I shake my head and start the engine. After a short ride, a lot of arguing, and even more hand slapping over radio stations, I really, really hate country music, we round the corner of his street and his house comes into view.

Pulling into the driveway, Blake directs me to the side of the house. “The boat’s around back. Go ahead and pull up here. I’ll take care of hitching it to the truck. I have some drinks and snacks in the fridge and a cooler on the kitchen counter. You can load it up while I take care of the boat. Meet me back here in about ten minutes.”

I raise my eyebrows in question. “You must have been pretty convinced I’d say yes, considering all your preparations. What if I would’ve said no?”

“Well, I guess I’d have a lot of sports drinks and ham and cheese sandwiches. No big deal.” He opens his door and jumps out of the truck.

No big deal? I’m not really sure what to think about that statement. I lean against the door and watch him walk around the front of my vehicle while I’m still trying to decipher his cryptic code. What does he mean by “no big deal”? Am I not a big deal? Is fishing not a big deal? Is having pre-made ham and cheese sandwiches not a big deal?

The next thing I know, while I’m lost in deep thought, the door flies open. I tumble sideways out my truck and have no choice but to grab the inside handle to prevent falling on my ass as my feet land on the ground. “Damn it, Blake!” I press all my weight onto the handle and straighten my body, making sure my feet are firmly planted before letting go.

“What?” he asks innocently.

“You know what! I was leaning against the door, trash hole! You totally did that on purpose!” I silently laugh to myself at my insult. Blake and I used that word all the time growing up. I really don’t know why it hasn’t caught on yet.

He coughs, I suspect in effort to cover up a laugh. “Alex, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was just opening the door for you. It’s not my fault you weren’t paying attention.”

“Shut up, Blake.” I really need a quick escape plan…this is just embarrassing.

“My keys are in the ignition. I’ll go grab the snacks from the kitchen. Don’t mess up my truck.” I turn hastily to make my grand exit and start walking to his porch.

“Watch that door!” he shouts from behind me. “It can do some real damage I hear!”

“Shut. Up. Blake! I think I’m safe as long as you aren’t behind it!” I yell back. Even though I try to sound mad, I can’t help but laugh as I walk onto the porch. Yeah, I definitely missed Blake.

Approaching the front door, I catch my reflection in the window. I straighten my cap that must have been knocked to the side during the truck door debacle and then open the door. I feel the rush of cool air and taking in a deep breath, I’m surprised by the familiarity of the smells in this house. I must not have noticed it last time I was here, with my fingers falling off and all, but now I do. Mrs. Morgan’s house always smelled of apples and cinnamon. I remember how, when I was younger, I would come over and immediately run into the kitchen to see if she was making her award winning apple pie. Most of the time she was, and she would always give us both a fresh slice with an ice cold glass of milk. I smile at the memory.

Knowing that Mr. and Mrs. Morgan are out of town, I’m not really sure how the house still smells like her pies. Maybe she has some scent oils around the house or something. I walk through their living room, slowing down to look at all the pictures she has placed throughout the room.

There’s a family picture of them in the mountains, probably at Blake or Rebecca’s house in Colorado. I see his two nephews in the picture and giggle to myself because they both bear a strong resemblance to their uncle. He is crouched down beside them in the picture, arms around them with huge grins on all of their faces.

Next, I come to a picture of Blake and Rebecca in high school. It’s taken right on the front porch; Blake is dressed in a pair of khaki dress pants and a blue button down shirt with a red tie. His light brown hair is styled the way he used to wear it, with tons of gel to spike it up in the front. Seeing him at that age in the picture, I feel a stab of pain in my heart.

Floods of memories enter my mind. I remember Derek’s hand in mine as he walked me to class, the quick kisses he would give me before school. How we’d talk for hours in the back of his truck, my back leaned against his stomach, his legs on either side of me. We planned our future wedding, discussed our future children, designed our future house. I would have made each moment with him last as long as I possibly could if I’d known that future would be cut so short.

Wiping a tear from the corner of my eye, I move to the next picture. It’s a candid shot of Blake and me when we were about twelve years old, sitting on his front porch, eating popsicles. We’re sitting on the porch rail, feet dangling, looking at each other as we’re caught by the camera mid laugh. I pick up the picture to take a closer look. Inspecting our faces, I’m taken aback at how happy and peaceful I look. God, I used to love to laugh with Blake. Even though I was very young in this picture, it reminds me of the way I feel when I am with Blake now…the comfort…the familiarity…the warmth. I don’t remember ever being around Blake and not feeling that way.

Now that I think about it, my feelings around Derek and Blake were actually very similar. They both had a way of making my heart feel happy and full of life.

I place the picture frame back on the table and think about Derek and Blake. Is it wrong that I feel so comfortable around Blake? Is it wrong that I’ve also begun to feel somewhat uncomfortable around Blake? Would Derek hate me because of it? Would he be disappointed in me if I develop feelings for another man? Or would he want me to move on, like Nancy suggested?

I really wish he was here to explain to me what the hell I’m supposed to do now. I almost feel like I need his permission to move on and that I’m stuck in some kind of limbo until I get it. And seeing as though he’s no longer available for consultation, I don’t anticipate getting any answers anytime soon.

Still lost in thought, I make my way to the kitchen. I open the refrigerator and grab the two bottles of grape sports drink and the two bottles of orange. How did he remember I love grape? There’s no way he could have remembered that. We haven’t had this stuff since we were in junior high. Maybe it was just a lucky guess…or maybe the orange ones were for me?

I grab the sandwiches and close the refrigerator door. Hands full, I turn to place all of our goodies on the counter next to the cooler, but when I see what’s already beside it, I almost drop everything to the floor. There’s no way.

Next to the cooler, is an apple pie with the sugar and cinnamon on the top just like his mother used to make. “Mrs. Morgan?” I say to myself, half expecting her to pop her head around the corner. I notice a piece of paper lying by the pie. In Blake’s handwriting it reads:

Smiling, I cut two pieces of pie for us and place them in the plastic container that he laid out. I grab the thermos of milk, put the sandwiches and drinks in the cooler as well, and zip it closed. Throwing it over my shoulder, I make my way to the front door.

Walking out onto the porch, I close the door behind me and smile. Blake is leaning against my Suburban, waiting for me. He looks amused when I approach him.

“I found the pie,” I say, removing the cooler from my shoulder and handing it to him. Taking it from my grasp, he grins back at me. “How’d you remember I loved that pie? And how’d you remember I love grape drinks? Seriously Blake, it’s been so many years.”