You Want What?

A nightmare of a plant

Created on Midjourney

“Come on,” Eloise begged, “bloom for me.”

The man who had sold her the plant had promised it would flower. At the time, it had been a tiny, feathery wisp in a dab of soil. No worries. It would grow a little bigger, he said. It would flower within six months, he said. Perfect for her one-bedroom apartment, he said. Eloise had forgotten to ask what it was called. So, it forever remained “the plant.”

Two years and half a dozen increasingly large pots later, the green and purple behemoth had taken over her living room and given up not a single bud. Eloise pictured the man laughing at her. Worse she dreamed about the plant doing so.

In her dreams, the plant mocked her entreaties to flower. “You want what?” it would say, opening its tooth-filled maw as its laugh echoed through her apartment and out into the street where the weeds growing up through the cracks in the pavement joined the chorus.

Some plants thrived on love. Eloise had tried everything to convince this one to die—or at least to stop growing. She couldn’t quite bring herself to completely neglect it. That felt too much like murder. But she fervently wished it would find its own way out of life’s metaphorical door. It seemed to thrive on her hatred.

And now she was at a crossroads. She was moving across the country and had put her apartment up for sale. What was she to do with the thing? She’d tried to talk a few of her friends into taking it. Fat chance. They had been on the receiving end of every complaint she’d ever uttered about it.

But then the buyer came. “How did you ever find one of these?”

“I beg your pardon?” Eloise wasn’t sure what he was referring to, though his eyes were fixated on the plant.

“The fern. I’ve only ever seen pictures.”

“Oh,” Eloise said, trying to pretend she knew what he was talking about. “It’s just something I picked up from a market vendor a few years ago.” Come to think of it, she’d never seen that vendor at the market again.

The buyer’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what this is, do you?”

Eloise sighed. “Honestly, no.”

“It’s so rare. It’s the only fern in the world that actually flowers. Ferns reproduce through spores. The purple fronds on this one are its flowers. It still reproduces via spores, but…”

As the buyer went into a long spiel about the plant, Eloise tuned out. He finally finished and asked, “I don’t suppose I can ask you to include the fern with the apartment?”

To her surprise, Eloise heard herself say, “No.” She and the plant belonged together. It had survived her neglect—maybe that was what it needed to thrive. It had flowered for her, though she hadn’t realized it. In a weird way, they had bonded.

Eloise didn’t realize until late that night after the papers had been signed and the deal sealed that she hadn’t asked the buyer what the plant was called. Deciding it didn’t matter, she turned her attention to how she was going to move it halfway across the country. At least, she thought, she was moving to a house with a bigger living room.

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I created the image for an AI art prompt (plant images). I set it aside and forgot about it for months. I was browsing through its folder and suddenly the words, “You want what?” jumped out at me, and a story was born.

Ferns do reproduce via spores. In my extensive (three minutes tops) internet search, I wasn’t able to find an exception to the rule that ferns don’t flower. So I decided the purple fronds would be flowers.

I was also too lazy to make up a name for the species of fern, so Eloise never got to find out what it was called.

Her relationship with the plant reminds me of those I’ve observed between people who claim they hate cats or dogs and yet are the preferred laps for said pets. You know the kind—those that pet them and whisper sweet nothings when they think no one will notice.

Which side of the fence do you fall on? Are you someone who openly lavishes attention on your pets and/or plants? (I’m guilty.) Or do you gripe about animals and greenery but secretly have a relationship with them? I know some people genuinely don’t like them, and that’s cool too.