It was nearly winter now, and sometimes Mikey and Pete couldn't even see each other properly under a blanket of dead leaves. They caught in Mikey's fronds and Pete would help him shake them out, then let his roots snuggle a little closer until Mikey stopped complaining about it.
"You're crowding me," Mikey grumbled instead. His taproot had really grown over the past summer, and The Gardener had planted them a bit too close together to start with, so by now Pete was pressed all the way up against him, only a thin cloak of dirt and their rootlets filling the spaces between them. When The Gardener finally pulled them up, they'd both be uprooted. Mikey liked the thought. He didn't want to be in the pot without Pete.
"I'm cold," Pete explained innocently, and Mikey rustled in fake annoyance. But he didn't try to push Pete away.
The Gardener came out now and then, pulled dead stems and stalks from the ground. Mikey didn't watch the day she took Gerard's bush away to the compost pile, even though Gerard himself was long gone. Pete told him stories about sunshine, and Mikey let himself pretend it was summer again, until it was all over.
She never came for them.
"Aren't you going to get those two last carrots?" The Man Standing Next To The Gardener said, one evening when the wind was icy and there was frost on the ground.
"Nope," The Gardener said, and picked up a watering can. The water was cold but so good, and Mikey was so cold now anyway he didn't care, cold all the time, drowsy and dreamy and slow. It soaked into him, into Pete, he could feel it filling them both up.
"Why not?"
The Gardener put the can away. "I want to leave them in the ground over the winter." She brushed her hand over their greens, and it felt almost as good as when Pete did it. "Then in the spring, they'll flower."
"Carrots have flowers?"
"Yes." The Gardener looked happy. "And then they go to seed. This way I can keep them going. I've got seeds saved from that Britney pepper, too, and the courgettes."
"Not to mention that cucumber," The Man Standing Next To The Gardener said, grinning, and The Gardener went pink.
"Flowers," murmured Pete happily.
"Seeds," Mikey murmured back, and let himself drift off a bit, dreaming about next summer, hot and humid; about Pete's flower stalk growing tall next to his in the spring; about a new pepper growing in Gerard's pot, brightly colored and happy; about Frank and Jamia and Ray's seedlings coming back into the garden.
"Next year," Pete said blurrily, a promise, and then they were sleeping.
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"You're crowding me," Mikey grumbled instead. His taproot had really grown over the past summer, and The Gardener had planted them a bit too close together to start with, so by now Pete was pressed all the way up against him, only a thin cloak of dirt and their rootlets filling the spaces between them. When The Gardener finally pulled them up, they'd both be uprooted. Mikey liked the thought. He didn't want to be in the pot without Pete.
"I'm cold," Pete explained innocently, and Mikey rustled in fake annoyance. But he didn't try to push Pete away.
The Gardener came out now and then, pulled dead stems and stalks from the ground. Mikey didn't watch the day she took Gerard's bush away to the compost pile, even though Gerard himself was long gone. Pete told him stories about sunshine, and Mikey let himself pretend it was summer again, until it was all over.
She never came for them.
"Aren't you going to get those two last carrots?" The Man Standing Next To The Gardener said, one evening when the wind was icy and there was frost on the ground.
"Nope," The Gardener said, and picked up a watering can. The water was cold but so good, and Mikey was so cold now anyway he didn't care, cold all the time, drowsy and dreamy and slow. It soaked into him, into Pete, he could feel it filling them both up.
"Why not?"
The Gardener put the can away. "I want to leave them in the ground over the winter." She brushed her hand over their greens, and it felt almost as good as when Pete did it. "Then in the spring, they'll flower."
"Carrots have flowers?"
"Yes." The Gardener looked happy. "And then they go to seed. This way I can keep them going. I've got seeds saved from that Britney pepper, too, and the courgettes."
"Not to mention that cucumber," The Man Standing Next To The Gardener said, grinning, and The Gardener went pink.
"Flowers," murmured Pete happily.
"Seeds," Mikey murmured back, and let himself drift off a bit, dreaming about next summer, hot and humid; about Pete's flower stalk growing tall next to his in the spring; about a new pepper growing in Gerard's pot, brightly colored and happy; about Frank and Jamia and Ray's seedlings coming back into the garden.
"Next year," Pete said blurrily, a promise, and then they were sleeping.