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She repotted it--twice--or was it three times and still it refused to thrive, this plant he shoved at her as he walked out the door. Literally opened the door, had one foot, leg and foot, leaving forever, and the other, the non-dominant left leg and foot hesitating until the torso swiveled, and he shoved the orchid at her. 

       "Take it," he said and would have lobbed it towards her, but she, predictably, lurched forward to accept whatever he offered and took the damn orchid.

His last words, "Take it," which she had. She offered no last words, stifled the automatic thank you her father had insisted on for the smallest appearance of a gift.

"Gratitude is free," he had said. "Give it."

Well, well. She hadn't, and she was glad.

But still the little thing failed to thrive. She googled "repotting your orchid," watched an unhelpful video of a woman doing just that, shook the dirt off its roots, rinsed it, packed orchid soil--or whatever it's called, and gently, yes, gently, thrust it in its new pot, its new home, whispered, "Grow, Baby, grow." to it three times.

That was last month. It was down 2 leaves now, half the plumage.  

She took a picture of the dying plant, almost sent it to him, went back to google, to the repotting video, stopped the frame at the spare, beautiful repotted orchid, took a screen shot, pasted it with her picture in an email, and hit send.

    Subject: Thriving