Page 20 of Hate to Love You
I’ve always thought Foxglove to be my favorite, it was after all the final piece I needed, it called to me in a way that no other plant did. It sang a song that only I could hear.
When researching it at the local library, I ended up down a rabbit hole, fascinated by Foxglove and its ability to kill, but also its ability to heal. It was often used in medication focusing on healing the heart.
It’s a bit ironic that the correct dose can also stop it.
Finding information on grow-it-at-home poisonous plants is near impossible, it’s clear that the powers that be have spent time burying it. I suppose it would be a nightmare for them if people started digging them up and killing their enemies with it.
The only real way to find out any information on these specific plants would be behind the scientific composition of them, and science was something I was good at. Something that I thrived in.
Yet, something I had to leave behind.
The moment I said yes to marriage, was the moment I gave up my dream of working in medicine. Not the sort that was dealing with humans or animals, but in medicinal chemistry. I’d always wanted to be someone working behind the microscope, cutting, slicing, and breaking down chemical compounds.
I traded in cutting, slicing, and compound composition for, cutting and slicing for dinner parties, and knowing what cleaning agents I can and can’t mix.
Foxglove contains compounds called cardiac glycosides, they disable cell sodium-potassium ion pumps leading to increased cell sodium and calcium ion concentration, which results in the heart slowing down and eventually…stopping.
Kind of amazing that something so beautifully fragile can be so incredibly dangerous.
I walk out of the greenhouse, checking the lock three times, my mind drawing up images of my little Lily, the stray cat I saved as a kitten. She often roams the garden, basking in the sun just outside of the greenhouse. My pretty plants would kill her, and that’s something I could never live with.
My eyes scan the cobblestone path heading toward the door of a red brick three story house, located just on the outskirts of lower Manhattan.
It was like the universe was rewarding me for killing my husband. The day after his funeral, a default notice was delivered. Apparently, my lovely husband’s grandma Bettie died, and had left her Victorian style townhouse to him. And because he was dead, and his will left everything to me, it defaulted ownership…to me.
I never met the woman, but darling Bettie had kept this place in tip top condition and had upgraded it several times over the years, making it the perfect home for me to start over.
Stopping briefly at the hose, I quickly wash my hands and feet, removing any traces of the greenhouse, or my plants from them, the water circling down the drain. Once finished, I turn off the hose, and quickly ring my hands, now cold from the brisk fall air.
The clouds move with the wind, the colors blending together, creating a beautiful canvas of watercolors.
I take in the scenery for a moment, before I walk in through the back door, almost tripping over Lily as she bolts between my legs diving inside for warmth. Kicking the door closed behind me, I twist the lock, rattling the handle to make sure that it is secured. Lily brushes against my leg, silently scolding me for being out there so long, and demanding something to eat.
“Hey cutie, are you hungry?” I coo at her.
She meows and runs into the kitchen, the little bell around her neck ringing as she goes. I may have rinsed my hands before I came inside, but I still won’t touch her till I’ve fully washed them with soap.
It is not a risk I’m willing to take. Not with her. Not ever.
Once they are clean, I’ll snuggle her and give her all the love she could possibly want, until she runs away to sleep.
It didn’t take long for her to come to understand my routine, but once she did, she now greets me with a chirp before darting off to wait for me by the sink.
My feet carry me through to the kitchen, my nose scrunching as I flinch at the cold seeping through the tiles on the floor. Turning the tap to hot, I wait for the water to heat up, smiling as I hear the familiar bang of the pipes upstairs. Steam floats from the sink before I dunk my hands under, a sigh escaping me. Zoning out, I practically rub my hands raw, only to be brought back by Lily headbutting my shoulder.
“Okay girl, okay, Salmon or Tuna today?”
It’s strange, talking to an animal that can’t talk back, but I’m positive that she understands me as she meows in response.
“Tuna it is.”
Reaching up on my tip toes, I grab a foil packet from the cupboard, using my elbow to slam it shut behind me.
Dumping the foul-smelling contents into her bowl, I tug her tail gently before heading upstairs.
I open the door to my walk-in closet, full of clothes that I was never allowed to own, let alone wear.
My late husband never liked me showing any skin, he would’ve kept me wrapped in a sheet if he could, no shoulders visible and I always had to wear pants, because shoulders and knees were so…distracting.