The first month of Greta’s permanent relocation had been hard. Carys was busy and independent and had a large circle of friends. It was one of the things Greta admired so much about her. But it also took some getting used to on Greta’s part. Even though her own family’s hyperinvolvement with one another’s every move had felt intrusive, it was what Greta was used to. And learning how to be mutually independent was something she was still working on.

Her involvement with Lagniappe Lemonade had helped a lot. Having a purpose made her feel like she belonged in New Orleans, and a collaborative business with two of your closest friends—which was what Helen and Veronica had quickly become—was a dream come true.

She had also begun a new internship, working with students on learning how to grow food. It had begun as a few workshops she taught at Tana’s school with the monetary support of Muriel and the Garden Gang. When the students responded well and they got requests from other schools to run the workshops there, the Garden Gang set up a fund to provide regular workshops for ten local schools at no cost, and they’d reached out to three people to run them—two local farmers and Greta.

She’d demurred. She was a new transplant to the city and wasn’t knowledgeable about its history, its politics, its inner workings. She was white while the students they’d be working with were majority Black. And her experience was more in house plants than in urban gardening. The opportunity should go to someone else.

The Garden Gang had respected her decision and hired someone else. But Muriel had suggested that she attend the workshops with the other three people they’d hired. That way, if they got the chance to expand the program, she would be in a better position to offer something to students at other schools.

Greta was thrilled she’d taken Muriel up on this idea. She’d already learned so much and was excited at the opportunity to someday pass that knowledge on.

And for the time being, she was working at the very coffee shop where she had first taken Horse all those months ago. A number of her coworkers were lovely, so she’d made new friends, and it still left her plenty of time to work on Lagniappe Lemonade.

By the time Carys got home from Jackson Square, Greta had turned the living room into a lavender-scented oasis. She’d bumped up the AC (nothing could have prepared her for the incessant heat of a New Orleans summer—although the daily tropical downpours were convenient, since they meant she rarely had to water her garden plot). She’d created an assembly line for putting together the bouquets. And most importantly, she’d made them an epic cheese plate for sustenance.