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“Why don’t you just have a seat at the table? I'll go get to the box and you can take a peek through what I've got.”
“Yes, thank you,” I nod gratefully.
As I settle into the homely, comfortable kitchen chair, I take a look around. I don't want to be to nosy, but this is a really nice place. Not fancy, not wealthy, but clean and neat as a pin, for all the stuff that's in here.
Every wall is covered with an abundance of objects. There are decorative plates, small paintings, and innumerable pictures. Almost every square inch of wall space is covered with a memento or a decorative object of some kind. I get the feeling that all of these things mean something to Margie and if we had time, she could tell me a story about each and every one.
Emotion rushes through me, and though I know it's just the hormones hijacking my body again, it takes me by surprise. I'm not sad, but I want to cry anyway. This seems so settled, so different than the life I've led so far. I mean, I don't regret being the sort of person who likes to go on adventures, but I've never had a chance to collect objects like this. Let alone have a place to display them.
You have to live somewhere a long, long time to be a collector like this. You have to really settle in.
I realize suddenly how much I want that. How that idea fills a void in me I never fully realized that I have. I want to be settled. I want to be so comfortable in one place that I want to decorate and embellish it. To celebrate it.
Not just accumulate stuff, but accumulate emotion. I want to collect good feelings and artifacts to represent those feelings. Keep myself snug and warm in an emotional blanket of sorts.
“Oh, sweetie, are you okay?”
Margie comes forward with the box in her hands, her face a mask of alarm.
“Oh, I'm fine!” I insist, fanning myself with my hand. “I just… I really like your house. It's really beautiful.”
“Hormones, huh?” she nods wisely as she sits down. She flips the top off the box and pushes it toward me.
My jaw falls open.
“Well, I, um…”
“Oh, sweetie!” she exclaims sweetly. “Don't even worry about it. I could see it on you when you were out in the garden. You glow. You really do! When are you due?”
“I don't know yet… I haven't been to the doctor. I've got an appointment on Wednesday.”
She squints at me, leaning back in her chair and tilting her head. “Well, I'm going to say that you’re about… eight weeks or so? Give or take?”
“Wow, you're good!” I laugh. “Do you know what I'm having? Girl or boy?”
“Well, one of each if you’re lucky!”
My breath catches in my throat. “I'm sorry, what?”
“Oh, didn't you know? Twins run in that family. Not just Tim and Tom! Their dad was a twin. And their aunts too. They lived right here on the property, did they tell you?”
Suddenly I feel woozy. Twins?
“Oh… or maybe it was triplets?” she muses, her eyes far away. She taps her wrinkly jowls with her fingertips thoughtfully. “Yeah… somebody had triplets. I can't remember who it was right now…”
“No… please don't say that! I cannot handle triplets!”
“Oh, we all handle what's handed to us,” she shrugs. “I could tell by looking at you that you're a strong one, Vanessa. You'll handle everything okay!”
I flip through the little envelopes in the box, noting how each one is neatly marked with the name of the plant, quantity and dates of the seeds, and small instructions about what kind of water and sunlight the plants prefer. It's just another artifact of Margie's wonderful life, that she took all the care to put this all together.
“Do you have a recommendation? What do you think would go good in the garden?”
“Oh, you know… it doesn’t really matter. Seeds are meant to be spread. Lots of people want to make a nice, orderly garden… something predictable and boring with plants and rows. But I find that seeds will grow wherever you put them. They want to be alive. So you don't have to be too fussy!”
“So, these? The sweet peas?”
I hold up an envelope, shaking it to listen to the rustling seeds inside.
