Good Friday and I’m at the plant nursery tearing up looking at trees. Do these shed their leaves in the winter? How tall will they get? How fast do they grow? I really don’t love the fact that since we took out our old oleanders our neighbors can see into our shower…
These are all things I might say to someone if anyone was around, but the nursery is the size of a zoo, the plants on display are the only ones around to tell you their story and it’s becoming increasingly more obvious that I am no plant whisperer. I’ve killed at least three succulents since November.
Mom always says it’s cloudy on Good Friday, but this year it’s about 85º, which is also kind of sad since California couldn’t need rain more.
I sent Dave an email mid-week to see when he was planning on heading back to our house from Ocean Beach. We would’ve called him, but since no one we know in the San Diego area owns a Nokia C1 from 2002 he can’t charge his dead retro phone and has had to resort to borrowing computers to email us. His most recent message to me from the day before reads:
“been killing it, so fun shooting peir, i’m gonna show up prob tomorrow afternoon and hang for the evening, i might bring a chick”
I take a bunch of pictures of the trees I like before I leave so I can try to identify them with Google and head to the store to get the ingredients for Taco Crunch for Scott, me, Dave and the “chick” he might bring over.
He’s there at four and we sit around Sprout’s nursery as Scott assembles the closet organization system and Dave tells us stories about going to get a burrito in Pacific Beach the night before. “Picture it,” he says.
“I’m outside of this Mexican restaurant while this preppy looking college kid stumbles out drunk, pees himself, drops his burrito and then falls into both. The best part is he’s wearing a VIP badge. My friend tried to film him, but I stopped him because it was just too pathetic. The guy was texting someone. We don’t know who he was texturing, but we joked that it was a chick off tinder and he was gonna crawl up off the ground just in time to get scooped up by some hot chick. You could just make that really happen.”
“These are exactly the kind of stories I’d hoped would be told in our baby’s nursery,” I say.
Later on the girl Dave’s invited over is on the phone explaining that she doesn’t want to come to dinner because she’s had a long day. Dave says one of three things will happen:
1) She won’t come in at all and will just honk the horn at the front of our house until he comes out.
2) She’ll come in with her two kids and we’ll all hang out.
3) She’ll just drive right on by all of us on the freeway and he’ll never see her again.
“I can’t decide which option I want,” I say. I had no idea she was going to bring kids until this moment.
Picture this: Scott and I furiously throwing together the meal, chopping lettuce and tomatoes, heating the tofu and refried black beans on high and setting the table with the nice plates we got as wedding gifts.
We find out that option #1 is chosen.
Dave anxiously packs his gear and is so beside himself that his awesome plan of having us all chill and eat taco salad didn’t work out that he says he can’t eat. He takes out a Ziplock bag and starts cramming Taco crunch into it; says he’ll eat later when he’s not so worked up. The bag explodes on the white counter: refried beans, chips, lettuce, salsa. A tupperware is offered instead. I can’t think of a worse meal to take “to-go” style.
We all wait on the porch for the girl to come pick Dave up. He says “How many more times do y’all figure we’ll see each other before we die?”
“Fifteen?” Scott says.
“That’s a little too optimistic. I say five to eight,” Dave says.
We all hug Dave goodbye and carry his stuff out to the girl’s car, hoping he’s wrong about how many more times we’ll meet.
These are things I can’t forget.
The next day is spent with my family celebrating Easter. I wear a Hawaiian print shirt that makes me forget I look pregnant. My sisters say I look more like Leonardo DiCaprio in the new school version of Romeo and Juliet.
We surf all day and have an Easter egg hunt. There are six eggs, one for each kid (my sisters and I and our significant others). Each has some money in it ranging from $1 to $20. If you get a dollar amount that’s low, you can put it back and try to find a higher amount. I try this, but get $1 eggs every time.
We take the dinner table outside and sit on the cliff. Dad’s always wanted to do this, but we never have. Everyone is laughing about Danielle imitating how a baby like Sprout would say her name. She sounds like a dinosaur.
These are things I can’t forget either.