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“Please stop saying ‘it’s the hike, the sequel’ every time we step a few feet into woods.” Patrick adjusts his toque.
“I don’t understand why this outing requires us both.” David pants as he catches up. His breath comes out in clouds.
“You insisted on authentic, live plants for party decorations. But I did the research.”
“Excuse me, I’ve seen Scrooged eleven times. I’d recognize it.”
“The European mistletoe in movies and Victorian illustration is not the same as Eastern dwarf mistletoe, which is what grows here. But if you’re confident, I could leave you to it.”
“No. Your help is appreciated.”
“Mistletoe likes spruce.” Patrick waves his pole-hook at a patch of trees. “It’s called partially parasitic because the seed lands on the tree and sticks there, relying on it for nutrients and energy for years.”
“Years?”
“It settles in. Steals all the host’s carbohydrates.”
“While looking pretty.”
Patrick pauses and turns to catch his eye. “Birds and butterflies like it. I do too. I’m a sucker for beautiful things with complicated stories.”
“Surely the mistletoe is useful to the tree too?”
“David.” Patrick reaches back for his hand. “Sometimes a plant’s just a plant. There’s no metaphor here.”