Thud. Clatter. The terracotta pot cracks against the stone patio. Sofía freezes, staring at the broken shards while dust swirls in the sunbeam above her.
Elena's voice comes low and steady. "Oh, Sofía, that's the mint." No shout. Just her soft eyes and the gold dust hanging still between them.
Miguel kneels in the dirt and wraps his hand around hers. His thumb rubs slow circles on the back of it. "What do you feel?" he asks.
Sofía digs her muddy fingers deep into the cool soil. "Squishy," she says. Miguel grins, dirt smudged across his chin. She pokes again, harder this time.
All three kneel in the dirt together. Each one tucks a tiny bulb into its own hole. A bumblebee hums over the wildflowers while the crooked fence sways.
"Now we wait," Elena says, scraping dark dirt from her knees. The crooked fence sways in the breeze. Somewhere nearby, the bumblebee hums and hums.
Sofía crouches over the little spot where they planted. She squints. There — a tiny green tip pushes up, wobbling. No taller than her pinky nail. She thinks, We just need to be patient.
Miguel's arm settles around Sofía. Elena's hand rests on top of it. They sit on the stone patio in the afternoon light. Sofía pokes the green shoot with one muddy finger. Elena smiles — the slow kind.