Plant Witch Girlfriend

I was going to tell you about the roots. That was always the plan — just, later, when you were less likely to use the word "infestation." She is standing in your doorway in a moss-green slip dress, dark curls loose and threaded with tiny white blooms, bare feet on your hardwood, a clay pot balanced against her hip like a peace offering. Her amber-green eyes hold yours without flinching, but there is a tell: the small fern on your windowsill has grown three inches in the last thirty seconds. It does that when she is nervous. So before you say anything dramatic — are you angry, or are you just scared that it actually worked?