I crouched beside my garden with a small shovel in one hand and a misting bottle in the other. The sunlight was warm on my back, but sweat rolled down my forehead for a different reason.
This was just a simple garden and plants. Yes? Okay, okay most of them but I have five exceptional plants.
Yes, sir. I had glow-leaves, root-wrigglers, and one plant that has a flower that illuminates at night.
I called it my "secret project" or just secret. Others might've called it illegal. Or mildly carnivorous or may question nature's order but hey, botany is full of weird stuff if tweaked by some experiment, perhaps.
And I wasn't even a full botanist yet. Just an enthusiast. A nerd with dirty hands and dreams.
"Alright, Miss Fernella," I whispered, misting a spiky plant that hissed at me. "You'll be nice today, okay?"
She hissed again. I took that as a yes.
I moved over to a strange little sprout wrapped in a circle of salt. Its leaves shimmered purple under sunlight. That one wasn't even from Earth, probably. I found it behind the university greenhouse after a lightning storm. I named it Sherry. Sherry hummed sometimes. She also melted my spatula last week so I had to buy one.
As I reached out to check his roots, I heard gravel crunch behind me.
"Son?"
I froze mid-air.
No.
It couldn't be.
I turned slowly, like a bad actor in a horror movie. Yep. It was him.
Dad.
My father stood at the edge of the garden in his plaid shirt and cargo shorts, holding a plastic bag full of Tupperware. The smell of cold spaghetti and homemade garlic bread wafted through the air.
"Thought I'd surprise you! I brought lunch," he said, grinning.
I panicked.
"Oh,wow, Dad, hey!" I stood up fast, knocking over my spray bottle. "Uh. What are you doing here?"
"I was nearby. I thought I'd check in. See how the new garden's going." His eyes scanned the patch of dirt and odd-colored plants. "Aside from the others, these three looks... different."
I coughed nervously. "Yeah, well, I'm experimenting. You know me."
He took a step forward.
I stepped in front of him.
"No need to come closer," I said quickly, arms out like a traffic cop. "Some of these plants are... delicate. They bruise easily."
Dad raised an eyebrow. "That one's moving."
I didn't look. I knew which one he meant. That was Rooty. He followed people by smell.
"Wind," I said. "Strong breeze."
"There's no breeze."
"Well, you're wearing cargo shorts, so clearly your breeze detector is off," I joked, too fast, too loud.
He stared at me.
I tried to distract him.
"Dad, wanna sit on the porch and eat spaghetti?"
He tilted his head.
"Why is that one glowing?"
"Photosynthesis on hard mode. It's not green anymore Dad, it's maybe due to the UVR or the sun must be in climate change?"
Dad looked at me suspiciously.
"Is that one... growling?"
"Nope! You're hearing my stomach, Dad. I'm super hungry. Let's eat!" I replied, diverting his attention but it was too late. He brushed past me before I could stop him.
"Dad, wait!"
He leaned over a bright yellow bulb-shaped plant with stripes.
"This one looks like a pepper."
"Dad, don't—!"
He poked it.
It burped. Loudly.
Then exploded into purple smoke.
We both stumbled back, coughing. A weird floral scent filled the air, and my dad's hair turned bright blue.
We stared at each other.
"...Did that plant dye my hair?"
"Yes."
"Why do you have that?"
"For science."
Dad looked at the garden again, slower this time. "John. What exactly are you growing? What the hell did those plants come from?"
"Undiscovered species, Dad," I mumbled.
He crossed his arms. "From where? Are you producing plants that actually have a life? Cross-breed them with animal DNA of the worst Humans?'
"Uhh it's not like that, Dad," I scratched my head.
Dad squinted his eyes on me.
"That one has teeth."
"That one's a vegetarian."
"You have a plant with eyelashes."
"That's Gloria. She likes compliments."
Dad took a step back. "Son. Are you growing illegal flora?"
"Define 'illegal.'"
He sighed.
I rubbed the back of my neck. "Okay, okay, listen. I know this looks weird. But these plants have amazing properties. One of them filters toxins faster than any factory filter. Another one heals cuts in seconds. And yes, one of them might be mildly venomous if you lick it, but who does that, right?"
Dad blinked at me. "You licked it, didn't you?"
"I was curious!"
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're going to get arrested. Or eaten. Or both."
"I'm careful!"
"That one is digging into the ground."
"Okay, that one's not mine. I think it followed me home."
He looked at me. Just looked. I had no defense.
We stood in awkward silence for a second, except for the soft snoring of Fernella.
Finally, Dad sighed again.
"Son, this species has never been found on the Earth," he said. "How did you grow them? Where did you get the seed? Because clearly, John. These were not a 'natural' someone made them. They have life."
I blinked.
"Uhhhh…"
"John?"
"Okay okay… I got them from the abandoned botanist research, the one that was founded to upgrade plants to fight the UVR and pollution," I said, lie. I wouldn't tell him the truth about where I got the weird plants.
"John, you're lying," he said. He could clearly see the lies in my words. "You need to tell me where you got the plants."
Signing.
"Okay Dad. I'm going to tell you and please do not freak out," I said.
"Okay," he replied.
"Uhm I…I actually took them in this weird lab back when you took me to a botanical display months ago in California a year ago."
"The Plants Lab?"
"Yes. Uhm apparently, when I asked for a bathroom break, I accidentally stumbled to a weird looking door. Well, curiosity had taken over and I went there since it was unlocked-"
Dad's face went pale.
"You took them from the lab?"
"Dad, no, they clung to me like they wanted to escape the lab," I defended myself.
"They clung and you purposely helped them," he said, grunting. "Son, you stole them!"
"I didn't. They wanted to leave!"
My Dad's eyes rolled.
"Please keep it a secret, Dad. I actually want to keep them."
He looked around one more time.
"Alright, I won't tell anyone. But you need to promise me something."
I straightened. "Yeah?"
"No more stealing plants."
"I can't promise that."
"John!"
"Okay Dad, I won't."
He gave me a long look.
"I hold onto that."
We ended up eating spaghetti on the porch while Barry hummed softly behind us.
Dad stared at the garden a while longer.
"You know," he said slowly, "this is insane. But I've never seen you happier."
I smiled.
"I feel alive here. Like I'm finally doing something real."
He nodded.
"Well. Just don't blow up the neighborhood."
"No promises."
He chuckled, shaking his head.
"Next time," I said with a grin, "I'll show you the seed that sings."
His fork paused halfway to his mouth. "It sings?"
"Mostly sea shanties."
"I'm not coming back."
"Sure you will."
He didn't deny it.
And I was pretty sure I saw Gloria wink at him when he walked past.
I should've known the spaghetti peace treaty wouldn't last.
Dad came back three days later.
He claimed he was "in the neighborhood again," but I saw the look in his eyes. That classic Dad suspicion, the same look he used when I told him the dent in the car "was already there."
And sure enough, five minutes after he arrived, he was poking around my garden with his arms crossed and his Dad Energy on full blast. This time the Garden that was for display, outside my house, not the one hidden under my basement.
"This one looks familiar," he muttered, crouching beside a group of jagged leaves.
"Is this... poison ivy?"
I froze mid-mist.
"Define... poison?" I said weakly.
He gave me a sharp look.
"It's a research specimen," I added quickly.
"For, uh... anti-itch creams! Very educational."
He leaned closer.
"You labeled it 'Do Not Touch Unless You Want Regrets.'"
"Yeah. You know. Dramatic effect."
He didn't look convinced. His hand hovered over the plant like it was going to attack.
"Dad, please don't touch the poison ivy," I said gently, putting down my spray bottle and carefully walking over. "She's temperamental."
"She?"
"All my plants have names," I explained. "That's Ivy, yes, I know, very original. But she responds better to compliments and emotional honesty."
He stared at me like I just offered him a plate of spaghetti with glitter on it.
"I am beginning to think you need supervision," he muttered.
Before I could argue, his eyes drifted toward the other patch of concern.
And that's when the real trouble started.
"Son..." he said slowly, walking to the back corner of the garden. "Are those poppies?"
I followed his gaze, already sweating.
There they were: my crimson babies. Tall, proud, and dangerously misunderstood. The poppies waved slightly in the breeze, like they knew they were about to cause drama.
"Um... yes?" I said.
"Are they opium poppies?" His voice had the same energy as a guy discovering a bear in his garage.
"Nooo," I said. "They're... um... decorative."
"They're blood red."
"Deep crimson! Very fashionable this season!"
"They have white centers."
"That's the... aesthetic part?"
He marched over and knelt to examine one up close.
"John, these are narcotic poppies. Do you know what people do with these?"
"Paint them? Admire their resilience? Press them into books?"
He looked ready to throw a gardening glove at me.
"People make drugs out of these!"
"Well I don't!" I said quickly. "I'm not making anything! I'm just studying their root systems and how they respond to commercial fertilizers. Totally above-board!"
"Why commercial fertilizers?"
"Because normal ones scream when I feed them to Barry."
Dad stood up and rubbed his face.
"You named the weird singing one Barry?"
I blinked. "Did I not tell you that last time?"
He ignored me. "Son, listen. You've got poison ivy, possibly illegal poppies, a plant that hums sea shanties, and another one that nearly dyed my eyebrows neon green."
"That was an accident."
"My eyebrows were glowing in the dark, John."
"Science is messy."
"This isn't a lab—it's a botanical time bomb!"
I folded my arms, feeling heat rise in my cheeks.
"You always said I should follow my passion."
"I thought your passion was mushrooms and fern taxonomy!"
"It was! Until one of the mushrooms told me the fern had opinions about me!"
He stopped.
"What?"
"Never mind."
We stared at each other, surrounded by plants that probably should've come with warning signs.
A vine crept slowly up Dad's leg. He yanked it off and gave me a look that said, we are having a long talk later.
"Okay," he said, trying to calm himself. "Look. I'm not trying to crush your dreams. But people don't grow this stuff in their backyard unless they're building an evil lair."
I gasped. "This is not an evil lair. There are fairy lights, Dad."
"The fairy lights are themed."
"Exactly! They go with the glowing moss on the fence!"
He walked over to a flower that pulsed softly like a jellyfish.
"What is this one? And why are they out here?
"That's Sir Wobble. He's mostly harmless. He needed fresh air and sunlight."
Dad poked it. Sir Wobble squeaked like a rubber duck.
Dad jumped. I snorted.
"I'm going to get a permit," I said, suddenly serious. "For real. I've been looking into it. A research license. Something legit. I don't want to be shady, I just want to study these plants properly."
He looked at me for a long time.
"I get it," I said. "I know this isn't normal. I know it looks sketchy. But I swear, I'm not selling anything, growing drugs, or starting a vine-based uprising. I just... love this stuff."
Dad didn't answer right away.
"But your special plants are alive."
"I'll keep it secret, dad."
He looked around at the garden again.
I could tell he was seeing what I saw, even if just a little: strange beauty. A wild little oasis full of mystery. Life you couldn't explain in one sentence.
Finally, he sighed. "Alright. But you need to be careful. I'm serious. One news report about a 'Plant Boy With Glowing Tulips Arrested in Pajamas,' and I will never let you live it down."
"Deal," I said, grinning.
"And get that permit. I want paperwork."
"Yes, sir."
He looked at the poppies one last time and muttered, "Decorative, my foot..."
But he didn't say anything else as we walked back to the porch.
This time, we had garlic bread and lemonade. Barry hummed again—a soft jazzy tune.
Dad groaned.
"I swear to everything, if one of your plants starts rapping next week..."
"Don't tempt me."
Sir Wobble squeaked in approval.