First fig.
The sun had moved, just enough, to start flooding though my living room window again. It gave the whole room the same glow that made me fall in love with the apartment in the first place. My fig tree noticed too and started blooming to life again. Translucent lime sprouts, the first new growth I'd seen amongst the stale deep leaves that had held strong all winter, and something different, a little green bulb. My first fig was growing. I was growing a fig. Me, the girl with the blackest thumb you could imagine, was growing fruit. I knew it was too early in...
