“Ooh, like a sister wife. Do you think she cooks?”
“You are not helping.”
“I just saved you from the bush.”
I go to smack him again, but my foot gets caught on a paver and I end up falling into Martin. He catches me and holds me just long enough to catch a whiff of a familiar odor on his jacket.
“You’ve gotten into Nana Rosie’s gardening basket.” I turn on my cell phone flashlight and point it at Martin’s face. “You’re high!”
“Shhh!” He giggles. Not a chuckle. It’s an actual giggle. “I got it from Falon. She and your sister and I took a few hits in the bathroom.”
“That’s not fair.” I stamp my foot like a child. “I have barely had a sip of wine and you guys are hotboxing yourselves in the bathroom. What the hell?”
“Isn’t that your Nana’s greenhouse?” Martin points to the spot where the tree house used to be. In its place is a small structure with opaque plastic walls. “Let’s go straight to the source. Maybe she has Twinkies in there.”
Martin takes my hand and pulls me behind him as we sprint across the backyard. A smile breaks out across my face, and I feel like a senior in high school all over again. We stop at the greenhouse door, and I double over to catch my breath.
“Is there a lock?” I ask.
“Yeah.” Martin palms a silver bike lock. “But it’s not actually locked.”
“Oh, Nana Rosie.” I shake my head. “She still thinks she lives in Mayberry, where there’s no crime and no need to lock your doors.”
“I don’t think there was weed in Mayberry.” Martin pushes open the door. “I don’t think Andy Griffith would’ve allowed it.”
It’s dark inside, even with both our cell phone flashlights, but the layout is pretty straightforward. There’s a single aisle with waist-high counters on both sides. At first, I’m a little disappointed because the only green stuff I see are actual plants, but as we make our way back, Martin spots our target.
“Looks like Nana Rosie is within state code.” Martin counts a total of six marijuana plants in black nursery pots. “It also looks like she partakes.”
Martin hands me a clear glass bong, which brings the total number of bongs I’ve ever held in my life to one.
“Are you seriously suggesting that Nana uses this to get high?” I ask.
“Well, she’s not using it to eat Twinkies,” Martin grumbles.
“What do I do with this?” I hold it like it’s a bomb or a baby. “I told you I took that DARE program very seriously.”
Martin takes it back and places it on the counter. “Hold up both of the flashlights.”
I do, and I watch as Martin maneuvers through the steps of bong prep as effortlessly as a Starbucks barista making their fiftieth Frappuccino of the day. Much like when I watch my latte being made at Starbucks, I’m clueless as to what he’s actually doing. There’s water from a bottle of Evian on the counter and there’s some ground up weed. That’s about all I can distinctly make out.
“Here ya go.” Martin holds the bong in front of me. “You’re going to cover this hole with your finger, and I’m going to light the bowl for you. Press your face to the mouthpiece and inhale. Got it?”
“That’s too many directions. You do it first.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’m a visual learner, Martin.”
“I’m not going to be able to make it through dinner at this rate.”
“I’ll save you a piece of pie.”
“Twinkie pie?” His eyes widen. “God, why hasn’t anyone ever thought of that? It’s a freaking genius idea. I’m calling Hostess myself just as soon as—”
“Focus, Martin.”
“Right.”
Martin lights something and the bong starts bubbling like a beaker in a mad scientist’s lab. The smell is what gets to me. It’s so potent and rank that it makes my eyes start to water and my stomach churn. Just as Martin presses his face to it, I abandon ship. Senior year me would be so embarrassed of thirtysomething me. I make it out of the greenhouse just as Marie opens the back patio door.
“Ms. Penelope, your family is waiting for you,” Marie says. “Have you seen Mr. Butler by chance?”
“Holy shit, this stuff is strong!” Martin announces from inside the greenhouse.
Marie and I lock eyes.
“I’ll let Mr. Butler know it’s time to eat.”