Weekend Friend

01.

I'M SITTING SHOTGUN in my best friend's Prius. I would've rolled down the windows if it was a picture-perfect September day, but the wildfires blazing out in eastern Washington have turned Seattle into a cauldron of clouds and smoke. According to the weather app on my phone, the air quality is very unhealthy, and ash occasionally flutters down from the sky like morbid confetti.

On clear days, you can see the Olympic and Cascade mountain ranges with Mount Rainier as the crown jewel. Claremont University even has its iconic Rainier Vista—a grand promenade of academic buildings with the mountain as its focal point.

"What's your vision, Jensen?" Parker side-eyes me from behind the Ray-Ban Clubmasters she wears despite the grim weather. The thin gold frames accentuate the glossiness of her shoulder-length blonde hair.

"Coffee first, obviously," I announce as I queue a few of Parker's favourite folk songs from our blended playlist on Spotify. "And then we're going to Ravenna Gardens for your new cute plant."

"Trader Joe's has cute plants too," Parker says casually, like she's trying to make her objection discreet. "If we go, I'll pick up some banana bread mix."

I look at Parker, who has her attention on the road. To her credit, this is a clever enticement. Banana bread is usually my kryptonite. But dissuading me from taking us to Ravenna Gardens would take a lot more than the promise of a baked treat. Parker might be driving, but I'm navigating.

"We're going to Ravenna Gardens because we have a tradition to uphold," I reply firmly. The tradition I'm referring to concerns what I deem to be the most financially responsible acquisition following a falling out with a boy: a new plant. "You need a plant that's low-maintenance, cute, and will treat you with the respect you deserve."

"Fine," Parker huffs out in resignation. "Here's to hoping that a cute plant will cure me of my boy-induced misery."

"It's a strong first step," I advise, regrettably speaking from experience.

Parker almost smiles as she flicks on the turn signal for University Village, the upscale outdoor shopping centre close to campus. Even on a smoky Sunday afternoon, shoppers circle the parking lot in their cars like seagulls on a populated beach, but Parker manages to snag a prime spot vacated by a Range Rover. It's a small victory, but it's one she needed.

After stopping for pricey yet devastatingly good iced oat lattes, we meander over to Ravenna Gardens. Sunlight dances off the windchimes hanging from the panelled glass ceiling alongside other plants with overgrown vines cascading over the edge of the pots. The damp air has a sweet earthy smell that almost convinces me that I'm in an enchanted forest rather than the city.

It's amusing to think that as a kid, I'd complain endlessly about accompanying my mother to a store like Ravenna Gardens. She's a highly regarded architect with a passion for interior design, and could spend hours eying plants like they're priceless historical artefacts capable of setting her various flip-houses apart from the other stunning properties in Monterey. But now at twenty-years-old, I find myself snapping pictures of various garden ornaments that I think she'd find cute.

I wonder when that shift happened. Was it gradual, or did I magically wake up one morning with the capacity to appreciate things like garden centres and nice glassware?

This question plays on my mind as Parker and I breeze past the high-end patio furniture and massive potted ferns to reach our favourite corner of the store—adorned with crystals, gardening books, and more modestly priced houseplants that college students could afford. Most smaller ceramic pots come with a matching plate, reminding me of a teacup and saucer.

A few moments pass as Parker regards the collection of cacti with a look of reserved disdain, her arms folded in front of her black tube top. "I refuse to buy one that looks phallic," she eventually says.