3
" I told them dinner was ready and went to the living room, where Rachel and Richard were hiding out.
"You realize, I suppose, that both your names begin with the same letter." I poured them a glass of wine. Each. I'm generous that way. Richard grinned.
"Yes, we noticed that early on. We also noticed that if we have a child and give him or her a name that also begins with R that we can say we have the three Rs covered."
"Wow, and maybe you can all have matching propeller beanies." I was covering the fact I was suddenly excited at the thought of my sister having children. I had accepted it was never going to happen, and it was fine, but a baby is a baby, am I right?
Rachel shrugged. "Why not? How about Rapunzel, or Requiem, or Rumpelstiltskin?"
"Or Random, Rorschach, or Ritalin." Richard liked this game.
"You could go techy and call them RAM or ROM."
"Or medical and call them Rheumatism or Rabies or Rubella. "
― Abbi Waxman , The Garden of Small Beginnings
7
" Gene had already cleared the soil, or had someone do it for him, who knows, and brought in a load of plants and flowers, which were sitting around in their pots. The colors were all over the place, no great scheme there, but he'd gone for scent in a big way. I only recognized a few of the flowers, but they all smelled wonderful. Lisa ticked them off for me, her mouth full of pepperoni.
"Jasmine, freesia, lavender, sweet peas, alyssum, night-scented stock, scented phlox, clematis of course, and some fancy tuberose." She looked over at Gene. "You picked well. These should give her fragrance for most of the year, in turns. And some nice evening scents, too. "
― Abbi Waxman , The Garden of Small Beginnings
8
" Normally men don't really listen all that well. You can mention that you like apricots, or The Cure, or kittens, and it just goes out of their heads the minute it's out of your mouth. I personally seize on these clues about people. For example, I know that Sasha loves the smell of violets, and that Rose enjoys novels of a bodice-ripping nature and walks for exercise and has a Siamese cat called Dr. Oodles, but if I'd asked Dan what his best friend had studied at college- where they were roommates- he would have no idea.
Anyway, Edward was apparently different, because he'd sent me a gorgeous bouquet of roses that filled the room with an intense, sweetly lemony, rosy smell that was mind-blowing. The roses themselves were a rich cream and stuffed with petals that made them look like roses in paintings.
Sasha was looking at me.
"Well, you must have done something pretty amazing last night. I've been sketching these since I got in. They're the most gorgeous Madame Hardys I've seen in a long time." I could see she had also been getting her shit together; there were open cartons on her desk, and she'd brought her portfolio to the office.
"Aren't they roses?" I was bending down, sniffing deeply. I looked for a card.
Sasha laughed. "The name of the rose is Madame Hardy. It's a damask rose, and one of the most famous old roses available these days. Someone knows their flowers. "
― Abbi Waxman , The Garden of Small Beginnings
10
" And, of course, Dr. Bloem is one of the leading authorities on humus, internationally."
"The spread?" The eagle-looking guy was lost.
"I think of it more as a dip," interjected Rachel.
"Humus is a term for one of the major components of soil." The tight-haired young woman spoke clearly, shutting us all up. "Basically, it's decomposed matter. Leaves, animal remains, broken-down bark, that kind of thing."
Frances chimed in, "It's what everything becomes, eventually."
Rachel couldn't be stopped. "And it's yummy on a pita chip. "
― Abbi Waxman , The Garden of Small Beginnings
12
" Goodness," said my mother. "This is a tight fit. If you girls end up keeping these men longer than usual, we'll need to get a bigger table."
I let it go, but Rachel has more energy than me. "Are all relationships just opportunities for home furnishings, Mom?"
Mom shrugged. "Mostly, Rachel. Yours don't usually last long enough for furniture, though, do they?" She smiled at Richard, as if that made up for what she'd just said. "Maybe you're a keeper, though, Dick."
"Or maybe I'm just a dick," he shot back, "but hopefully I'm a keeper. "
― Abbi Waxman , The Garden of Small Beginnings
14
" Berto." Voice like ice.
"Maggie, cara mia!" Voice like fire.
He leapt forward to embrace her, but she held up her hand, her face grave. I noticed she'd freshened her lipstick, though. No dummy, that one.
"Back off! I am not going to forgive you, so don't fritter your charm. You broke my heart and sent me flying home like a kicked dog." Maggie was just warming up. "I fled my home, my work, my friends. Every single person we know, our colleagues, our neighbors, knew I had been thrown over for a younger woman and pitied me. I am not to be pitied, Berto. I am a proud and beautiful woman, and I am the one who should be pitying you. But I don't pity you, because you made your own bed. Now go back to Italy and lie in it. Alone. "
― Abbi Waxman , The Garden of Small Beginnings
18
" I want to make a heart in red flowers with blue flowers around it."
"Okeydokey. So, let's look for red flowers and blue flowers."
We flipped, she picked blue violas ("painted porcelain" they were called, a pale blue with darker blue edges, very pretty,) and something called a "chocolate cosmos," which was more burgundy than red, but still, it's her garden.
"Are they actually chocolate?" asked Clare, who had come back for a snack for herself and a rawhide chewy for Frank.
"No, but it says here that they smell of chocolate."
"Hmm." She'd fallen for that one before. "
― Abbi Waxman , The Garden of Small Beginnings
19
" First of all, Mr. Cheating Bastard, this is no time to be insulting my car-care abilities, and secondly, she doesn't want to talk to you."
He hung his head. "It is true, I have been a bad husband, a stupid man, and a careless friend, but I love my wife and I must talk to her."
He really looked dreadful, which was satisfying. I shook my head.
"Did you just arrive?" He nodded. "Then you haven't unpacked yet, which will save you some time. Go back to Italy, Berto, back to your little girlfriend."
"She is gone. It is over."
I switched over to disgusted frown. "Well. Maggie is not a consolation prize, shithead. She's the trophy, the Pulitzer, the Nobel. The fact that your girlfriend dumped you means nothing. Go home. "
― Abbi Waxman , The Garden of Small Beginnings
