When Ayanna had reflected for a significant amount of time, five members of the church, including her father, appeared. They all carried shovels and dug around Ayanna. As they hollowed out a part of the field, they sang a song she didn’t recognize about change and being alone and facing your life and maybe seeing the eyes of love. Ayanna had wanted a Frank Ocean song initially—which made her father groan—but hearing them sing this, she cried. Everything in the ceremony, she understood, was taking her to a point where she would feel moved, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t working. When they were done digging, they helped Ayanna up and over the holes. Her father handed her seeds. She held on to his hand and looked up into his dark eyes. She could not brush the dirt off her. It had to stay.

“I’m proud of you,” he mouthed.

She planted the seeds, half plants from the other side, half a mix of bee’s-friend pollinators she had chosen. In the distance, Ayanna could see Olivia was watching. She wondered what her sister made of all this, and was tempted toward embarrassment, until remembering that every week her sister agreed a thin wafer was genuinely Christ’s flesh and ate it.

When Ayanna was done planting, dirt was thick beneath her fingernails. She was tired and hungry, but there were still hours to go. At the break between, Ayanna was allowed to eat. Olivia sat with her, kept refilling her glass with more and more water. She leaned her face forward, let Olivia use a makeup wipe on her cheeks and neck, even though it was against the rules. It was almost too much after all the thinking and emotions to have someone take care of her. Her sister’s touch was soft, sweet.

“I cried a little,” Olivia said. “I don’t know what any of this means, but it still felt beautiful to me.”

“I mean, it is a beautiful day,” Ayanna said lightly. Her brain was everywhere.

“I think it’s also because our family helped build these customs. I thought about Grandma. Remember how she says that every time you plant a seed, it’s a prayer?”