until he’s out of earshot to say anything.

“He’s talking a little more, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I do.” I watch Ripley disappear into the crowded quarters of City Hall, then turn back to Aiden. “Ready to go to your aunt’s house?”

“Mhm.” He reaches under the table to squeeze my fingers. “Are you ready?”

As much as I’m ever going to be. I look at Aiden, and he nods, then gets to his feet.

“Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Let’s do it.”

~~~~

I sit on the steps of the back porch, gazing absently at the trees that line Ms. Callahan’s lawn. She and Aiden have been inside for a long time. I’ve signed the petition that Alix was talking about, and sent it to my parents and some friends. I’ve checked my texts and my email twice. I’ve been messaging Raj, who is planning to put in the new windows at the Ghost Office soon. I wanted to see if he could make it so that they can open. They couldn’t before, and I know that Aiden would like it better this way.

But I’m too anxious to really concentrate on anything, and I finally gave up and put my phone away. At least the soft, cold patter of the rain against my skin is strangely calming. I don’t know why, but if it eases the nerves making my stomach feel all weird and tight, I’ll take it.

I sit motionless in the drizzle, my arms around my knees, until I hear the porch door click open.

I peer through the darkness, expecting to see Aiden, but it’s Ms. Callahan, and she’s alone. She stops right outside, looking at me, then closes the door after herself.

“Hi, Ms. Callahan. Is Aiden, um-?”

“I asked him for a moment alone with you,” she says, crossing the porch. I start to get up, but she lowers herself next to me on the steps, holding tightly to the railing. I offer her a hand, help her sit. She tucks a silver strand behind her ear, then reaches into the pocket of her flower-print dress.

I stare with my eyebrows all the way up as Ms. Callahan pulls out a pack of cigarettes, extracts one, and sticks it in her mouth. She catches my expression and waves a hand at me, revealing that she’s got a lighter under her thumb.

“I quit a long time ago, but I keep a pack around for special occasions.” She lights up, takes a long drag, and leans back to look at me, one wrinkled hand spread on the porch to prop her up. “You wouldn't fault an old lady for gunning a stick every now and then, would you, dear?”

“Oh, my god. Um.” I honestly almost start laughing, hearing those words coming from her, but I’m too nervous for that. “No, definitely not.”

“Good.” She takes another pull, breathes out a slow furl of smoke, and meets my eyes. “So, James. You and I need to have a little talk.”