Celia

17 Secret Operation

Gio

"Gio, you stretched out my girl!" Chase complains the instant I'm in the garage.

"What's he blabbing about now?" I ask Oscar.

"I think he's talking about... Angelina?" Oscar throws a questioning look at Chase.

"Veronica! Her name's Veronica!" he enunciates, lifting a potted plant. "This is Angelina."

"Can we get this over with?" I drag one of the chairs to join Oscar in the corner of the room.

Purple lights bathe the entire place. Below them are platforms with rails that have been attached to the ground and wheels that move them from left to right, allowing to save space.

Sixty cannabis seedlings in individual pots are lined across the racks. If anyone enters the garage, they'll see a small, dark room that's been built to cover this up with a hidden door.

"Look man, this isn't a quickie, " Chase tells me. "This takes time and patience. Oscar write that down, time and patience."

"Time and patience..." Oscar pulls out a notebook and starts writing.

"Why is he taking notes?" I ask.

"For you, just in case." Chase pushes Veronica in front of my face. "What's wrong with her?"

"I don't know... looks fine."

"Looks fine..." Chase repeats like a disappointed grandmother. "Look closer!"

I scowl at the green seedling. "It looks like it's stretching a little sideways."

"A little? No, that's her begging for sunlight because your cheap ass bought cheap ass Chinese LED lights that don't satisfy her heart. Oscar, measuring tape."

Oscar whips out a measuring tape from his backpack for Chase, who measures the distance from the pot to the light like some mad scientist. "You need to lower her light about five inches and brace her until she can stand on her own."

Oscar snorts. "You think if you paid this much attention to actual girls you'd maybe get with one someday?"

"Why would I need a beautiful, flexible, obedient baddie when I already have Gio?"

I rub my eyes tiredly. "Move the fuck on."

"You're a little more grumpy than usual and it can't be your cycle because we're all synced so..." Chase contemplates, then gasps theatrically. "Did you and Celia get in a fight?"

"When do we sell?" I ask, changing the topic.

"Gio, my man, you're sprinting," he chuckles, glancing at Oscar. "You still have ten weeks of feeding the girls, then you need to chop, dry, trim, cure and then we sell."

Why would Celia do something like that? I can't get the image out of my head.

Oscar squeezes my shoulder and Chase claps his hands, then slides a plastic bin of labeled syringes between us.

"Okay, nutrients." He sits on the ground with the bin while Oscar scribbles some notes and I try to translate gibberish. "This is cal-mag for cell structure and photosynthesis, you add two milliliters to a gallon of distilled water—"