The Shape of Family Page 15

  One day, as she was stocking a new shipment of navel oranges, Karina felt someone watching her. She looked up to see a man standing about ten feet away. He was older, maybe early thirties, with wavy brown hair and a rugged complexion.

  “Oh, can I help you with something?” With the back of her gloved hand, Karina brushed away the loose hair from her ponytail.

  He smiled at her. “My neighbors have a tree of oranges with the most amazing zest—intense flavor and aroma. Have anything like that?”

  “Hmm. Well, I’ve never had that question. I can tell you the best orange for juicing.” She held up one of the navels she was stocking. “Or . . .” She took a few steps over to the clementines and held up a pair, joined by their leafy stems. “The most popular for lunch boxes and picnics.”

  “How about these?” He held up a Sumo Citrus. “These look kind of like my neighbors’.”

  “Ah, Sumos are delicious,” she said. “My personal favorite. But you have to get past how ugly they look.”

  “Oh, that’s definitely not it,” he said. “My neighbors’ oranges taste like absolute shit.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, sir,” she said, laughing, “I don’t think we carry oranges that taste like that.”

  His laugh, like his voice, was deep and resonant. “Okay, don’t call me sir.” He pointed a finger at her. “I’m not that much older than you. I’m Micah.” He extended his hand.

  “Karina.” She took off one of her industrial rubber gloves to shake his hand and felt an electrifying warmth from his open palm.

  “Karina,” he repeated. “The beautiful girl who loves the ugliest orange.” He tossed the Sumo into the air and caught it.

  The spark of attraction she felt, the first since meeting James, caught her off guard and she looked down to mask her reflexive smile. “Would you like to taste one of those?” she asked, pulling out her knife. “It does have a thick skin, so it might give you that zest you’re looking for.”

  “Sure,” he said, holding her steady with his eyes. “I’d love to.”

  * * *

  The next Sunday afternoon, Micah appeared again, at the end of her shift. He and Karina discussed the flavor properties of different colors of asparagus, and how disappointed he’d been the first time he cooked the purple variety and its unique color leached out. The following weekend, he told her about growing his own rhubarb, and how his near-perfect lettuce crop had been decimated by a family of rabbits. “I was going to put up a wire fence, but I knew they’d just try to jump over it and hurt themselves on the sharp wires. A lost head of romaine is one thing, but a bleeding rabbit wouldn’t rest well with my conscience, you know?” He laughed, and Karina searched for something interesting to say to keep the conversation going, to keep him there with his rich eyes and warm smile.

  Each week, she anticipated seeing him, and they had longer and more involved conversations. “What are you studying at school?” he asked her and seemed genuinely interested as she described her interdisciplinary environmental science major. He inquired about her seminar water systems project, and when she explained the conclusions, a fleeting thought of James passed without emotion. Micah seemed fascinated by the things she described, admiring of what she knew. Karina told him about her work at the Botany Lab, breeding new varietals of heirloom tomatoes and pole beans.

  “So, what do you grow in your own garden?” Micah asked her.

  Karina shook her head. “I don’t have a garden. I live in an apartment near campus. No outdoor space, unfortunately.”

  “What? A young woman full of knowledge about fruits and vegetables and no garden of your own?” Micah cocked his head.

  Karina smiled and shrugged. “Well, I get all my produce here.”

  Micah studied her face for a moment. “There’s something very special that comes from growing something of your own. Starting with the tiniest seeds, the seeds left over from the tomato you ate for lunch. Burying them deep within the soil, invisible to the rest of the world. You water them and watch and wait. And one day, the first green shoot appears. And you know you did that. You nurtured and created life.” Micah selected a tomato from the bin—deep red, perfectly round, skin unblemished—and held it up. “And then, you taste it.” He closed his eyes and brought the tomato closer to his nose, inhaling deeply.

  Karina watched with intense curiosity. She had the sensation he was going to bite into that tomato like an apple, and she had an inexplicable desire to do the same. But, after a long moment, he simply opened his eyes and held the tomato toward her. She leaned forward to smell it, closing her eyes to take in the aroma, fruity and earthy at once. When she opened her eyes, Micah’s proximity and strong gaze took her by surprise. Karina felt the quick heartbeat in her chest and took a step back.

  “I share a plot with some friends at Rancheria Community Garden. Do you know it?”

  She shook her head.

  “Why don’t you come by sometime? We could use someone like you. Our peppers and tomatoes are thriving, but our herbs and lettuces are getting feasted on by critters. If we can’t turn things around soon, we’ll be doomed to eating ratatouille all winter long instead of salads. Saturday morning, around nine o’clock?”

  Karina watched as he walked away, uncertain whether she should go, yet impatient that Saturday was still six days away.

  26 | karina

  OCTOBER 2014

  When she got home, Karina looked up the Rancheria Community Garden and learned it was one square block of city land designated for individuals who lived in multi-resident buildings or otherwise didn’t have access to outdoor space for gardening. People like her. She was nervous about going alone, so she called up Stephanie, who still lived on campus in their old dorm. “Hey, Steph!” Karina said, happy to hear her friend’s voice for the first time in weeks. “You free next Saturday morning?”

  By the time she and Stephanie arrived, Micah was already there with two friends, who both looked older, in their mid- to late-twenties. “Karina!” he called out, and any apprehension she’d felt about coming faded. Karina introduced Stephanie; Micah introduced them to Ericka, a petite part-Asian woman wearing overalls and a purple bandana wrapped around her brown pixie cut, and Jeremy, with a faded T-shirt and a heavily stubbled chin he kept rubbing. Music was playing from a small wireless speaker. Micah poured them coffee from a large thermos and walked them around the garden, pointing out someone’s rainbow chard and another person’s Romanesco cauliflower.

  “That’s Mrs. Godfrey’s patch.” Micah pointed to some wilted carrot tops. “She hasn’t been here since her hip surgery. Looks dry.” He pulled a garden hose over and trained it on the center of the box. “Gotta take care of things while she’s gone—she lives for this garden, sweet old lady.”

  The area Micah and his friends were working on was actually four individual plots that they had pooled to work collectively, and it was planted with tomatoes, bell peppers, zucchini, lettuces, and several herbs. Stephanie leaned down to a plant bearing large dark-green chilies. “Ah, poblanos. My mom makes the best mole when these are in season.”

  “Take them,” Micah said, smiling at her.

  “Really?” Stephanie looked at him. “I’m going home next weekend. She’d love these.”

  “Absolutely! Your mom will make much better use of them than we can.” Micah handed her a canvas bag. “Here, take them all.” Stephanie grinned as she took the bag.

  Micah continued to walk Karina through the garden. “Lemon verbena?” Karina pointed at a patch. “What do you use that for?”

  Micah smiled and shrugged. “Not sure yet, but we’re gonna have a lot of it. If you have any ideas, let me know.” He led her back to the tool bucket and handed her a pair of gloves. “Karina,” he said. “From your name, I’m guessing you’re Indian.” He held up one finger and continued, “But not entirely. Perhaps Caucasian too?”

  “Uh, yeah. That’s right,” Karina said, taken aback. “How . . . ? You can tell all that from my name?”


  “Your name. The almond shape of your eyes. Your skin tone.” Micah smiled at her. “I studied a little Sanskrit, believe it or not.”

  “What? No, you’re kidding.”

  “Yeah, I have one of those brains for language. I pick them up easily.”

  “How many?”

  “Seven or eight.” He smiled, shrugging. “I’ve traveled all over the world, so I’ve seen a lot of different people and combinations in my life. What’s it like, being from two cultures? Do people always try to peg you to one or the other?”

  Karina looked at him, trying to read his face. “People don’t know what to make of me.”

  “How does that feel?”

  Micah was exploring questions she’d never been asked before, much less answered. Karina was grateful for the sunglasses and baseball cap shielding her face. “Unmoored, I guess. You know, I’d love to just walk into a place and feel like I’m with my people. But that doesn’t happen. Ever. I tried the Indian Students Association on campus and it was kind of a bust. Not Indian enough. Everywhere else, a little too different to fit in.”

  Micah smiled and murmured sympathetically. He dragged a bag of manure over to the tomato plants. “It’s human nature, to want to categorize things in a way we recognize. But people don’t realize it’s in the mixing that greatness happens. Rock ’n’ roll came from the confluence of R & B and country music. Hybrid tomatoes, like these”—he paused to snap a sucker from the tomato vine—“are the most delicious. And children of two races combine the best features of each. Always the most beautiful.”

  Karina’s smile came involuntarily, though she told herself he hadn’t complimented her directly. She was struck by how it felt to be truly seen by Micah. He didn’t think of her as a novelty, like some people, or look past her differences entirely, as James had.

  “Wait till you meet August.” Micah smiled at her. “He’s got at least four kinds of blood in his veins. And he’s a beautiful human being, inside and out. That’s what it’s all about: how you feel inside, no matter how people perceive you. That’s the only way you can truly belong anywhere. What does it mean, by the way?” Micah asked. “Karina?”

  Karina shrugged. “Not much to me, except being saddled with a name no one can spell.” She smiled and told him an abbreviated story of her name’s significance to her parents.

  Afterwards Micah, nodding, said, “That was the name given to you; doesn’t mean you have to bear it forever. Perhaps it’s played its role in your life and it no longer serves you.”

  Karina kept her eyes trained on the tomato plants, reaching to snap a large sucker off the vine as she considered Micah’s comment. Prem had never called her by that name anyway. He had started calling her Kiki because he couldn’t pronounce her name when he was a toddler, and never stopped. She’d loved this private nickname, though she never let on. When Prem died, that name died with him, and nobody had spoken those two syllables to her since.

  Stephanie came over to join them, beaming as she held up the bag full of poblano chilies. “What can I do?” she asked. “Put me to work.” Micah handed her a pair of work gloves and a spade to spread manure around the base of the plants. As they all continued to work together, Karina observed that Micah, Ericka and Jeremy had an easy way amongst them. Ericka had a tiny frame, maybe five feet tall, and everything about her seemed compact until she laughed, a tremendous laugh that startled. Jeremy was quieter, very muscular, and jumped up whenever there was a need to haul giant bags of organic soil across the garden.

  Micah asked Karina to take a look at the irrigation system they had set up in the plot, mostly drip hoses on timers. She noticed that the drip holes were too far apart and several of the hoses were kinked. “Hey, you guys should hear this,” he said, calling over the others. “Karina’s an expert on growing crops efficiently in drought-like conditions.”

  “Which we definitely have here.” Ericka slipped the bandana off her head to wipe her forehead and neck. “Whew.”

  Only then did Karina become aware of the sun beating down directly overhead and a low grumble in her stomach. She looked at her watch and saw that three hours had passed.

  “Getting hot out here, huh?” Micah took a long drink from his water bottle. “Maybe we should hang it up for the day.”

  Yes, it was hot, and Karina’s T-shirt clung to her with sweat. She had manure under her fingernails, she was sure she smelled rank, and she was starving. But she didn’t want to leave this place, or these comfortable, kind people she’d only just met. She felt a veil of melancholy descending as she helped wash off the tools and bang soil from the gloves.

  “Hey, Ericka,” Micah called out, “let’s pick some of those lettuces and herbs and take them by Mrs. Godfrey’s place on our way home. I bet she could use some fresh food and visitors.” He turned to Karina. “She’s so active, for a septuagenarian. Probably going crazy being laid up.” Micah raised his sunglasses onto his head, revealing his warm eyes. “Thanks for coming, Karina, Stephanie. I hope we’ll see you again next Saturday?”

  “I usually work on Saturdays,” Stephanie said, disappointed. “But I’ll try to bring back some mole after next weekend for Karina to bring you guys. Thanks for the chilies.”

  “Bye, Karina!” Ericka pulled her into a tight hug. “Great to meet you!”

  Karina and Stephanie walked across the street toward the car. “You didn’t mention he was super good-looking,” Stephanie said, with a coy smile.

  “Is he?” Karina said. “I guess he’s kinda cute.”

  “Yeah, and nice. Smart, charming,” Stephanie continued. “Not like those immature frat boys on campus.”

  * * *

  Karina continued to attend classes and study during the week, but she began to really look forward to Saturday mornings, when she faithfully went to the community garden. Micah was there every week, sometimes with Ericka or Jeremy, sometimes with a woman named Zoe with long blond dreadlocks, or August, a guy with an olive complexion and spiky black hair. They always brought a thermos of hot coffee and played eclectic music, making the hours pass easily.

  On Sundays, when Karina worked at NatMark, Micah usually came into the store around noon. One afternoon, she pointed out the new rainbow and Chioggia beets that could be eaten raw, thinly shaved, because they were so tender.

  “You know, I never tasted a beet until I was twenty-five,” Micah said. “Or eggplant, or avocado. Growing up in the Midwest, my entire vegetable universe was potatoes, corn, carrots and peas.” He laughed at Karina’s involuntary facial expression. “Yeah, and half the time, those were out of a can. How about you? Where did you grow up?”

  “Bay Area.”

  Micah raised an eyebrow. “Hmm. Fancy.”

  “Well, not really, but I did eat everything. My parents are both foodies and my mom’s Indian, so lots of vegetables you’ve never heard of.”

  “Sounds like a pretty great childhood.” Micah watched her, then changed the subject, to her relief. “Where are these from, do you know?” He held up one of the beets.

  She checked the tag. “Oregon.”

  “Hmm.” Micah strolled past the beets and toward the parsnips. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if we could meet all our own needs with home-grown, organic produce? Band together and do it all ourselves, rather than outsource the most important part of our health to commercial factories?”

  “Might get a little boring, wouldn’t it?” She smiled. “All that lemon verbena and no tomatoes?”

  Micah threw his head back and laughed that deep, resonant laugh that made her warm with pleasure. “Really, with our year-round climate here, there’s no reason we can’t make it work. In fact”—he took a step closer to her—“it’s already happening. We have a piece of land.” He lowered his voice. “Eight acres, with a nine-thousand-square-foot house, plenty of space for everyone. Ericka and Jeremy moved in a few months ago.”

  “You all live together?” she asked.

  Micah nodded. “Twelve of us. There’s space for mayb
e one or two more, but that’s it. We’re being very careful about who joins us, because it’s a very special thing we’re creating. A new way of living harmoniously, with the earth and with one another.”

  “Like . . . a commune?” she quipped, expecting him to laugh.

  Micah’s expression remained serious and he cocked his head. “Well, that’s one label. There’s a reason this idea has persisted for centuries and across cultures. Commune, kibbutz, collective, cooperative—call it what you want; it’s a beautiful concept. At our core, human beings need to live together, to share our burdens and challenges, to celebrate the fruits of our labor and our victories. Extended families used to live together—grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles, dozens of kids—and in some countries, they still do. But these days . . . Well, I don’t know about you, but I don’t exactly have a big family to share my life. So, we’re creating a family. A family of sorts.”

  Karina envisioned herself in her lonely apartment in Santa Barbara, Mom in their house in Los Altos, Dad’s condo in Palo Alto, his family back east, Mom’s in India—the fragmented shape of her family. Every important step she’d taken in her life—her efforts in high school, her college scholarship, James—was with the hope it would propel her further from the dysfunction and sadness of her family and give her somewhere new to belong. And yet, nothing had done that.

  “I’d love to see it sometime.” The words were out of her mouth before she could consider them.