Olive Juice

He’d hated it.

For such a long time, he’d hated it.

One day, he’d had enough.

He couldn’t do it anymore.

It wasn’t something he wanted.

His father had been pissed.

But he’d died a year later, so in the end it hadn’t mattered.

By then, Phillip had opened his bookstore. His father had never once stepped inside it.

Phillip hadn’t minded. Sure, it’d hurt at first, but he was happier. Alice and David had seen it right away, had seen the weight lifted off his shoulders. It’d been scary, and uncertain, especially when the economy had tanked the next year, but somehow, Phillip’s store survived. Flourished, even. He’d added the little café three years after opening, nothing major, just coffee and pastries served on mismatched dishes, but it was something of his. Something his father hadn’t had a hand in. In the end, that was enough for Phillip.

“Different,” Phillip said, taking a long, slow sip of wine. David didn’t watch as his throat bobbed, no matter how much he wanted to. That too was dangerous. “Thank you.”

David shifted in his seat. “For?”

Phillip shrugged, watching him over the wineglass. “Being here.”

“Yeah,” David said, popping his neck. “Yeah, sure.”

“I planted,” Phillip said.

Conversational whiplash. “What?”

“The bulbs. In the flowerbeds. I planted them. Had to get some help. I thought the guy at the nursery wanted to punch me in the face with all the questions I asked.”

David… didn’t know what to do with that. So, he said, “You planted? You remembered when?”

Phillip set down his glass, leaning forward and folding his hands on the table in front of him. “I remembered,” he said. “The bu

lbs go in the ground in the fall before it freezes in the winter.”

“Right,” David said, nodding almost manically. “That’s right. Yeah, you gotta get them in there before—”

“I did.”

“Good.”

“Crocuses. Lilacs. Lilies. Some catmint, though I don’t know how that’ll turn out.”

He ignored the part about the lilies. He didn’t want to think about lilies. “They’re almost like little hedges. You have to shear them back after the blossoms fade.”

“I think that’s what the nursery guy said. Maybe. He also was probably trying to convince me to not try and plant as many things as I had in the cart.”

That didn’t make sense. Phillip hated gardening. Sure, he wouldn’t complain, but he’d frown at the dirt on his hands, and chances were he’d pull up flowers just as much as weeds, but it was never really about the act of gardening itself. It was something Alice and David had loved, and Phillip wanted to be with them, so he did it too. “I can handle this,” he’d said, ignoring the way they’d snickered at him as he pulled on white gloves with tiny little roses stitched into them. “Just you watch me, I’ll handle this yet.”

David said, “That sounds nice. It’ll be pretty in the spring.”

“Yeah,” Phillip said, watching him with an unreadable expression. “I’m sure it’ll be on the front of Better Homes & Gardens.”

“Don’t get your hopes up. They’re picky.”

“Those bitches.”