The Bubble Finally Burst

       Only a few days had passed since Adam left me, and pardon the cliché, but the truth was he left me at the altar. Mumbling something about not being ready for a lifetime commitment, mingled with repetitions of “I’m really, really sorry, Maggie,” before I knew what hit me, Adam turned away and stepped out of my reach. And, mere hours later, he stepped out of my life. Finding our apartment emptied of everything Adam owned, I stuffed my belongings into two worn duffel bags, tossed my keys down on the table, and grabbed my cat, Sadie, as I flew out the door. After filling the gas tank of my beloved 2007 Subaru Forester, I left Arizona behind as quickly as Adam left me. I had to leave. Wanted to leave. Had no choice but to leave. Still, an uneasy feeling filled my chest. Was I making a rash decision? Should I plead for him to reconsider? What was wrong with me? I knew the answer.

           I wanted to go home. With thoughts of fall tickling my mind, I drove across three states to Nebraska—the home I gave up for love. The home where I had lived for twenty-five years. The home that Adam refused to visit because … well, he never gave a good reason except to say that he couldn’t tolerate the long winters and too-humid summers; both reasons sucked because Arizona weather wasn't perfect, either. Driving past trees bathed in crimson, gold, and orange; blue skies that could fill an ocean; and cotton clouds that danced above me, I invited October to lift me. Console me. Love me. After all, it had always been my favorite time of year. And, nothing does the season better than Nebraska.

           After a brief stay in Omaha, I traveled highway 75 south to Nebraska City; as my car glided closer to my destination, I inhaled the apple orchards—sprinkled like pixie dust—along with gold cornstalks, orange and white pumpkins, and gray smeared barns that winced but waved. It was a golden day. It was a day to slowly savor like a triple decker ice cream cone. It was a day for apple cider. Crisp, golden, the color of angel wings, apple cider was out there, and I knew where to find it. Moments later, a gravel road chanted me to follow until my eyes swallowed a peeling red barn that waved a banner; it shouted, “Apple Cider Here!”

           I squeezed my car into the last space, opened the windows a crack for Sadie, who remained curled on the passenger seat and raced some teenagers across the lot to claim my spot in line outside the red barn. As I stared down at my boots, etched with curls of pink and red roses, a tiny girl turned around and smiled. I dug my toe into the dusty soil and gave her a smile back. Adam had never wanted kids. Whenever I brought up the subject, his lips would tighten and he’d turn away. My earlier unease bloomed into a bubble. I ignored it.

           She tugged one golden curl. “I’m Hazel, but everyone calls me Hazy. Sometimes even hazy daisy, but I don’t mind.”

           “That’s a pretty name. I’m Maggie.” Dutifully, she stuck out her hand. I shook it.

           “What are you buying?” Before I could answer, she said, “I bet peach tea. Mommy always gets that.”

           I loved peach tea. Adam hated it. The bubble in my chest refused to be ignored. Tightening my dark ponytail, I flashed her my biggest smile. “That sounds good, but nope. Try again.”

           Hazel’s blonde eyebrows shot up. “Apple pie? I would get that, but I eat it at my grandma’s house.” She rolled her eyes. “All. The. Time.”

           I waved a fly away from my face and thought again of Adam. The one time I had made him an apple pie for dessert, he refused to eat it. He hated apples. He hated cinnamon. He hated pie. The bubble rose up to my throat, so I swallowed. Hard. “Another nope.”

           “Caramel corn?” Hazel sighed. “Caramel corn is my favorite, but the sticky parts get stuck in my teeth, so my mommy says no more until I’m all grown up. That’s not fair. Is it?”

           Peering ahead, I could almost see the front of the line. No way would Adam ever stand in line for a treat. He’d say it was a waste of time and money. Swallowing harder, I forced the bubble down deep into my stomach and told it to stay. The bubble refused and drifted back to my chest. “No, silly. I’m buying apple cider. It tastes like the season—crisp and fresh. I used to come here every fall—several times, in fact—until …” I squeezed my eyes shut as Adam’s face, always guarded whenever I brought up visiting my family, flooded my memories like an unrestrained dam. 

           The girl waited, then she cocked her head and frowned. “Until what?”

            “Until I moved away.” We inched forward. “But I’m back now. By the way, are you going to buy an apple cider, too?”

           Hazel wrinkled her nose before twirling; sparkles from her voluminous pink skirt competed with the sunshine for attention. “Yuck! No way!”

           Finally, our turn to order arrived. Hazel threw me an impish grin and slapped down a wad of dollars. “I’ll have an apple cider, please. And, I don’t want the baby size!” She giggled. "Fooled you, didn't I?" Patiently she waited, then she giggled some more, clutched her drink with both hands, and skipped away; her teeth clamped onto the straw like a beartrap.

           I pulled out my wallet. “I’ll have a large apple cider, please.”

           The silver-haired woman behind the counter sighed. “I’m sorry, but we just ran out. It’s been a busy afternoon. You could buy a quart in the store, or how about a nice slice of apple pie instead?”

Of course. Apple pie. It seemed fitting.

           “Thanks, I’ll take the pie. And, throw in a bag of caramel corn.”

           Inhaling deeply, I welcomed the sweet scent of molasses that tapped my nose. I welcomed the sharp scent of spices that whispered of my childhood. But best of all, I welcomed the invisible hug of home. And, just like that, the bubble finally burst.