Elizabeth the First Wife by Lian Dolan Page A

the time I was involved with yet another closeted gay colleague, Mark. (Seriously, the man was in his thirties. Wouldn’t he know by now?) I needed some place to put my pent-up sexual frustration that didn’t involve romance novels and nachos, so I started mulching. That first summer, I experimented with a few dozen tomato vines and some basil. The plants flourished, I coped, and, by August, Mark came out to me over a caprese salad. I really wasn’t that surprised about him, and the tomatoes were delicious, so the relationship wasn’t a complete loss. Now the garden was a multiple-bed extravaganza with a wide variety of edibles, including an entire row of rainbow chard. I was on the verge of getting chickens.
    â€œI spend a lot of time out here. My grandmother was the greatgardener. I’m just trying to maintain her vision but add my own twist. My goal is to be completely self-sustaining in two years. If I could only figure out how to grow Oreos. Do you garden?”
    Now I was the one asking a question I obviously knew the answer to. Despite his heritage, he had the pallor of a man who spent sixteen hours a day at the office and the other eight thinking about the office. “First circle” was the term Bumble had used to describe Rafa’s relationship with Ted. I didn’t think first circles were allowed hobbies. Or exposure to sunlight.
    â€œI grew up on a farm, so I like tending things. But my job doesn’t allow me time to get dirty. In that way. But maybe this summer I can get back to the land.” Not likely in that suit, I thought. He changed the subject. ”I assume you have WiFi here? And my cell reception seems good.”
    â€œIn the main house, yes. But not in the guest house. …”
    â€œGreat, I’ll set up in the main house,” he informed me. Not exactly what I had envisioned. “Anything else I need to know about? Ghosts? Spies? Nosy neighbors?”
    â€œIs that why you won’t be working out of Ted’s field office? Nosy neighbors?”
    â€œWe want to keep this as quiet as possible for as long as possible. The election’s still twenty months off. Other items I need to know about?”
    Clearly, he was use to working off an agenda. “I don’t have a dishwasher.”
    â€œI don’t really generate any dishes. I mainly eat out of Styrofoam containers. Don’t tell the environmentalists that.” Rafa was distracted by my thriving artichoke plants, which were ready to be harvested. I only had half a dozen plants, but they made a big statement. “My grandmother grew artichokes, too,” he said. “I’m so used to seeing them on a plate with butter, I’d forgotten how much the plants look like science fiction. I wonder who the first guy was to pick one of these and try to eat it.”
    â€œThe Greeks,” I blurted out like a contestant on Jeopardy . I immediately felt idiotic, but that didn’t stop me. “The first written references to artichokes come from Greek mythology.”
    He clearly didn’t expect an answer to his semi-rhetorical question, so I carried on, circling the plant as I told him the story. “According to Aegean legend, the first artichoke to be picked was actually a young girl named Cynara. She lived on an island that Zeus and Poseidon visited. Cynara was completely unafraid of the gods, so Zeus took the opportunity to seduce her, good guy that he was. He was so pleased with Cynara, he made her a goddess and took her to Olympia. But Cynara got homesick and ditched Zeus for a few days to visit her homeland. Zeus was furious at the affront, so he hurled her back to earth and turned her into an artichoke.”
    â€œNow that’s a bad breakup,” Rafa said. He was touching the artichokes but examining me.
    I felt a giant wave of self-consciousness wash over me, just like when I spotted him at the party. What was it about this guy? To cover my discomfort, I