5. Paige
Apple Pie - Lizzie McAlpine
T he wind rustles through the branches, scattering leaves into the whistling wind, the air carrying the scent of rich earth and a hint of wood smoke as the sun casts a warm golden glow over the orange and yellow hues of the changing landscape.
Fall is my favorite time of year, not only for the pumpkin spice lattes, but for the atmosphere of evolution and change. When the first leaves touch the ground, I feel a sense of peace and comfort wash over me, like wrapping myself in a blanket fresh out of the dryer. Seeing Oak Ridge in person for the first time exceeded all my expectations, and it’s not just because of its breathtaking beauty.
Cade sits on the log to my right, his hand resting on my thigh, tracing soothing circles over my jeans. The flames dance and crackle against the darkening sky; the warmth of the bonfire contrasting with the cool bite of the autumn air against my cheeks. The sounds of laughter and chatter surround us, the faces o f our friends and neighbors illuminated by the glow of the flickering light. Cade’s hand gently reaches for mine, intertwining our fingers. His touch is soft despite his time roughened palms, his hand dwarfing mine in a comforting grasp.
“I love quiet moments like this… with you,” he whispers in my ear for only us to hear. “Having you here is a dream come true.”
I look up at him, his chestnut irises meeting mine, the firelight reflecting in his eyes bringing an overwhelming feeling of belonging. A stray lock of hair falls over his forehead, and I can't resist reaching up to tuck it back into position, my fingertips tracing the outline of his stubbled jaw upon their retreat. Cade’s gaze dips to my lips and for the briefest moment, I think he might kiss me.
Suddenly, I’m jolted awake by the sound of my alarm.
“Mother fucker!”
I don’t know why I let Mags talk me into this shit. We’re standing on the subway, all of the surrounding seats occupied, each of us clinging to a massive pumpkin. My bestie decided it would be a fun idea to carve pumpkins for our upcoming Halloween party. I never argue with Mags’ schemes, but we probably should’ve taken an Uber. Feeling like I could potentially lose my grip at any second, I place my pumpkin on the floor between my feet, hoping it won’t roll down the aisle. We’re about 3 stops and a bus transfer away from the house so I’m holding my breath and hoping for the best.
Thankfully, everyone survives the trip, including the pumpkins. Unfortunately for me, my arms are now jello. “I hate you,” I mutter under my breath as Mags lays out our supplies on the back porch.
“No, you don’t. I’m like your most favorite person in the world, babe.”
She’s not wrong, but I’m not about to give her the satisfaction.
“Ok… so what's the pumpkin vibe? Scary, funny, cute?” She’s fully in charge of this project, so I let her take the lead and before we know it, we’re elbow deep in pumpkin guts. The small table in the backyard is a chaotic mess of pumpkin innards, newspaper, and various carving tools.
“Pass me the scooper,” I say, reaching out with a goo-covered hand. Mags reaches across the table with questionable aim, one arm still inside her pumpkin. The scooper lands in a blob of slimy seeds and goo, splattering both of us in the process. This activity is always more fun in theory. In execution, not so much. The texture alone makes my stomach recoil.
“Who’s idea was this again? This shit is disgusting.” I say, scraping out the last bit of seeds from my pumpkin. Mags is already carving her little ghost, but it’s looking a lot like a misshapen potato.
“Uh, I think my ghost needs an exorcism,” she deadpans. I burst out laughing.
“It’s definitely… unique.” I say, mapping out the pointed ears and curly tail of the cat design I’ve chosen for my pumpkin.
I hand Mags a smaller carving knife. “I think you need to refine the features a little. It’ll be fine.” She takes the tool and resumes her task.
Eventually, Maggie steps back to eye her creation. “There. Much less potato-ey.”
“Sure, looks more like a sweet potato now.” I joke.
“Sweet potato this, bitch,” she says, hurling a handful of pumpkin guts at my head. It’s a near miss as I duck at the last second. We both dissolve into giggles, making even more of a mess. Eventually we settle back into our chairs, breathless and grinning.
“This definitely needs to be a new tradition,” Maggie suggests. “Maybe next year we’ll be better at this.”
“Or maybe we’ll continue making sweet potato ghosts and lopsided cats,” I say, pointing towards my halfhearted attempt at a feline standing inside a crescent moon. “Either way, I can’t imagine doing this with anyone else.”
“Same,” Mags agrees, raising her scooper in a toast. “Here’s to sweet potato ghosts and lopsided cats.”
“To best friends and pumpkin guts,” I respond, clinking our scoopers together above the table.
“So how are things with your dream guy?” she asks with a quirk in her brow.
“That’s the last time I tell you about my dreams,” I grumble. “We’re friends. Nothing more.”
“I don’t think ‘friends’ have wet dreams about each other, babe.”
“Oh my god, Mags. It wasn’t a wet dream. I woke up before he could even kiss me.” My panties were soaked, but I’m not about to let that little piece of information slip.
“Far be it from me to give you advice about your non-relationship, but I still don’t see why you guys can’t try something long distance and see where it goes.”
“It’s not that simple. Our lives are too different.” The words hold little conviction. If I’m being honest, I’ve been trying to convince myself of that more than anyone. “Let’s take a picture and then we can get this shit cleaned up.”