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“I know how that feels. I was only seven when my mom died. I was older than her almost two years ago. It was disorienting.”
“Do you want to see her while we’re here?”
He kissed my forehead. “How about we do it when I can introduce you to both of them as my girlfriend…not just kind of?”
I grinned, despite myself. “I’d like that.”
“What else do you do on this day?” he asked.
“I usually do all the things that I would have done with my parents before my mom died. It’s like I get to mourn them both on the same day. It’s kind of like…I give myself permission to be a kid again. It’s dumb. I know. I never tell anyone about it.”
He placed a finger on my lips. “The way you grieve is never dumb. It is unique to every person. Allowing yourself the time to do it is what’s important.”
I threw my arms around his middle and held him tight. I didn’t know how I had gotten so lucky to have someone like Landon Wright. But I was thanking all things holy for sending me a person who understood me so completely.
We left the cemetery with an improved mood and headed out to The Orchard, which was an apple orchard about twenty minutes outside of town. They always held the Apple Butter Festival, an apple-picking event, this time of year.
Landon carried the basket while we walked around the orchard and filled it with apples. And, the whole time we meandered through the craft vendors, listened to music from local artists, and even tried to hit an apple with a slingshot, I told him stories.
The stories I always replayed in my head as I did this alone every year.
“Dad used to put me on his shoulders when I was kid so that I could reach the high branches in the trees. It was my favorite part, getting to throw apples down to my mom,” I told him.
He smiled at the fond memory.
“Sometimes, I would swing back and forth between their arms. We came every year, you know. My mom adored fresh apples. Later, when we got home, she would make me a homemade apple pie. She’d always remind me to blow on it to cool it down. As a kid, I always wanted to eat the ice cream, but now, I would kill for a slice of her pie.”
“Let’s make one when we get back,” he suggested.
I shook my head. “No, I don’t have her recipe. It’s different. I tried.”
“All right, love,” he said, kissing me on the cheek.
“Ready for our next stop?” I asked.
He arched an eyebrow. “There’s more?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Lead the way.”
We left the festival, only to stop halfway to our next destination to get ice cream from Dairy Queen. I ordered both a large M&M Blizzard and a Peanut Butter Cup Blizzard and set them both in front of me. Landon got a chocolate-dipped cone.
He curiously eyed the extra Blizzard.
“For my dad,” I whispered.
“You used to come here a lot?”
“Over the summer, he would bring home extra super-large DQ Blizzards that would last me the whole summer. My mom hated it, but she’d sneak some of his ice cream when he wasn’t looking.”
“And, normally, you’d come and eat one of these alone?”
“Yeah, well, it was a reminder of happier times, you know? Before the…drugs and…and everything.” I hiccuped over the last word and glanced away.
“I get it,” he said, covering my hand. “I like knowing this side of you.”
“Thanks for being here with me.”
