Winnie Matthews lifts the small blue watering can and allows a quiet stream to pour from the shallow spout. The flowering plant - Honey - drinks up the cold water slowly, letting her soil turn a deep shade of brown. The plant in the apartment’s corner was named by Winnie’s daughter, for the tulips that bulged from the emerald stems were a sweet kind of yellow. Winnie gently traces the new bulbs with an index finger, noticing the smoothness of the silky petals. Oh, how she could make a bed from those petals and sleep forever. 

She places the can beside the ceramic pot, careful not to wake the two sleepers who occupy the queen-sized bed and the wooden crib next to it. Having her first task of watering Honey checked off of her morning routine’s to-do list, Winnie walks the few steps to the kitchen, retrieves a sippy cup from the cupboard above the microwave, and tips a splash of apple juice into the plastic bottle. She pours herself a glass as well and tastes the fruit’s sour flavor. Leaving the other cup on the table for the sleepy child, Winnie climbs onto the window sill’s bench and witnesses another morning in Washington. Bloated clouds blanket the early sunrise as pedestrians walk to and fro with their lattes and bagels under the soaked hoods of rain jackets.

The same homeless man that has been living in the alley between the flower shop and the leased vegetable market since the start of spring organizes his belongings. It’s now the end of May and Winnie is overcome with empathy as she watches the seventy-something-year-old man count his Ziploc bag of change. She bets he doesn’t count anything worth more than a silver dime and eats an unbuttered slice of bread for breakfast. 

She’s drawn away from the rain-streaked window as her two-year-old greets her with a tired yawn. She shuffles in the pink sheets and rubs her blue eyes with two balled-up fists. The pig-tails from yesterday tame her chestnut hair. Knowing that his daughter is slowly returning from her beauty sleep, Easton covers his head with a pillow and reaches for the Aspirin on the bedside table. Winnie has learned to place two pills there every morning as part of her routine. His hangovers are his way of life and she couldn’t resent it more. “Mommy.” Standing up and awaiting her mother’s comforting arms, the child whines. 

“Goodmorning, Tulip,” Winnie whispers through a smile and sets Tulip on her hip. Easton hurriedly dresses in his mechanic uniform for a twelve-hour shift and is out the door in a second. Winnie grabs her cheek to fill the void of an absent kiss and checks the only accurate clock in the apartment to notice that her husband is late for work again. “I’ve poured you some apple juice. What do you think about some pancakes?” And so the rainy day begins.

_  

I discovered my pregnancy two days after my eighteenth birthday in my friend’s bathroom. I remember feeling an overwhelming wave of nausea as I leaned over the sink with a hand cupped over my speechless lips. A plus sign. I placed the blue cap on the used stick and showed Eleanor. She embraced me in a hug that would never be tight enough and promised me her support. Later that day, I was promised Easton’s unconditional love. I remember that when I told him, he had his textbooks sprawled over his desk, a pencil in hand. He had always been smart. I recall the first time we met was in Honors Algebra. 

Since then, he’s been by my side. Both of our families - neither one of us had any siblings - forced us out of the house and into the real world all too soon. We exchanged vows at a quiet chapel in town and combined all of our savings. He had worked throughout high school at his father’s roofing company and I had served as a cashier during the summers at various stores. Not long after I buried the pregnancy test in Eleanor’s trash can, we used the little money to sign the lease to the apartment on 3rd street. Not even the surprising birth of my baby scared me as much as seeing the empty apartment that was now half mine for the first time. 

Easton and I agreed that the apartment would make an adequate home. There was a large window with a bench, a fine kitchen, and enough space to raise a baby. We played Friends and Party of Five while we painted the walls light grey and decorated the window sill with navy throw pillows. Although our families practically disowned us, we found an abundance of happiness in the walls that would soon house our family. 

I discovered myself with my legs sprawled open, wailing in pain a few months later. The labor went well, but the pain made it seem as if I was birthing something from Hell. Easton was in the room with me and I’m almost certain he was gripping my hand harder than I was his. We teased each other about that on our ride home. As I leaned my new and hungry baby girl up to my chest, Eleanor entered the room with Honey and acted as if it was completely usual for an eighteen-year-old to have just given birth. Easton, Eleanor, and I all took turns rocking the baby soon to be named Tulip. I had not even comprehended what my body had endured when the nurse began lecturing me on breastfeeding. I numbly nodded my head while another doctor checked my stitches. Beside me, Easton wiggled the toes of our child and smiled. I would have cherished his perfect smile a whole lot more if I’d known it was going to be the last. 

_  

“Teddy!” Tulip cries out from the purple rug on the carpeted floor. Winnie drops Easton’s flannel shirt mid-fold and rushes to fix the white teddy bear’s satin bow. She made a mental note to return to the laundry after the plates from lunch were washed and put away. 

“All better. I think Teddy might be getting sleepy. Should we let him take a nap too?” Winnie chimes, licking her right thumb to clear the smear of peanut butter that has stained Tulip’s chin.

“No, no nap.” Teddy is now sitting in the corner of the bedroom along with the growing dust bunnies. The result of Tulip’s miniature tantrum makes Winnie sigh and remember her duties as a mother.

“C’mon. You know we don’t throw things. Go get Teddy and we’ll all take a nap. Then we’ll play some games once we’re awake.” Winnie watches as Tulip prances over to the stuffed bear and waits to be lifted into her crib. 

“Good girl.” Winnie rubs the back of her child with her unpainted nails until she is asleep. Instead of taking a nap herself, she fetches the gently used parenting book from the little shelf beside the closet and lays on the bench with a blanket. The window sill reveals a rainy day. Puddles fill the potholes on the street and cars swerve to avoid the pooling curbs. A bit of sun peaks through the clouds, but it’s not enough to brighten the pigeon grey sky. She squints to focus on the splinter of light.

_  

Before Tulip, Easton and I would take walks every morning. We’d leave at dawn before he would have to catch the train for work. With the leftover savings from the week, he would purchase two donuts. Vanilla for him and chocolate for me. As we munched on our treats, we would stroll hand-in-hand through the roads. Morning doves flew overhead and beneath the sun that would cast a fiery glow over the buildings. The few passersby would wave to us on the sidewalks and we’d smile back, eager to show our love, the love that has recently become all too distant. 

_  

Winnie opens to a chapter about toys and their proper use when she begins to hear the quiet snores of her daughter and sees the homeless man again. This time, he’s playing solitaire and pulls on Winnie’s heartstrings. Afraid to make any noise at all, Winnie quickly taps her way over to the kitchen to execute the idea that has just crept into her mind. She searches through the cupboards, closing them ever so gently. She could probably spare a box of oatmeal and a bottle of water. Oh, and a spoon and a bowl! She fits the items into a plastic bag, grabs a coat, laces her shoes, and hurries down the complex’s stairs and across the street.

As she nears the man under a make-shift canopy, she notices the bag of change that has dwindled since this morning. His grey facial hair and trembling fingertips make Winnie wish that she could have fit more into the plastic bag hanging loosely from her wrist. Building up the courage to do what she has wanted to do since March, she steps closer and holds out the wet bag. “I want you to have this.” 

He looks up from the ace of hearts in his hand. “For me?” His somber face is roughly shaven.

“Yes. I can’t give much, but I’d like you to take this. It’s oatmeal and water.” The pattering of rain fills the long breaks between their words. The smell of fresh vegetation from the market creates a strong aroma with the rain - ripe tomatoes, minced ginger, and soaked pavement. Winnie digs in the mesh pocket of her coat. “And this. For your bag of change.” The man hesitates before reaching out and taking the twenty-dollar bill. 

“How can I repay you?” His foggy eyes fix on the young woman in front of him. 

Winnie doesn’t have an answer. She remembers all of those times she wanted help and only Eleanor was there, the look on her mother’s face when she shamed Winnie for all that had happened. “You don’t have to. But I’d like to know your story. I see you every day outside of that window.” She squints up to the building but realizes she can’t see much past the rain that has seeped into her frayed sweatpants. 

He pauses and draws in a deep breath. “The story doesn’t matter, sweetheart. It’s where we end up that matters.” Behind the glossy haze, she can see kindness in the eyes that were probably once colored with love and liveliness. 

A look of confusion crosses her face, but she soon nods her head when she understands his words. He rubs the smooth green bill between his fingers and furls it in his trembling hand. 

“Even flowers grow in the mud.” He smiles. “Thank you.”

“It’s apple, apple cinnamon. Enjoy.” She can’t help but smile too as she dodges cars to get to the other side of the avenue. When she returns to the apartment, Tulip is standing up in her crib. Mom-guilt washes over Winnie’s face. “Where did ya go?” Tulip asks, jumping up and down with Teddy. 

“To help somebody.” Winnie can’t help the tears that are beginning to cloud her own eyes. She brings Tulip down from her crib and gives her a peck on the nose. “Would you like to help me cook dinner? Dad should be home any minute.” 

“I thought we were going to play games.” A heart-grasping frown washes over her face, while Winnie reminds herself to teach her daughter that words ending in ‘ing’ have a quiet ‘g’. 

“We will, but we’ll wait for Dad this time.” With that, Tulip is smiling and giggling again. Easy.

In the little square of space that acts as the kitchen, Tulip sits in a chair playing with a baby doll, while Winnie sautées a single onion and a few peppers in a pan. Leftover chicken has made its way into the oven. Just as the vegetables look golden brown in the sizzling butter, Easton walks in the door and nearly bumps into the lit stove. “Dad!” Tulip leaps off of her seat and runs to hug his oil-smudged pant leg.

“Hi, Tules.” Easton picks her up and pretends that she’s an airplane. Meanwhile, Winnie analyzes her husband for any signs of alcohol. He’s been drinking, but only a little. Thank goodness. Transferring their dinner onto three plates, she sets the table with forks and napkins. “Hi, Win.” He says, picking up a slice of pepper and letting the butter melt on his tongue. 

“Hi, how was work?” She tests the vegetables herself and realizes she has browned them perfectly. She had to learn how to cook quickly before Tulip came and the history of their meals is evident of that. Now, she gives herself an imaginary pat on the back. 

“Long, but fine. How has this one been?” He asks, landing Tulip back into her chair. 

“She wants to play games after dinner. Please say you’ll join us.” 

He did. Once Tulip finally cleared her plate, she and Easton tidied up and sat down on their bed to play Uno. They could only play with colors since the biggest number Tulip could recall was five. Easton won all three rounds. Yellow seemed to be the favorable color tonight.

When Tulip was gamed out, Winnie sang her to sleep and met Easton in bed. The rain outside put Tulip to sleep almost instantly.

Now laying beside her husband, Winnie speaks softly.  “I want to talk to you. I miss us.” He rolls over and she is face-to-face with the handsome man who feels like a dandelion’s distant wish. His hair creates a dark puddle on his pillow. The slice of the moon through the window acts as their nightlight, but the lightbulb fades in and out as clouds float past. 

“I miss us too.” He feels for her hand under the sheets. 

 She reflects on the last couple of months and the alcohol-spiked weeks. “I need you to stop-”

“Drinking. I know. It’s been so hard with work and Tulip.” He takes a breath. “And you. I’ve been looking for help in the wrong places.” Winnie notices his disappointment and truly sees the man who works twelve-hour shifts five days out of the grueling week, the man who has stood by her side through it all. “I’m going to try my very hardest, Win.”

“Why don’t we take a walk at sunrise like we used to? Tomorrow. Before work.” Winnie sees the idea come across Easton’s face as a familiar, but rare smile. 

“I’d like that. I’m sorry I’m not the man you met.” He brushes a loose strand of hair out of Winnie’s face, tucks the mocha curl behind the ear not smothered by a pillow. 

“You were kind of a nerd in high school. I’m glad you’ve changed a little.” They both share quiet laughter before returning to the seriousness of their conversation. “I still see him.” She draws in a shaky breath, aware of this missed intimacy between them. “Do you still see Winnie Grace?” She feels a bundle of tears tighten in her throat. 

“I do, but I like Winnie Matthews better. I love her as a wife and as a mom.” They both turn to lay on their backs after their lips part from a warming kiss. It’s like they’re counting the stars and gazing up at something bigger than the two of them. “I’ll see you in the morning.” This time Winnie doesn’t have to clutch her cheek to replace the missing kiss, Easton already plants his lips there as if to say good night. She feels the faraway feelings of love return one by one. 

“See you.” Before closing her eyes, she remembers that tomorrow’s forecast predicts another rain shower. Oh well. She plants to fish the umbrellas from the closet and Tulip’s rain boots from under the bed in the morning. She takes one last look at Honey before crawling into sleep’s arms. She will dream of the happy days to come, while her husband anticipates the sweet taste of vanilla icing. “Goodnight, Tulip,” Winnie whispers. “A wise man once told me that even flowers grow in the mud. And I think he may be right.” She feels Easton’s callused hand move to the small of her back and she smiles against her pillow.

_

And the yellow bulbs bloom.