Plant a big one on me

The other day, Jacob went on an expedition to find me flowers and when he couldn't find a bouquet of peonies (my favorite flower), he bought me...a shrubbery!

Ok, not exactly a shrubbery, but, a peony bush.

A rush of emotions went through me when I realized what he had done: gratefulness, appreciation, confusion and panic. Panic because I am not a plant person. I killed the memorial hydrangeas a friend gave me after my father passed away (after she assured me I could not possibly kill them and then proceeded to plant them and arrange them for me). So, considering we are nomadic and I have nowhere to plant a bush (and no one to take care of it for me), I freaked out a bit.

I decided to carry it with me to Cleveland, after the wedding, because I didn't want to abandon it. So I carted it around in the Party Time and then to P&J's house in Brooklyn and then to our new place in Akron. Just about the time we were headed to our new apartment, I noticed a wrinkly brown leaf on the bush - a surefire sign of certain death.

Frantic texts were sent out, a phone consultation and some garden-center shopping followed and I settled it into this pot with some fresh soil and watered it and held my breath. It seemed to be doing fine and then Cleveland experienced about three days straight of rain and cold and rain and cold and rain and cold.

I once again ask the question: has anyone not mentioned to Cleveland how obscene it is to be this cold and nasty in MAY? Oh, and one other question. Can my plant have seasonal affective disorder? I think it's living (which is an accomplishment in and of itself), but probably depressed.