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Van Hohenheim wouldn’t go so far as to say that he had a black thumb, but plants were definitely the one thing in his long life that he had never quite managed to understand properly. As such, the garden of the white house on the hill had been left unplanted and unpopulated for many a long year.
He tried to reason that he spent so much time travelling that it wasn’t really worth having a garden, as by the time he came back to it after one of his long trips, it would all be dead anyway, but really, he knew deep down that for all the books he had read and all the knowledge he had gained over his lifetime, and for all the botanists and florists and other more green-fingered souls in the back of his mind, plants just did not get along with him for some reason. He was even beginning to think that perhaps they shrank away from him in the same way that animals did, somehow able to sense the disturbing air of death and too many souls squashed into a small space that unnerved most living creatures.
Trisha, on the other hand, must have been some kind of green goddess, because the way that she got plants and flowers to thrive under her care was nothing short of miraculous. Within just a couple of months after moving in with him, the white house on the hill boasted an extensive vegetable patch that was the talk of the town, and a fragrant kitchen herb garden that added to most of their meals. The window boxes were full of blooming flowers, and it seemed that Trisha had only to touch a slightly wilted leaf for it to perk up and burst into fresh life again.
Today she was pruning the rose bushes outside the front window, occasionally stopping to inhale their delicate scent and smile as she brushed her fingertips over their gentle petals. Hohenheim looked down at his hands; he was used to delicate work when it came to intricate transmutation circles and precise translations of ancient texts, but even being in the presence of such beautiful flowers made him feel like his hands were giant soup plates that he was waving around, threatening to destroy all of Trisha’s handiwork.
Presently she noticed him watching her and smiled at him.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Just you. I love how much you love your plants.”
Trisha laughed. “Yes. I love them almost as much as I love you. I have to say it, but I think that gardening will always be my first and truest love. The seasons change and the blooms come and go, but there’s something about knowing that you’ve planted something and nurtured it and helped it to grow that makes it seem all the more special to me.”
“You’ve enjoyed it ever since you were a child?”
Trisha nodded. “Yes. My mother taught me all about the language of flowers. It might not be as impressive as learning Xingese or Drachman, but I like to think that I’m fluent in it now.”
The language of flowers was one that he had heard of, obviously, Kaya was constantly reminding him of it when he had been first courting Trisha, despairing of him accidentally choosing her flowers that signified death or hatred, but Trisha had never seemed to mind.
She laughed when he told her the story. “It’s all right. I know that not everyone knows the meanings behind the bouquets they give. People go by what looks and smells nice, and that’s perfectly fine. Sometimes it’s fun to send coded messages in flowers, knowing that you know what it means but they don’t. Maybe if I had enemies and I was a more malicious person, I’d send them lavender and hydrangea.”
“What would that mean to the unsuspecting recipient?”
“Distrust and heartlessness.”
“I see.” Hohenheim raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried about the flowers that you give to me? I feel like I ought to know more about this language.”
“I’d be happy to teach you if you want to learn.” She laughed. “It’s strange, you’ve done so much and seen so much in your time; there’s so much that you’ve taught me over these past few months that it seems odd for me to be the one teaching you now.”
“No matter how long you live, you never stop learning, or wanting to learn. There will always be new things to know. No one person will ever have all the knowledge in the world.”
“I don’t understand how there’s room in your brain for all the things you know.”
“I’ve forgotten far more of it than I want to think about. But it makes learning new things all the more exciting, and sometimes I rediscover something I already knew and forgot about, and I see it in a new light.” He paused. “Plants are definitely one thing that I’ve never known about, I can guarantee that.”
“Well, we can start your lessons right now with the roses, if you want?”
Hohenheim nodded towards the pink rose in her hands.
“What does that one mean?”
“Pink roses convey gentle emotions,” Trisha said. “Not like the red and orange roses, that convey deep, stirring passions. Pink roses are for gratitude, joy, and admiration.” She clipped the rose off its thorn and came over to him, slipping it into the breast pocket of his waistcoat like a buttonhole. “And I have lots to be joyful and grateful about today.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.” Trisha’s hands were still resting on his chest, and he could feel the warmth of them even through his layers of clothing, almost as if she had absorbed the rays of the sun.
“Are you going to tell me what it is, or do I have to guess?”
Trisha laughed. “I think that we might be here all day if you have to guess. I love how you can come up with the most far-fetched theories for everything and completely ignore the most obvious explanation for things.”
“In my defence, that’s usually because I have half a million second opinions trying to get in on the act.” The souls in his veins stirred and complained at the slight against them. “But also, I suppose I have a very wide frame of reference and not all that normal a life.”
“Well, I think that your life will gain a degree of normality in it soon,” Trisha said. “Or at least, something else in it that makes you seem more normal to the rest of the world. Something that might be one step closer to the life you’ve always wanted.”
A couple of thousand souls let out a shocked gasp in the back of his mind, a tentative expression of hope on his behalf. They’d all known for a long time that the life he had always wanted was a simple one, with a wife and family of his own. He had Trisha now, so he was halfway there even if she could never legally be his wife due to the logistical issues of him not officially existing.
“Trisha, what are you saying?” He hoped that he knew what she was saying, but this was not a situation where he wanted to blurt out the wrong answer, because if he was wrong, it would have been both embarrassing and devastating.
Trisha took one of his hands, carefully pressing it against her stomach. “Soon I’ll have someone else to teach the language of flowers to.”
“Oh Trisha… You’re really… We’re really… I’m really…”
“Yes. I’m really pregnant. We’re really going to have a baby. You’re really going to be a dad.”
The pink rose of gratitude and joyfulness was a little bit squashed as Hohenheim pulled Trisha in for a ready kiss, but the sentiment still remained, as Hohenheim had not felt this much joy for a very, very long time.