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The Basil on the Shelf
Hana wanted two things at once, and they were fighting. She wanted fresh basil on the tomatoes tonight, and she wanted the plant itself to have a chance. It sat on a high shelf in the living room, above the books, far from the window. The leaves were pale. The stems leaned toward the doorway, where a little light came in from the hall.
Her father looked up from his chair. "That one is finished," he said. "Throw it out. There are dry herbs in the jar." Hana lifted the pot down and held it against her shirt. The soil was dry at the top, and the pale leaves did look tired. She still had to cook. The tomatoes were already cut on a plate in the kitchen, and they looked plain. The jar would cover them quickly.