Linus shuffled in with his large pack and a beat up satchel odd angles poked out of. Winnie hadn’t arrived yet. He heaved a quiet sigh of relief and zeroed in on a patio table not far from Genie’s. This time, the set up wasn’t extravagant–only some brochures and a small sign that had slowly been taken over by various helpful additions like some invasive species climbing vine.

THE GARDENER
ask me about Javawocky plants
and the Ridgview Community Garden!

Became

do not feed THE GARDENER we promise we take care of him

THE GARDENER is in ¢5

Liam Neeson is The Gardener in THE GARDENER 2: The Gardenering

5 stars would discuss tubers again

There can only be one

With a faint smile, Linus got out his laptop and started stacking files and notebooks in a first order retrievability formation. The campus might have been a bust, but this already fit better. As soon as he was satisfied with his piles, he followed his nose hopefully towards the bar. He started to salivate and walk with a slightly bouncier step already, a reaction he wouldn’t call trained even though it absolutely was.

Ethan rolled up, Liz and Brie presumably still in tow. Coming to Javawocky with friends in tow was novel. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was an Orpheus experience, and they might just disappear if he turned back to confirm they were still following him.

(And seriously, were they friends yet? Maybe they were just “friends”? Acquaintances? Ugh, people were confusing. Or, categorising people was confusing. Categorising people is probably one of those things you weren’t supposed to do, but categorising into ontologies is a basic human function. and oh my goodness, am I stressed, I need to stop thinking and I desperately need a coffee. Oh great, we’re at Javawocky!)

Coming here with people was a novel experience, given he’d been coming here solo all summer while working. Cons, busier. Pros, more people to people-watch.

“Hey Ben, seems a bit busier than usual. The usual please. And for my friends too.”

He absently-minded handed Ben a twenty for his coffee and theirs, and then said out loud (probably), “Oh hey, Genie is here. I’ll be right back.”

Presumably Genie had been on summer break with everyone else, but now she was back and he remembered her fondly.

“My magical printer Genie! You’re back!”

He waved to Genie and then realised he didn’t know what to do with his hands–(was she a friend? An acquaintance? He supposed he’d been a client, which made her his…? Supplier? Consultant? Ontologies were hard–definitely too undefined to greet her with the hug that his affection suggested)–so he jammed his hands back into his pockets and grinned awkwardly at her.

“Uh, hey, thanks for getting the printer working for me at the end of last semester. I couldn’t have printed my thesis without you, and then I wouldn’t be back on campus this year, and hey, you’re a life-saver so can I buy you a drink? Coffee?”

You could tell a lot about a town from its coffee shops. Part of that was the inextricable link between food and culture, but there was something particularly revealing about coffee, Francis found—so many variations in preparation and consumption.

Tables on the street or plush high-backed armchairs told you people lingered here, whether for a chat or to watch the world go by. A narrow bar with stools was a sign that a lot of customers slammed back an espresso and left on their Vespas (or perhaps ate a swift solitary lunch before heading back to the office). Bigger tables suggested larger groups, maybe mothers with toddlers and buggies, maybe students working on a project.

Javawocky had all three, as if it was trying to be all things to all people, though if the crowd within was anything to go by, it was succeeding. Aesthetically speaking, it was more French café than Turkish coffee shop on the Edgware Road, though the people working away at lonely tables gave it a more distinctly British (or American) vibe.

It was slightly gimmicky but individualistic, and there were a few people who looked like locals (older than twenty, slightly affronted), so it wasn’t just a student hangout.

All in all, Francis was pleased with it, as much as he could be without tasting the coffee.

Though that was the next thing on his list. Ben from the train was there behind the counter, so Francis headed across the room to join the queue. It was busy, so he might not get to chat with his new acquaintance, but getting a drink would be a good start.

As he neared the line, the nascent bounce in Linus’ step disappeared. The effect of going right from garden work to setting up a booth among students hauling furniture was becoming apparent in the more civilized environment. He wavered unsurely until a guy walked in who seemed like he’d always be the best dressed person in the room through nonchalant use of posture alone. As the guy started to scan the shop, Linus skittered quietly back to the patio.

There, he dug through his bag until he came up with his emergency shirt. It was blue, decently flattering to his eyes, and light enough for the weather. He’d repeatedly learned the hard way to have something like it available in case he needed to appear to have his life together.

Changing quickly in the bathroom, he grimaced at the grunginess of the shirt he’d started the day in. Wardrobe would have to self-correct a little now that the school year had started. Fingercombing hair would have to work today.

He pulled up to the back of the line only to have a cellphone waved suddenly under his nose.

“Linus…I think she’s dying.” The doleful statement came from a small brunette woman he recognized as a semi-regular of the shop and a two time attendee of terrarium workshops. Which, his brain alerted him, explained the sad picture of a fogged jar with mossy green inside. “Sorry, I mean–hello, how are you? Do you have time for a question?” she backtracked anxiously.

“Oh, of course–or, um, good, I’m good,” he assured absently. The woman was…started with an R…Rachel? Raquel? As he analyzed the picture and came to a conclusion. He sighed. “I’m afraid Galadriel was too close to a sunny window for too long.” At least he remembered what she’d named her terrarium. The tip of a pinky traced the side of the little mason jar on the screen. “This side is brackish looking, and there’s a lot of condensation. I think you’re looking at a complete transplant. See what’s still doing okay in there, clean out the jar–do you still have your workshop notes?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “I just really wanted it to last this time. I don’t know how you keep Eugene so happy.”

Linus smiled and stood straighter. “We’ll make it work. Eugene’s a special case. I open the jar every couple months for maintenance, which you shouldn’t do with yours.” He leaned until he could point at a terrarium that stood about two feet tall next to the area where drinks were retrieved. It had layers of sediment and soil like the ones dotting the tables, but the variety of mosses was much greater, and sprays of bright, delicate flowers occupied much of the space. “That setup takes into account how environmental factors in that spot change every hour, every season, every day.”

Probably-Raquel gave a low whistle. “Your girlfriend must hate him.”

“Um…”An awkward pause stretched. Linus did his best to salvage it, chuffing out a laugh. “Eugene and I are very happy together, thank you.”

“Good. Good–I’ll let you get back to, you know, anyway nice talking to you!”

Linus shuffled uncomfortably when she turned away, and refocused on getting more than half a cup of coffee. Startling slightly, he found the guy with the posture also in line, directly in front of him. He resisted the sudden urge to explain that he owned a suit and did serious adult things.

Judging by the sign for the Tech Genie and the diagnostic gardening conversation taking place a few feet away from Francis, this place was kind of a community centre as well as a café. He listened in—it wasn’t eavesdropping at that volume in a public place—more from idle curiosity than anything else, but he had to admit that the plant jar on the counter was impressive.

Francis also noted the awkward pause after the reference to a girlfriend, which might mean it was a sore spot (maybe the guy had just been dumped) or could be for another reason altogether. Funny that the plant thing had a human name like Eugene, though.

He half-turned to look at the gardener. Something about him seemed familiar, though as Francis had been in Ridgeview for all of five minutes, that was probably wishful thinking.

“Hey—sorry, couldn’t help overhearing all that.” Francis hoped it was okay to talk to strangers here; he’d struck up who knew how many conversations with randoms in the Coffee One in Hungerford, but he had no idea if that was the done thing in Ridgeview. “It’s just, I wanted to say, your plant jar is pretty cool, like, I’m used to having a garden, but you can’t really do that in dorms.” He smiled wryly. “Not that I have much to do with the garden back home unless you count sitting in it, but still.”

It took several gardeners to keep the grounds in good condition, but there wasn’t any way to drop that into conversation without sounding like an arrogant prick, so he didn’t.

Then he realised why the stranger looked familiar. “Hang on, you’re the farmer’s market guy, aren’t you? I wanted to come over, but I was kinda juggling some massive bags when I saw you, and by the time I came back down from the dorm, you’d gone.”

Recognition managed to unseat Linus’ immediate curiosity about the man’s accent momentarily.

“That’s me–my garden co-op sells some things at the farmer’s market. I try to raise a little awareness about other stuff we do on move-in day. Helps get us through the winter.” His shoulders sank guiltily. “I fumbled it. Couldn’t hack it on half a cup of coffee. I’m surprised I could get my shoes on in retrospect.” He smiled, tentatively hopeful. “If you want to sit in a garden, we have an open house soon. It’s near campus. Or I take care of the patio garden here, and make the jar plants. Terrariums, like Eugene.”

Embarrassment brought a mild warmth to his face, but he no longer felt the urge to mention that his GPA was excellent and being assistant manager at Ridgeview Garden Center was a real job. Well, no more than usual.

“They don’t all have names. I’m only a little weird about that,” he offered, sidling towards a joke with a less hesitant smile. “But I’m told I’m a little weird about so many things that the overall strangeness hardly registers. Oh–my name’s Linus.” His eyes brightened with interest. “Who are you? What’s your interest in farmer’s markets?”

Introductions could be complicated, but since Linus had only given his first name, this one didn’t have to be. “I’m Francis. And I wouldn’t say I was interested in farmer’s markets, more that it reminded me of home. We get a lot of them round my way.”

Admittedly, many of them now had more scented candles and small-batch gin than vegetables, but catering to tourists and city folk was often the only way to survive.

“I like the sound of the open garden, but I’d have to see how it fits into my schedule.” Now he was veering not just into ‘arrogant prick’ but ‘arrogant prick businessman’, a archetype that even his father, who owned several hotels, usually managed to avoid. “Man, that sounded awful, didn’t it? I just mean, I’m new here, I don’t know what the workload’s going to be like, and then there’s all the practice to keep my scholarship, and…”

He laughed and shook his head. “Sorry, rambling.”

Linus waved away the concern with a subtle gesture. “It’s good to hear about things that aren’t gardening. That’s my entire life right now. I get the scholarship thing.”

He started digging around for his wallet as the line moved forward. “There’s always the patio for green stuff too. Grab a pamphlet from my table out there if you might go to the garden thing. Um, I can answer questions about Ridgeview too if you want, once I get some coffee.”

The wallet was recovered with a sigh of relief. One more step on the road to coffee taken.

“And honestly I’m really curious about you. I’m here a lot, you’re welcome to share a table any time.”

“Yeah? Yeah,” echoed Ethan, trying to inscribe the coffee order into the corner of his brain that remembered things. “French toast blend. Be right back!”

He headed back inside, only to stop awkwardly as he recognised a face he just walked past.

“Oh, hey. You’re The Gardener guy, right?”

There was a little back corner of Ethan’s brain that put two and two together and got philosophy and it had just connected the redhead’s face with the plant factoid and was started to realise that he remembered this person that he didn’t really know.

“Oh hey! Jenny with the tortoise-shell glasses? Philosophy honours room last year? You made a few emergency house calls. She really had an existential crisis about managing to nearly kill Immanuel Plant, the emotional support plant that was supposed to thrive on neglect.”

He realised he’d probably put the social interaction in the wrong order and tried to rectify it.

“Uh, hey. I’m not Jenny. Obviously–she graduated last year–actually, I did too but long story–I’m Ethan, I was one of the other crazy people in the Philosophy Honours room.”

Still not the right order. Fumble.

“Uh, hey, cool plant,” he said, gesturing at Eugene.

“Oh–thanks. Ethan? I see you around, yeah.” Linus was already thinking carefully about his response. “I remember that. Um, I don’t really do house calls, that was just on campus and–” He laughed awkwardly. “There’s neglect, then there’s using the pot as an ashtray and hiding the evidence before I got there, you know? Um, I’m Linus.”

“Errr, not guilty! And it wasn’t Jenny, she loved that plant. I wonder who it could be.”

Ethan wasn’t guilty of snuffing cigarettes in Immanuel Plant, but that didn’t make him feel like he appeared not-guilty.

“Hey, I’m grabbing coffee for Genie, do you want something?”