She sat in the middle of the back seat, sandwiched between our snowboards and her dad. Her hands were spread like talons in front of her, sticky and dripping with orange juice.
“I shoulda gotten a banana.” Silent pause. Then the car explodes in laughter; it is the perfect punchline to a road trip trekked over mountain passes and through blinding snow.
Oh, how I love her.
Of course we stood at the register side-by-side as she placed the orange on the counter.
“How are you going to eat that?” I asked her.
She shrugged her shoulders.
“You should get a banana,” I told her. Silent pause. Then I shrugged my shoulders.
Moments later and she was in the backseat, sandwiched.
“How do I peel this?” she asked.
My eyes on the road, I huff a sigh of “of course,” but I let Dad handle this one.
And handle it they must have, together, because the smell of citrus filled the space between us.
“Mmmm, that smells delicious,” I said.
And the rest, is why I love her.