"Hey," said Santana, "Can I help?"
"The knees," Brittany replied, "are the hardest part."
Santana knew what she meant. It might be easy to kneel one day, but it was near impossible to get up without swearing. Other days, she really needed a hand just to get to the dirt. Brittany had had to have her knees replaced a few years ago. Santana prays she doesn't have to go through that. It was hard enough when it was her wife under the knife. And recovering.
"What are they?"
Brittany smiled up at her. So what if her hands had gone boney and spotted. So what if her hair had gone the texture of straw and the color of ice? So what if she'd grown a little belly and her skin had gone crepey? Her eyes, if not her eyelids, were the same as the day they'd met. They lit up among the crinkles when they lit on Santana.
This year Santana had decided to go natural and had little grey starter locs. There was no way in hell she was growing up to be somebody's abuela, even though she was, and she'd found that the messy bun on an old lady just looked like… a messy old lady. Getting rid of the extensions seemed to lift several pounds from her neck.
"Sunflowers." Brittany's eyes glittered, and her mouth quirked.
Santana eased her way to the ground. She was able to hold back the grunting that threatened at her lips.
"So, what do I do?" asked Santana.
"We're planting them all along the back of the flower bed. So, like, loosen the dirt all along the back there, then make a furrow about two inches deep. I'll do this side, and you do that one."
Santana scooted over a little to start, and it sent a shooting pain up her side. Whatever. Nothing new. She popped her knuckles and set about her task.
"Britt-Britt, why sunflowers?"
Brittany was making quick work of her end of the flower bed.
"They trap a little summer in them so you can have sunshine in the fall."
Santana smiled.
"I love you, Brittany."
"I love you, too. Also the squirrels."
"The—?" Santana let it go, smiling still.
They worked for a time in silence until they met in the middle.
"Now plant the seeds in the furrow around six inches apart. Squirrels love the seeds. Also crows. I'll get the water."
Santana watched her wife bring herself to her feet and walk over to get the water. Pretty hot for an old gal. She planted the seeds and carefully covered them with the loose soil. Brittany started watering them gently while Santana got up. She was stiff, but not too bad.
Santana imagined late summer, the six-foot plants tall in the sunlight, their heads bowed over, crows quarreling with the squirrels over the lush crop of seeds.
"Lemonade?" asked Brittany.
"Sounds delicious," said Santana.
Brittany served them both and invited Santana to sit with her on the porch. Santana tucked herself under Brittany's arm.
"To us," she said.
"To summer," said Brittany. "I love the way you smell when you've been out in the sun."
"Mmhmm," said Santana, "me too."