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A smile spreads across my face, welcoming the distraction. We exchanged numbers that day on the field trip, the whole ‘if you need me, cry for help or give me a buzz’ thing.
Me: You’re not taking me to a pedicure place or something? Girls and happy places = pampering and shopping.
Adriana: Oh damn, you ruined it! Henrietta my beautician would have been in heaven manicuring your man toes. I’ll be at Hazel’s to pick you up in an hour. See you soon. xx
The one thing I have learned about Adriana is that she’s punctual. If she tells you an hour, she means an hour.
Exactly an hour later, she’s tooting her horn and yelling for me to hurry up.
Inside her car, I sit on the passenger side not recognizing the road we’re on or have any sense of direction as to where we are going.
“Okay. Are you going to tell me where we are going now?” I beg, all whiney and very unmanly.
I really am not a surprise type of person. When I was thirteen, my mom and sister decided to throw me a surprise birthday party. I still remember the moment when I walked into the house, and everyone jumped out and yelled, “Surprise.” I literally shit my pants. Embarrassing would be an understatement, mortifying would be more appropriate. No one knew it happened. I just ran up to the bathroom and locked the door shut until everyone left.
“You’re terrible. Not much longer, okay? Don’t worry, I’m not taking you to a secluded part of the woods so I can murder you with an ax.” She rolls her eyes at me in amusement.
“Huh… so explain the ax in the trunk?”
“You never know when you may need to chop wood… for a fire,” she adds with a devilish grin.
“We live in California. It’s like a hundred degrees out here. Should I dial 9-1-1 now or give you a head start?”
“Okay, we’re here,” she cheers.
I look out the window and see a sign which says ‘Farmer Joe’s Apple Picking Farm’ in bright colors. We get out of the car, and in a closer view, I see rows and rows of apple trees without an end in sight. It almost looks like a maze.
“This here is my happy place. Was our happy place,” she quickly corrects herself. “Before Elijah passed, we discovered this place on the way to the beach. It was supposed to be a pit stop to pick up a few apples, but we got lost in here for hours. Picking out apples and talking about anything and everything.”
Her face radiates as she talks openly about her husband, and I listen eagerly, enjoying this side of Adriana she rarely shows.
“There are so many things I didn’t know about him, the smallest things from his childhood.”
“It’s beautiful, Adriana, and I happen to have a thing for apples.”
She hands me a basket. “Well, then, what are we waiting for?”
In my entire life, I never thought apple picking would be this satisfying, searching apple after apple for the perfect one. Some are small, some are large, some are bruised, and some are oddly shaped. Is there a perfect apple? Who knows. All I know is that I’m looking for the perfect one, a delicious, perfectly shaped ruby red apple that will make my mouth water.
We talk a lot about life, mainly Andy. Adriana is happily chatting, and I’m eagerly listening. When the subject changes, we start talking about my childhood, and I find myself opening up about Chelsea.
“I hated the way Chelsea would always talk about kiss
ing. I must have been in sixth grade, and all she’d talk about was kissing. I may have thought it was the grossest thing in the world. She even told me how she practiced on her pillow.” I cringe, recalling the memory like it was yesterday.
“Oh, we all did that. It’s like a rite of passage into puberty. I’d kiss my pillow and actually hold it like a face.” She blushes, quick to cover it with a laugh.
“You didn’t…” I tease.
“Sure did. Occasionally, I’d grope the pillow’s butt, but hey, let’s not go there.” She giggles.
I shake my head at her confession. “Who would you picture kissing?”
“Let’s see… around that time was my Saved by the Bell phase, and I had a huge crush on Slater,” she admits.
“As in Mario Lopez?”
Her eyebrow perks before she blurts out unexpectedly, “Should I be worried you knew that?”
