“Why not weed it out?” he said, standing in front of three lone red bulbs in the bed of white.
“It’s a tulip, not a weed,” she answered.
“And verbs are different than nouns.”
She crossed her arms. They’d come to the park on his suggestion, and she’d agreed to escape their toxic argument, their third in the past week. She wasn’t going to resume the acrimony over tulip bed maintenance. “The park’s probably got bigger concerns,” she said.
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, all right?”
She wasn’t, but decided it didn’t matter. “All right. Let’s go home.”
Friday Fictioneers is a weekly flash fiction challenge.