That afternoon, they planted tomatoes. Maya dug holes with a trowel that had belonged to her grandmother, her braids coming undone in the humidity. Leo knelt in the dirt, knees popping, and pressed each seedling into the dark soil with a reverence he hadn’t known he still possessed.
Leo smiled. “That’s May’s problem. Right now, we’re still in April.” spring month in usa
And when they went inside, Maya made hot chocolate—terrible, watery hot chocolate—and Leo added a splash of bourbon to his. They sat by the window, watching the sheets flutter in the dark, and listened to the wind try one last time to be winter. That afternoon, they planted tomatoes
“Look! It’s not dead! It was just sleeping!” Leo smiled
On the third week, something shifted. The dogwood tree in the backyard, which Leo had been sure was dead, exploded in white blossoms overnight. Maya ran inside, muddy shoes and all, dragging him by the hand.