run around in excitement, trying to decide what they want to do first, and smile. “Remember the first time you brought me here?”
“How could I forget? That group of kids caught us kissing with my hand up your shirt while we were in the orchards.”
My head falls against his arm as I recall the squealing and laughter that erupted as Landon groped me. He thought we’d be well hidden among the plum trees, since their picking season had already passed, but a group of wanderers found us. I was flushed with embarrassment but Landon laughed it off. Those memories feel like a lifetime ago. No longer are we two young kids making out in the orchard. We are now husband and wife—parents—who are consumed by busy and stressful careers and who are, more often than not, passersby in the early mornings and late nights. Sure, we had spontaneous sex the other night, but that was a rare occurrence.
I can’t remember the last time we spent a day like this as a family, so I do my best to focus on Landon and the girls, but thoughts of Alec creep in when I least expect them to. The girls get their faces painted, Brooke and I laugh as they jump wildly in the bounce houses, and I cuddle into Landon’s arms as we go on a hay ride. Hours pass, and yet fleeting thoughts of Alec infiltrate moments where he shouldn’t belong. I tell myself it’s because this is the first day since we crossed paths that we haven’t talked. It feels strange when every day this week has been consumed with him. We can barely go twenty minutes without, at the very least, sending a text. And now that Landon has a day off, I’m no longer afforded the luxury of time to converse with my new friend.
“I didn’t take my birth control pill this morning,” Brooke tells me quietly as we stand among a mass of Fuji trees.
My eyes widen when I look at the huge smile on her face. “So you’re going for baby number two?”
“Chris has been asking for a while, and I don’t know, when I woke up this morning it finally felt right.”
I look over to our husbands: Landon has Jill on his shoulders so she can reach the apples toward the top of one of the trees, and Chris is watching his son as Emily helps him pick apples from the lower branches.
“Chris is a great dad,” I note to which Brooke responds, “They both are.”
And they are. We are two very lucky girls who have found husbands who are wonderful, hands-on fathers. I’ve never doubted Landon in our marriage, and I still don’t, but even as I watch him, there’s a needling inside of me that’s creating an unfamiliar friction in my stomach. It’s an uneasy feeling I can’t rid myself of—a noose that restricts me from reveling in the joy I should be feeling in this moment. So, I turn to Brooke, as if she’s my security blanket, and focus on her.
“I am so happy for you,” I tell her honestly.
“Thank you.”
We continue to stroll through the rows of trees, filling our buckets with several varieties of apples. And when we are overflowing, Landon and Chris head over to the Cider Taproom to grab a couple beers while Brooke and I take the kids to bag up the fruit. The day begins to fade into evening, and when exhaustion kicks in, we load up our apples and the pumpkins and head back.
The kids fall asleep instantly, and with the guys sitting up front, I debate pulling out my phone and texting Alec, but I refrain. Anticipation grows as I think about when I’ll be able to talk to him again, and then I mentally scold myself, asking why I’m so needy to talk to him. I tell my conscience that he’s like a new toy, and today was the first day it’s been taken away, so naturally I just want to have it back—to play.
By the time we get home, it’s past eight, and when I ask Landon what we are going to do for dinner, he looks at me, utterly drained and says, “There is no way I’m cooking.”
“I don’t blame you,” I laugh. I know the last thing he wants to do after preparing for the Times food critic is cook. A surge of deceit awakens in me when I see an opportunity to indulge in my new obsession and