We don’t say a word as we make our way out of my neighborhood. It’s busy today, people working on their yards, kids playing on the street. I venture a look up at him, and feel slightly nauseous. This might be the last time I ever see him. If all goes well, it will be the last time I see him. It feels like there’s a great big weight pressing on my insides.
I hate this.
Satellite radio is on — soulful acoustic raspy covers of classics — the coffee house station. He looks over at me for a fleeting second, and I look away. “Do you enjoy hiking?”
“Yes, sometimes,” I say, looking out at the scenery. “Haven’t done it in a while.”
“Neither have I,” he says. Somehow, it’s strange again between us. It seems we can barely string a few sentences together, making small talk like strangers.
“Every day is getting easier,” I say, without preamble. “I can see the light. Can you see the light?”
He smiles. “Yes,” he says simply. “I can see it. And you’re in it.”
My breath catches. He hasn’t let me go.
I smile thinly, not knowing what to say. I look nervously around the car and I spot a blue blanket and a picnic basket on the tiny back seat. It’s one of those old-fashioned wicker baskets with a checkered blue and white cloth lining. “Are we having a picnic?”
He smiles. “I know you’ve probably had lunch, but I brought a few snacks along. Some of your favorites.”
My stomach growls at his words. “I’m actually starving. I couldn’t eat a thing at lunch. Too nervous.”
He turns to me. “Why?”
“Uh…I don’t know,” I stammer. “Did you bring that goat cheese and spread I like?”
He smiles and nods.
Sweet.
“I thought we could have our picnic at the meadow,” he says.
No.
I clear my throat. “Sounds good.”
Doesn’t sound romantic in the least…not at all.
He looks kind of ridiculous, holding the huge picnic basket in one hand, a blanket slung over his shoulder.
“I can hold the blanket.”
“No, I’m fine,” he insists.
I swing my stainless steel water bottle, holding it by its keychain clasp. I peruse the map of the trail, making a mental note of the number of stops. The trail forms a big wide circle and brings you back right where you started. The meadow is right smack in the middle.
“It’s only about an hour,” I point out. “Shouldn’t be too hard of a workout.”
“Well, maybe for you,” he teases. “I know you’re not one for exercise.”
I snarl at him. “Running around after twenty-one kids is exercise enough, thank you very much.”
“You have twenty-one kids this year?” he asks as we make our way down the trail. It’s chillier under the shade of the trees. I slip on my hoodie as I take in the forest around me.
“Yep.”
The leaves have just started to turn. That delicious fall smell fills my nostrils. The trees are gorgeous as always, but it’s the little details I love the most. I love the moss on the base of the trees, the ferns lining the trails, the broken tree trunks lodging what looks like secret homes. I always like to imagine which little creatures live there — squirrels and chipmunks I guess. And I also love the occasional splashes of brilliant color; the beautiful wild flowers, and a colorful mushroom or fuzzy caterpillar is always a magical find. But I must admit, the eerie strange sounds of the forest sometimes make me jump a little.
“How is it so far?” he asks, walking a little too close to me. I can smell his familiar woodsy scent, or maybe that’s just the wonderful smell of the trees around us.
I smile. “It’s…uh…good.” Suddenly, I’m being odd again.
He smiles as he side-steps a giant root spurting from the ground. “Watch it,” he warns.
“This hike smells like you,” I say out of the blue, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “I mean you always smell woodsy, earthy. I don’t mean that as an insult,” I’m quick to add.
He laughs. And looks at me in that same familiar way he has so many times. His head tilts, his eyes linger on me, a hint of a smile — like he could just look at me for hours, if given the chance.
This goodbye meeting is definitely not starting out on the right track.
“It’s Dior Homme Sport,” he tells me.
“Oh, I wondered.” It never occurred to me to ask.
He smiles. “What about you?” he asks. “You always smell so delicious, almost