Chapter 2 - The Sun-Baked Surprise
Rebecca had been tracking her mail-order hosta seedling like it was the last helicopter leaving the embassy. Every time the tracking app updated, she refreshed again, just to be sure it wasn’t tricking her.
So when it finally said DELIVERED, she marched to the porch with purpose.
No box.
She looked left.
She looked right.
She bent down, checked behind the planter, then lifted Sam’s muddy boots like maybe—just maybe—the mailman had decided to play hide-and-seek.
Nothing.
“Sam!” she called into the house. “Did you move my package?”
Sam walked out holding a cup of coffee, blinking like he had been accused of treason.
“I don’t touch packages with plant handwriting on them. I’ve learned.”
Before Rebecca could spiral into a full meltdown, there was a knock at the door.
She opened it to find Linda from three houses down, holding a sun-bleached cardboard box with both hands, like it might break apart if she breathed wrong.
“Hi, honey… this came to my house this morning,” Linda said. “It’s been sitting on my porch all day, and I just realized it wasn’t my vitamin order.”
Rebecca grabbed the box and nearly dropped it.
It was hot.
Not pleasant-summer-evening hot.
Not warm-cup-of-tea hot.
Actual danger-to-plants hot.
“Oh no…” Rebecca whispered. “All day?”
Linda nodded with a wince. “The sun was brutal today. I didn’t know plants… shipped in the mail.”
Rebecca didn’t stop to explain. She practically sprinted to the kitchen, tore the box open like a surgeon ripping into an emergency kit, and froze.
Inside sat a tiny hosta seedling plug, slumped sideways, soil dry as a desert, leaves curled and stiff.
“Oh sweetheart…” she murmured, as if the plant could hear her.
Sam peeked over her shoulder. “Is it… dead dead? Or like… plant-dramatic dead?”
Rebecca ignored him, grabbed a mixing bowl, filled it with cool water, and gently set the entire plug inside. The seedling floated for a moment like a dehydrated spa guest checking into rehabilitation.
Linda hovered in the doorway, chewing her lip.
“I feel terrible,” she said. “Should I have watered it? Do hostas drink tap water? Oh Lord, did I kill it?”
“No, no,” Rebecca said, softening. “Hostas are tough. They don’t give up easy.”
Slowly—miraculously—the soil began to darken as it absorbed the water. The little seedling’s leaves loosened just enough to suggest there was still life inside.
Sam crossed his arms. “If that thing pulls through, it needs a dramatic name. Like… I don’t know… The Rescued One.”
Rebecca paused.
She actually liked that.
Linda clapped her hands lightly. “That’s perfect! Like a plant that survived a hardship.”
Rebecca smiled at the tiny survivor soaking in its bowl of salvation.
“We’ll see,” she said. “If it grows strong, maybe that’ll be its story name.”
For a moment, all three of them just watched it float—quietly fighting its way back to life.
“And next time,” Sam added, “maybe we put up a sign that says PLEASE DELIVER TO THE RIGHT HOUSE.”
Rebecca laughed, shaking her head.
“No sign needed. Just a little patience… and a bowl of water.”
She looked back at the seedling, hopeful.
“Welcome home,” she whispered. “Whatever you become.”