Beatrice was celebrating her 24th birthday alone, so she bought herself a bunch of peonies at the bodega. Back at her apartment, she arranged them in a glass pitcher she used for lemonade. As she bent to smell the flowers’ fragrance, she noticed an ant. Its glossy body stood sharp against the pink petals, like three dark beads strung on a wire.

          Many happy returns of the day, said the ant, tilting its wedge-shaped face toward her.

          Beatrice was so moved by the ant’s words that a large tear dropped from her cheek. It splashed over the ant, knocking the tiny creature to the kitchen counter.

          I’m so sorry! Are you all right?

          The ant rubbed its front legs over its antennae, first left, then right, tasting the air, then began a slow march across the Formica, and up the pitcher’s side. It wasn’t until the ant had settled on one of the veiny spikes of the peony’s leaves that it finally spoke: I know your troubles. Boy meets girl. Boy loses girl.

          Yes, that’s it. How did you guess?

          I am a worker. One of many quadrillions. We gather and collect.

          I see, said Beatrice, more out of politeness than understanding. Everything still felt strange in this new city, miles away from family and friends. But I gotta say, she added, today it feels more like the girl lost the boy. Another tear dripped from her cheek, narrowly missing the ant.

          The insect twirled its antennae. “Here Comes the Rain Again” by Eurythmics, it announced, launching into the song in a thin but tuneful voice.

          You’re funny, said Beatrice. Her ex-boyfriend was dull and didn’t like to joke.

          You’re beautiful, said the ant. Like a flower.

          Beatrice stroked the edge of the leaf where the ant clung, and before she knew it, the tiny worker had climbed across her finger to the back of her hand. Its legs tickled, but out of concern for the ant’s safety, Beatrice willed herself perfectly still.

          Could I have your ear?

          My ear? This seemed like a big step, but the ant was so tiny and fragile that Beatrice found herself obliging her new friend, raising her hand to her earring.

          Elevator going up, the ant quipped.

          Beatrice scarcely dared to breathe.

          She could feel the insect’s legs grasp, crawling upward across her ear’s fine hairs, traveling deeper, until she feared it would reach her eardrum. She could barely keep herself from shaking it out and swatting it away. But when the ant’s movements finally stilled, Beatrice felt a peculiar comfort knowing it was there.

          Call to adventure, the ant announced.

          Now? I just got home.

          Beatrice left the apartment and headed down the street with her new companion harbored discreetly in her ear. Turn left, the ant said, just as she was turning. Proceed straight for 15 yards. Its words were so closely timed with Beatrice’s movements that she couldn’t tell if it was offering directions or simply describing what she did.

          Beatrice passed through a gate to a park near the river. The ant was silent. She found an empty bench beneath an elm and sat looking at the water. She wondered if the ant was looking at it too.

          Ant, are you still there?

          I can connect you to singles in your area.

          Just as the ant spoke, a man in a red T-shirt jogged by, covered in sweat. He was just a few paces away when the wind blew the cap off his head. It spun through the air before landing at Beatrice’s feet.

          Meet-cute, the ant announced.

          I’m not ready, whispered Beatrice.

          You are shy, said the ant. I will assist.

          I think this is yours, said Beatrice, handing the man his cap. He was around her age, maybe a year or two older. Something about him reminded her a little of her ex. She couldn’t think of anything more to say, but as the ant continued to whisper, she found herself repeating its words, at first falteringly, but then smoothly. The man kept staring into her eyes. Every string of words whispered by the ant was an unremarkable string of words she’d heard many times before and seemed to fall into nothingness once she’d repeated it. But the man was smiling, and Beatrice found herself smiling too.

          Here’s my number. Maybe we could get together Friday? Beatrice said without prompting from the ant.

          The days flashed forward in a blur of achievement. It reminded Beatrice of one of those high-energy scenes in a movie where a character finally gets their life together while a bouncy soundtrack plays. She brought the ant with her to the office, where it helped her draft reports and write emails. It told her how to bake cake pops and remove rust stains from her toilet. It coaxed her into trying on outfits in a fancy store. No, not that one. Pick one that shows your clavicle. Beautiful! When Friday rolled around, it accompanied her on a date with Carl, the runner from that first night.

          I don’t think he’s right for you, said the ant afterward.

          Yeah, said Beatrice. I’m kind of sorry I slept with him.

          But you had to get out there again, said the ant. Live Más!

          Live Más! Beatrice laughed.

          Evenings at home with the ant were the best part of the day. This was when Beatrice changed out of her work clothes and the ant exited her ear. Elevator going down, her friend trilled as Beatrice lowered it to the countertop in her cupped hand. She felt a small ache in the separation, but the sight of the glossy creature’s tiny eyes, agile legs, and sensitive antennae buoyed her.

          She offered the ant its usual bottle cap filled with water, mixing in a pinch of sugar. The ant drank its fill, then crossed the countertop, antennae waving, gathering crumbs and hoisting them high. It pleased Beatrice to see her friend so happy with so little, and she took a tender pride in its wiry strength.

          Sunday night, Beatrice dreaded returning to the office the next morning. More meetings, more reports to file.

          Ant, she said. Tell me a story.

          There’s no place like home. Home is where the heart is.

          I like that one, said Beatrice. When you’re with me, Ant, I feel like I’m always home.

          You can’t go home again, the ant continued. The uninvited guest.

          Beatrice wasn’t sure what the ant meant by that. Sometimes its words seemed to lose direction when it spoke at length. But she knew they were both tired. She opened her fold-out futon, then watched the ant climb up the side of the pitcher, back to its peony perch. She noticed the blossoms looked a little faded, and a few petals had dropped. She bent in close to say a final good night. Ant, are you all right? she gasped.

          One of the insect’s antennae was half the length of the other, as though snapped in two.

          Everything is copacetic, said the ant.

          Oh Ant, cried Beatrice. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.

          At her desk the next morning, Beatrice felt as though she was returning to a dream. The same cozy haze drifted over her as she took dictation from the ant, filling out reports and drafting emails as she sipped her coffee. She’d forget the broken antenna for an hour, but then thoughts of it would come back to worry her again.

          During her lunch break, Beatrice stopped at a bodega for an egg sandwich. Through the heavy aromas of bacon and coffee, a thin, sweet hint of peony drifted through.

          More flowers, said the ant.

          Of course, Beatrice whispered. Maybe fresh, new petals would mend her friend. She scooped up the largest, showiest bunch. She put them in a spare coffee carafe she found in the break room and kept them at her desk for the rest of the afternoon.

          Oh, you have an admirer, said Guy, one of her coworkers from accounting.

          I just bought these myself, Beatrice replied. She couldn’t help but smile, thinking of the ant.

          Meet-cute, the ant announced.

          No, Ant, Beatrice whispered.

          Want to grab a drink sometime? asked Guy. Like tonight?

          I’d love that, Beatrice replied through the ant’s prompting. She’d have to think of a way to get out of it, but the words weren’t coming to her now.

          At exactly 5 o’clock, Beatrice took the flowers out of the carafe and wrapped them in their stiff paper. She hoped she could slip away before Guy saw her, but there he was smiling by the water cooler at reception. Okay, one drink, she whispered to the ant. She suggested something close to her apartment. I need to get these home before they wilt.

          Sounds good, said Guy with a grin.

          They ordered beers at an old-timey tavern the ant directed her to. It was loud and bustling with an after-work crowd. Beatrice didn’t have much to say to Guy, but the ant assisted, and she found herself babbling happily while tuning out. All she could think about were the fresh peonies and seeing the ant safe on her countertop again.

          Guy kept looking into her eyes the way that Carl had. It occurred to Beatrice that Guy looked a little like Carl and that they both looked a little like her ex. Maybe the ant had a type in mind for her?

          Well, this was fun! said Beatrice, without the ant’s prompting. She didn’t know what more to say, so she let the ant take over again: Happy hour special. Early bird special. Afternoon delight. Rotisserie. Charcuterie. Hot luncheon meat.

          Guy looked puzzled.

          Ant, are you okay? Beatrice whispered, or at least thought she whispered.

          I’ve gotta go, said Guy, rising from his seat. Beatrice waited until he was a few seconds out the door before picking up the peonies and leaving too.

          Back at her apartment, she pulled the old, faded flowers from the lemonade pitcher and replaced them with the new ones and lots of fresh, cold water.

          Elevator going down? she coaxed the ant. It exited her ear with slow, lingering steps, then dropped into the hollow of her palm. Beatrice lowered her hand to the counter, but the ant did not move. Its once glossy black body seemed faded, its legs and remaining antenna limp and curled.

          Oh Ant, Beatrice cried. She lifted it to one of the largest, showiest, most exuberant peony stems. It reached for a pink petal and climbed haltingly aboard. Beatrice felt as exhausted as the ant was. She opened her futon and went to sleep.

          Greetings and salutations! The ant’s voice woke her. Beatrice hadn’t closed the blinds, and sunlight flooded the room.

          Ant, you’re feeling better! She rushed to the pitcher of peonies. The ant’s body had regained its dark sheen, and its antenna seemed to have mended itself overnight.

          Call to adventure, announced the ant.

          Let’s go back to the river, said Beatrice. Like the day we first met.

          Beatrice walked to the park, syncing with the ant’s instructions, savoring every syllable of its tinny voice. She sat on the bench by the elm. Ant, tell me a story.

          Don’t go changin’. I coulda been a contender! Just be yourself.

          I’m so glad you’re back!

          Just then, a man in a red T-shirt jogged by, covered in sweat. It was Carl. This is so awkward, Beatrice whispered, recalling her hasty exit Friday. What do I say?

          A moment later Carl ran past and was gone without a single glance or word. He is one of many thousands, observed the ant. I can connect you to singles in your area. I am a worker. One of many quadrillions. We gather and collect.

          Beatrice sat watching as the wind scuttled some dry leaves from the elm across the pavement. Ant, she said. I need to ask you something.

          I am listening with both antennae, the ant trilled.

          You’re not my same ant from yesterday, are you? I think that ant might be dead.

          The magic goes away, said the ant.

          Yes, said Beatrice, nodding. A large tear dropped from her cheek.

          Beatrice saw a runner in the distance. It was Carl circling back. He slowed to a brisk walk and approached her where she sat. The ant whispered something about getting a coffee, but the words wouldn’t form in Beatrice’s throat.

          So, what even was that last week? Carl finally said.

          Beatrice paused, glancing away before meeting his eye. Have a seat?

          Carl nodded, joining her on the bench.

          The ant offered a few words, but Beatrice wasn’t listening. Sunlight glinted on the water. She leaned closer so her shoulder almost touched Carl’s as he stared straight ahead. The story ends ambiguously and without resolution, Beatrice thought, but did not say. They sat for some time in silence.