silent

3

• GRAYSON •

I knock on my baby sisters door, and a few seconds later it opens.

I grin as soon as I see her. Her chubby little cheeks haven't changed, neither have the freckles over the bridge of her nose. The only thing that's really changed is that her brown hair is longer and she's taller, though she's still short.

"Hi, Lia." I say, smiling. "I'm Grayson. One of your brothers."

     She waves, and my heart softens.

     I look behind her, furrowing my eyebrows when I see a bag of soil. "What're you up to?" I ask her.

     She seems to think for a moment before she opens the door wider. I look inside, at the plant pot, half full of soil and half empty, and gardening supplies around it.

     I smile. "You like gardening?"

     She nods and looks down, as though she's embarrassed. My smile turns into a grin.

     "Can I sit with you while you do it?" I ask.

     She bites her lip nervously, but then nods and walks over to everything, sitting down and grabbing her little spade to shovel more soil into the pot. I watch her for a few seconds before deciding to try talk to her—even if she's not going to speak back.

     "What're you gonna grow?" I ask.

     She looks up at me and something like excitement flashes across her features before she leans over to pull something out of her half full suitcase. She rummages around for a second before grabbing a square notebook.

     Amalia flips through pages full of colours and notes and pictures of flowers before landing on one. She smiles and shows me.

     In the top right over a two page spread is the word, written in yellow highlighter: ENGLISH PRIMROSES.

     She hands it to me and continues with what she was doing. I look at the page, at all the notes and instructions of how to grow the flower, what conditions they're best in, and wonder how long all of this took her.

     "Can I look through it?" I ask.

     She nods without looking at me.

     I flick through the pages, stopping when I get to one, titlted in teal highlighter: MY SHOP.

     There are pictures of small buildings, drawings of logos and even more pictures of flowers. I turn the page, and there are even more details of this little shop she seems to be dreaming about.

     "Is this what you want for when you're older? To be a florist?" I ask her.

     Again, she blushes, but nods.

     "Well, I think you'll be a great florist." I tell her.

     Her head snaps up, as though she's surprised, as the red spreads to her ears. But then her lips turn up a little bit into a soft smile, and she nods a thank you.