A Call to Action
Atlas
I’m standing in the middle of the garden, phone in hand, staring down at it like it might grow legs and walk away if I don’t act fast. My cat Clover is sprawled out on the stone path beside me, completely at ease, which is more than I can say for myself.
I told Malcolm and Mari I’d call. That was three days ago. They made it sound simple—because for them, it is. Mari even smiled when she gave me the number, like she knew something I didn’t.
“It’s just a call,” I mutter to myself, brushing my palm over the tops of the rosemary plants. “Not a blind date. We’re planting a garden for kids, not getting married.”
Still, the thought lingers, unwelcome but persistent. Sunnie Perez. Mari had called her sunshine in a bottle—her words, not mine. I can’t decide if that’s intimidating or something I should look forward to.
Either way, standing around isn’t getting this done.
I glance at Clover, who stretches lazily without even opening her eyes. Must be nice to have nothing to stress about. “Don’t judge me,” I tell her.
She flicks her tail.
I let out a long breath and scroll to the contact Mari put in my phone. Sunnie Perez– Garden Project.
I hit the call button before I can second-guess myself.
One ring. Two. Three.
My shoulders ease a little when I get her voicemail.
“Hey, this is Sunnie! I can’t get to my phone right now, but leave a message and I’ll call you back as soon as I can!” Her voice is bright, cheerful—the kind that makes you smile even if you weren’t planning on it.
The beep comes fast, and suddenly I’m on the spot.
“Uh… hey, this is Atlas,” I say, scratching the back of my neck. I already sound awkward, but I push through. “Look, I, uh… Mari stopped by the garden the other day and gave me your number. I hope it’s alright that I called. Anyway, I was wondering if you’d like to get together sometime, maybe talk about that garden project? Nothing too crazy, just thought it could be fun. Shoot me a call back if you’re down. Hope to hear from you.”
I hang up, exhaling like I’ve been holding my breath the whole time. Clover finally cracks an eye open and gives me a slow blink.
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble. “Don’t say it.”
I pocket the phone and kneel beside the basil, pulling a few stray weeds from the edges. I’m not nervous about meeting new people—not really. But something about this feels… different.
I shake my head and focus on the soil beneath my fingers. It’s just a project. Nothing more.
But I can’t help wondering what her voice sounds like when she’s not behind a voicemail.
I run my hand through the soil, letting it sift between my fingers, cool and familiar. The basil plants are looking strong—deep green, full leaves—but there’s a patch of lavender by the fence that’s struggling. I’ll need to rework the drainage over there. Easy fix.
I should be focused on that. But I’m not.
My phone’s still sitting on the stone path next to me, and even though the call is long over, I keep glancing at it like it’s about to light up. Pull it together, I tell myself, yanking out a stray weed.
It’s been thirty minutes. She’s probably busy.
Or maybe she heard that message and thought, Wow, this guy is awkward.
I groan under my breath, brushing the dirt off my jeans. I don’t even know what she looks like. I’ve never been the type to get worked up over someone I haven’t met, but here I am—blushing like a kid with a crush.
What is my problem?
“Atlas, honey, you’re about to snap that poor basil in half.”
I blink down at the plant I’m apparently gripping a little too tightly, and let go with a sigh. Across the garden, Mom’s leaning against the edge of the raised planter box, watching me with that knowing look of hers. Her dark hair, streaked with silver now, is tucked behind her ears, and her apron’s dusted with flour. Probably from whatever she’s baking in the kitchen attached to the food pantry.
“Sorry,” I mutter, straightening up. “Got distracted.”
She quirks an eyebrow. “Distracted, huh? I haven’t seen you this distracted since you overwatered the rosemary after that girl broke up with you in college.”
I shoot her a look, but she just smiles.
“That was years ago,” I point out. “And I didn’t overwater it.”
“Oh, honey, you drowned that poor plant,” she teases, stepping closer and nudging my shoulder. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
I let out a soft laugh despite myself, dusting my hands off on my jeans. “It’s not like that. It’s just…” I hesitate, rubbing the back of my neck. “Malcolm and Mari gave me this girl’s number. Sunnie. She’s supposed to help with the garden project at Little Angels.”
Mom’s eyes light up instantly, and I know I’ve stepped right into her trap.
“Ohh,” she says, dragging the word out like she’s piecing together something scandalous. “So, that’s why you’ve been pacing around like a lovesick teenager.”
I groan. “It’s not like that, Mom.”
She crosses her arms, tilting her head slightly. “You sure? Because I saw you staring at that phone like you were waiting for it to ask you to prom.”
I can’t help but laugh, shaking my head. “I left her a message. Just… waiting to hear back, I guess.”
Mom’s smile softens, and she places a gentle hand on my arm. “Atlas, you’re too handsome and good to be keeping to yourself. I know that break-up hurt, but you can’t let it keep you from letting someone in.”
I shrug, keeping my gaze down on the soil. “It’s easier this way. Plants don’t lie. They grow if you take care of them. People… they’re harder to trust.”
Mom doesn’t say anything right away. She just lets that sit between us, her eyes scanning the garden like she’s thinking it over.
“You know what I think?” she says finally, her voice softer now. “I think plants are a lot like people. They just need the right environment, someone patient to care for them. And sometimes… sometimes they surprise you with how resilient they are.”
I glance at her, and she gives my arm a reassuring squeeze.
“I’m proud of you for calling,” she adds. “Even if nothing comes of it, it’s good to branch out.”
I roll my eyes, but there’s warmth behind it. “Branch out? Really?”
She grins. “Hey, I couldn’t pass that one up.”
We stand there for a moment, the quiet settling over us in that familiar, comforting way it always does when I’m out here with her. Eventually, I kneel back down to finish weeding, and she heads inside to check on whatever she’s baking.
But even as I dig into the soil, my mind drifts back to Sunnie.
Sunnie
The play yard at Little Angels hums with the kind of chaos that feels like home—laughter, tiny shouts, and the clatter of plastic trikes racing across the pavement. This is my sweet spot, right in the middle of the madness, where I can see every scrape, every giggle, and every budding meltdown from a mile away.
“Miss Sunnie! Miss Sunnie, look!”
I turn just in time to catch Leo barreling straight for the slide on his trike, his tongue sticking out in fierce concentration.
“Oh, buddy, I don’t think—”
Too late. His front wheel clips the base of the slide, and he tips backward in slow motion, landing flat on his back like a starfish. He just lays there, blinking at the sky, like he’s trying to decide if this is a cry-worthy situation or not.
I crouch next to him, brushing some dirt off his sweatshirt. “You alright, champ?”
Leo’s grin spreads wide as he props himself up on his elbows. “Yeah. I’m tough like Spider-Man.”
I laugh, ruffling his curls. “I knew it. Spider-Man always gets back up.”
That’s all the encouragement he needs. He scrambles onto his trike and takes off again, ready to conquer the next obstacle.
“Miss Sunnie, push me!”
I feel a tug on my hand and look down to find Gracie standing by the slide, her bright pink rain boots planted firmly in the dirt. There’s not a cloud in the sky, but Gracie’s been rocking those boots every day this week. I respect the commitment.
“Of course, Gracie Lou.” I scoop her up and plop her at the top of the slide, giving her a light push. She zooms down, hitting the mulch at the bottom with a little bounce, squealing the whole way.
It’s moments like this that make everything feel right—their giggles, the simple joy they find in the smallest things. Kids are magic like that. They remind me how easy it is to bounce back when you let yourself.
I let my gaze sweep over the yard, keeping tabs on the little tornadoes scattered across the playground. The swings creak under the weight of giggling four-year-olds, the sandbox is in full construction mode, and the line for the slide is long enough that I’ll probably have to mediate soon.
For now, I lean against the wooden railing by the sandbox, soaking up the late afternoon sun and the sounds of my kids—my kids, even if they’re not really mine—playing like they don’t have a care in the world.
And for now, I guess I don’t either.
The last of the kids trickle out, hand-in-hand with parents who look half as exhausted as I feel. I wave to Leo as his mom buckles him into their SUV. Gracie gives me one last hug before skipping toward her mom.
“Bye, Miss Sunnie!” she calls over her shoulder.
“Bye, Gracie Lou! See you tomorrow!”
One by one, the play-yard empties until I’m the last one standing outside. The quiet feels strange after all that noise, like the world’s holding its breath.
I head back inside, locking the gate behind me.
The classroom smells faintly of crayons and apple juice, and the faint scuff of tiny sneakers still lingers on the tile. I grab a handful of markers left on the art table and toss them back into their basket, tidying up the scattered blocks and straightening chairs that somehow always end up backwards.
The place feels calm now, like it’s recharging for the chaos that’ll hit it again tomorrow morning.
I hum softly to myself as I line up the toy trucks along the window sill, my usual end-of-day ritual. There’s something oddly comforting about the stillness that follows a full day of little hands and big voices.
After wiping down the last of the tables, I finally grab my keys and head toward the back, weaving through the cubbies until I reach the staff lockers. Mine’s tucked into the corner, the sticker-covered door standing out like a beacon of personality in the otherwise bland hallway.
I spin the lock, tugging it open to grab my bag and phone.
The moment I pull the phone out, I spot the missed call notification flashing on the screen. My stomach dips just a little. Unknown number.
I hit play as I sling my bag over my shoulder and push through the back door, stepping out into the cool afternoon air.
“Uh… hey, this is Atlas. Look, I, uh… Mari stopped by the garden the other day and gave me your number. I hope it’s alright that I called. Anyway, I was wondering if you’d like to get together sometime, maybe talk about that garden project? Nothing too crazy, just thought it could be fun. Shoot me a call back if you’re down. Hope to hear from you.”
I stop mid-step, blinking at the phone like it might explain itself. Atlas?
My cheeks warm instantly, and I shift my weight from one foot to the other, pressing the phone to my ear as if hearing it a second time will make more sense.
Mari. Of course, this has Mari written all over it.
I shake my head, a soft laugh bubbling out of me. Mari never misses a chance to play matchmaker, but she conveniently forgot to mention this little detail.
Sliding into my car, I toss my bag onto the passenger seat and immediately hit her contact. The line rings twice before her cheerful voice answers.
“Hey?”
“Mariana!” I shout.
“Sunnie!” She exclaims in return.
“Who is Atlas and why did he call me?” I say, dragging his name out teasingly.
There’s a pause, and I can practically hear the grin in her voice when she responds. “Oh,” she lets out a little laugh. “Remember you told me you wanted to meet a fancy man?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “He’s fancy? Wait, how fancy?”
“Maybe he’s not fancy but he’s a good guy, he’s looking for a nice girl he can trust,” she says with a giggle. “At least, that’s what I overheard.”
I rest my forehead against the steering wheel, groaning in defeat. “Who is he?”
“Malcolm’s childhood friend,” she says, her voice softer now. “He’s a gardener and helps feed the neighborhood.”
I sit up a little straigher, “Really?”
“Yeah, so I told him we should have a garden at Little Angels.”
“It’s all making sense now,” I let out some laughter to release the tension in my chest. “So am I supposed to date him or put him in contact with the supervisor?”
“Both?” Mari replies and I can practically hear her smile in her tone.
I can’t stop myself from blurting out, “Seriously Mari?!”
“Only if you want to, I don’t know your type but he’s handsome, with brown hair, blue eyes…,” Mari chimes in, clearly reading my silence. “He was super nice to the kids.”
I lean back against the seat, staring up at the ceiling of my car with a small, reluctant smile. I might not have expected it, but something about Atlas’s voice—nervous but sincere—sticks with me.
“I’ll call him back,” I sigh, already knowing the answer. “No promises though.”
“That’s okay,” Mari says, and I can practically hear her clapping her hands together in victory. “Just the garden is good enough for me.”
“Thanks, Mariana.”
“You’re welcome, I’m at the hospital with the twins so I’ve gotta run, talk soon.”
I hang up and sit there for a minute, my thumb hovering over his number. The thought of calling him back makes me blush harder than I want to admit.
After all, it’s just a garden project. Right?
