The Garden Gang had been an invaluable resource, as they had forwarded her invite far and wide. The gardeners she was interning with had also been enthusiastic to come and to spread the word. Everyone Greta worked with at the coffee shop, the folks at the community garden, people at the co-op where Greta was a regular customer, Ramona and her friends…the list went on and on.

Greta had never considered herself very social. But here she was, only six months out, and she’d created an entire network that she could call on for support. It had made her proud of herself as well as eternally grateful to the people who had been so welcoming to her.

Muriel strode into the launch in a bright red jumpsuit and a yellow straw fascinator with a red feather. She lowered large white sunglasses to pick Greta out of the crowd, then glided over to her. Greta had the distinct feeling that if she hadn’t peered over Muriel’s garden wall all those months ago, her life might be very different.

“This is wonderful, darling,” Muriel drawled. “How do you feel about it?”

Somehow, even in a loud crowd, Muriel had the ability to make you feel like it was just the two of you, sitting in her garden, and nothing else mattered.

“I can’t even believe this is my life,” Greta said. The lemonade toast (which had definitely had alcohol in it) had kicked in, and she was feeling deliciously honest. “I was such a loser when I moved here. I never would’ve believed I could be in business with my friends, have an amazing girlfriend… I can’t believe it.”

“You know, another way to say loser is someone who hasn’t bloomed yet,” Muriel said. “You’d never call a plant that had not yet put out its flower a loser.”

Greta took a moment to be amused at the notion of wandering around the community garden lambasting all the plants that hadn’t flowered yet for being losers. But she took Muriel’s point.

“You’re right, of course. And you were a huge piece in my flowering, if we’re continuing this metaphor. Thank you so much, Muriel. Meeting you changed my life.”

Greta couldn’t be sure, but she thought Muriel might have dabbed at her eyes when she turned to survey the room.

“You changed mine too, Greta,” she said, turning back.

“I did?” This had never occurred to Greta.

Muriel nodded somberly. “I wasn’t feeling at all well the morning you poked your head over my garden wall. I was feeling rather sorry for myself, in fact.”

“For what?” In all the time she’d spent with Muriel, Greta had never seen her anything but upbeat and future-oriented.