Reason, I told myself, is a compliment wrapped in a lie. To lure Kara’s talented gardener’s hands into my yard, I’ve committed myself to this new friendship, while my yard takes on an attractive shape. In truth, Kara talks too much at the most inappropriate times, and constantly clicks her tongue against her teeth. The irritating sound a perfect match to a lovelorn bird in heat.

I counted myself quite cleaver to invite Kara for tea and dainty cucumber sandwiches in my shabby backyard. The tangle of honeysuckle all but strangled the porch rail, a limp pink dogwood tree, an overgrown purple rhododendron, and had begun to encroach on the small iron table and matching chairs, laden with the lunch for my honored guest. The yard at least smelled wonderfully sweet, to the point of nauseousness.