It Answered Me Too

Paloma takes an envelope out of her pocket. It is soft at the corners, the pencil on it rubbed pale: To whoever hangs lanterns, Austin. Nothing else is written there.

A letter, she says. Eleven days I've had it. She slides her thumb under the flap.

Inside is a basil leaf, pressed flat, brown at the edge and green along the vein. Written across it in pencil, in a hand you don't know, is one line: It answered me too.

The smell of basil goes through the hold, over the ink and the stoves. Paloma reads the line. Then she lays the leaf back in the envelope and looks at you.

It's for Austin, she says, and holds it out.