Some apples are truly priceless
You took a deep breath, and checked your phone for the millionth time. This was it. This was the day. The email said so, and emails never lied.
Your rare apple tree saplings were due any minute now. You could practically taste it. The holes outside were dug and ready for the trees to be planted. What with everything going on, the virus, the quarantine, you’d spent hours taking up a new hobby. Gardening hadn’t been your first choice, sure, but your housemates had absolutely refused to endure being cooped up in the same neighborhood as you if you dared to learn the saxophone, or heavens forbid, the trumpet.
After all, to annoy someone, you didn’t need to know how to play an instrument well, you just needed an instrument and enough lung capacity to play it loudly. It was a sign that they knew you well that they’d forbidden new-instrument-learning the day the quarantine was announced. So, gardening it was, then. And after a few misadventures with herbs, and specifically mint plants (those damn things spread like weeds! How were you supposed to know they’d infest the yard and make the whole block smell like a candy cane?), you’d found your way to the internet, a haven of gardening advice if one knew where to look.
Some apple varieties, you’d learned, were quite rare, and almost extinct. Larger farms favored the pretty-looking varieties, which you supposed made sense, but that meant there were a whole host of apple flavors people hadn’t tasted for generations! And one dude on the internet was selling saplings of such delectable fruits. Still shipping them. And you’d placed your order.
Oh, there it was! There was the truck! FedEx had pulled through again! The disgruntled employee waved at you as he disembarked and hustled around the back. He gave a tired wheeze as he hauled out two boxes. Those… those were a bit bigger than you’d expected, but maybe they were big saplings? Ah well, you’d dig the holes bigger. And you made a mental note to invest in a shovel bigger than the little trowel you’d found in your garage after the quarantine.
The FedEx man gave you an exhausted wave as he set down the packages six feet in front of you before making his way back to the truck. Poor fella. On one hand, you wished he wasn’t essential, but on the other, he was essential to your future apple victory. Visions of trees and your housemate’s approval danced in your head. You’d have fresh-grown apples and homemade applesauce in those little jars with the cloth on the top like the movies showed, and apple cobbler and pie and…
And one of the boxes squeaked. Huh. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Your gardening knowledge was rudimentary at best (and “I looked up a tutorial on YouTube for the wrong plant and everything died” at worst), but you were pretty sure that trees didn’t make a lot of noise. They certainly didn’t wiggle uncomfortably in their boxes, either. You looked up to wave down the FedEx guy, but he was already gone to his next delivery. Damn.
You sighed and peered at the label. Nope, definitely addressed to you. Maybe that one dude on the internet wasn’t to be trusted. Or maybe he’d mixed up the order? You gingerly tore off the packing tape before opening a cardboard flap.
The pony blinked owlishly up at you before adjusting its hat. “Howdy. Ah’m Braeburn. It’s nice to meet y’all and-”
You closed the flap and frowned at it. It didn’t frown back, thankfully, reducing the amount of potential anthropomorphisms you had to deal with for the day. Huh. Two things ran through your mind. First of all, braeburn apples weren’t rare, and definitely weren’t the rare apple varieties you’d picked. And secondly, you were going to give that internet guy a strongly-worded email.
How the hell were you supposed to return this? You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Alright,” you said, slightly defeated. “Did you come with a packing slip at least?” There was rustling inside the opened box, before a hoof stuck out of the flap, somehow holding a crumpled piece of paper.
It wasn’t printed like a proper receipt should be. Instead, it was a handwritten note. You unfolded it and squinted at the smudged cursive.
Hey,
Ran out of the Apples you wanted, sorry. All we have left is this Braeburn. Please accept this extra non-apple we found in our orchards, and our apologies.
Great. No receipt. You huffed, then blinked. Wait, non-apple? Crap, was it alive and cartoon-y too? You lunge for the other box and rip open the tape, opening the cardboard.
A chicken stared up at you, grey and mottled and- no, wait, not a chicken. Half lion. A griffon or something. It’d been years since you’d seen the show. It gave you a cute yawn, eyes squinting shut as it stretched as best it could in the box.
“That took forever,” it chirped, fluffing up its wings. “Hey Braeburn, you make it okay?”
“Yeah,” called out the other box, before the side of it exploded. The pony stuck its head out of the busted box a moment later. “Sorry,” he said to you, giving you an understanding smile. “It was kind of a long ride. Hope ya didn’t plan to keep the box.”
He crawled out of the cardboard wreckage and groaned, stretching each of his hooves in turn. “That’s Gabby, by the way,” he said, as though that explained why there were two cartoonish… creatures on your driveway. The pony screwed up his face before lighting up. “Oh yeah! Ah was told to tell ya something.” You stared at him as he waved a hoof wildly at the griffon, who was half out of the box and stretching rather catlike. “Don’t give her caffeine, unless you plan to buy new furniture anyway.”
“Uh, thanks?” you manage as he looks around. “I was expecting apple trees, you know. Not… My Little Ponies.”
“Aww, but I’m not a pony! That’s just silly!” Gabby sang, examining the yard with what you were afraid was boundless enthusiasm. “I’m a griffon! We eat meat! You, uh, aren’t vegetarian, are you? Or, what’s that called? The one that’s worse than vegetarian?”
“Vegan,” said Braeburn, examining the holes you’d dug. “Ah ain’t quite a tree, but Ah sure hope you're not expectin’ me to sit in this here hole anyway. It’s far too small for me or a sapling, ya know, and the soil looks too dusty to support a tree for very long.” He gave you a smile, a bit hopeful. “Ah know we aren’t quite what y’all were expecting, but Ah’m more than happy to help with growin’ trees if you need it!”
“Yeah!” added Gabby from across the yard, her head stuck under your car. “We can help! Braeburn knows things about plants, and I’ll do whatever you need me to! I like trying new things! Just don’t make us go back in the boxes. It was too stuffy in there.” She laughed, her wings twitching, before pausing. “Brae? I’m stuck.”
You sighed, looking between the eager pony trotting towards the half of the griffon not underneath the car and the demolished boxes. Well, there were certainly worse ways to spend quarantine, you decided. And they weren’t quite new instruments, so maybe your housemates would let them stay. You waved them towards your door, pulling your house key out of your pocket. At least you’d be able to say you did something interesting during all this, right?