I met my parent's in the visitor's parking lot on the south side of campus near the football field. My mom's voice jumped an octave as she stepped out of the car and pulled me into her arms.

"How are you?" she asked, rocking me back and forth, and kissing my temple.

"Good," I said, and I meant it. Despite my anxiety, it did feel good to have my mother embrace me, wrapped in the smell of the honeysuckle and sage shampoo she had been using for as long as I could remember. It was funny how such a simple smell could transport me back in time, when everything could be fixed with a Band-Aid, a kiss, or an ice-cream cone.

"How ya doing, kiddo," echoed my dad. He gave me his signature one-armed hug, his eyes warm under the lid of his faded red baseball cap.

"I'm glad you guys came."

"And miss the chance to ask you all the questions you ignore over text? Never!" joked my mom with a laugh. She looped her arm through mine as we walked to the stadium.

"Sorry," I said sheepishly. "I've just been really busy." It was mostly true.

The seats were already packed with fans, half clad in our school's blue and white, the other drenched in the red and black of the opposition. Towels waved overhead while plastic noise makers and air horns blasted in a chaotic sort of harmony; most people were either on their feet or stamping them. We had arrived in the middle of the first quarter.

"So how have you actually been? What have you been up to?" asked my mom as we took our seats on the metal benches. I shivered as the cold seeped through my jeans and zipped up my jacket a bit more, glad I had chosen a warmer flannel shirt for the afternoon.

"Homework, class," I said unhelpfully, picking up an abandoned fan towel. It was the only blue and white I could claim, having forgotten to bring my own fan gear in my haste to leave my room.

My mom gave me a withering look while my dad immediately absorbed himself in the brewing game atmosphere. The smell of hot pretzels slathered in salt and mustard wafted past me on the breeze. I smoothed my new towel over my knee, wildcat facing up, and quickly ran through the list of safe topics I had been practicing all week before launching into an expansion of what I had learned in psych and how I enjoyed the artistic freedom of graphic design. I did not mention the C I was currently pulling in philopshy.

I talked as much about class as I could over the roaring of the crowd and the periodic outbursts of support and unheard grumbling advice from my dad beside me. I exhausted the topic at halftime; the two teams were tied.

"Have you made any new friends?" my mom asked as the cheerleaders took the field.

"Mom, this isn't sleep away camp," I pointed out.

"You make new friends in college, Dash, cut me some slack," she laughed, taking my cold hands and rubbing warmth back into them.

"I see Van on the weekends."

I debated telling her about Tyler, but held my tongue fearing she would get the wrong idea.

"Van is an old friend," countered my mom. "What about your roommate?"

Something must have crossed my face because my mom reacted. "Are you guys not getting along?"

I took my hands back and shoved them in my pockets. "Things are better now than they were in the beginning," I said carefully. "We have different personalities, but we've been on better terms lately." I shrugged so she wouldn't worry. "I'm not sure we'll ever be friends, but we can live side by side now at least."

The crowd roared as the teams took the field again. I tracked the football as it sailed through the air was caught by our receiver. He gained ten yards before being slammed to the ground with a crack of helmets and bodies. I shuddered and involuntary raised a hand to the back of my head.

"How are you sleeping?" asked my mom. Her attention could never be held by sports long. "You look tired."

"I was just up late last night," I replied.

"Too much partying?" asked my dad with a grin, joining the conversation now that there was a brief break in the action.

"More like too much laundry."

"Ah, payback is sweet," said my mom.

I rolled my eyes and looked towards the scoreboard. We were down by seven.

"Speaking of sleep, how are your counseling sessions going?"

Here we go, I thought.

"They're fine," I lied in the same neutral tone. "I only go once every other week because of my schedule."

"Do you want to see Dr. Croton over break?" she asked, "I'm sure the stress from school isn't helping everything so maybe seeing him for a quick check-up might be good." She took the fan towel from my leg where I was picking at the dyed fabric and looked at me closely, as though she could convince me by sheer will power.

"Seeing him will cause her more stress," interrupted my dad, though his eyes were still glued to the field.

I grinned. Mom had been my champion through all of the hospital and doctors' visits in the aftermath of the crash, but Dad was always there to pull her back to the ground when she go too high to see for the clouds. "What Dad said."

My mom pursed her lips. "We can look into getting you a different doctor, like you wanted. I'm sure Dr. Croton can recommend someone. Or we could just ask him about trying new medication to help you sleep."

"Mom," I sighed. This was exactly the conversation I didn't want to have. "I told you before, I hate being medicated. I feel like a zombie."

"The doctor said that was most likely due to the dose, they can fix that. And if it can help your anxiety—"

"Talking about this is what makes me anxious, and I have been sleeping better," I argued.

"Sweetie," she said, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. I jerked away. My mom sighed again. "I just worry about you; you barely call, when you do, it's quick and short and you sound tired and far away. I never learn anything about how you're doing so I fear the worst. Watching you withdraw after the accident and the funeral was almost as hard as that drive to the hospital when we got that phone call. And I don't want to see that happen again."

I turned back towards the field for a moment to collect my thoughts. Mom wasn't trying to make me feel guilty; her worry was genuine, as was her care and her belief that going the doctor and medication route would make me better faster. But I wanted to feel better on my own terms, even if that meant it would take double the time.

My mom sighed before I could respond. "I'm sorry, Dash. I don't want to take away your voice and independence. I only want what is best for you. "

She pulled me to her side in another embrace and placed her chin on the top of my head as everyone around us jumped to their feat in celebration of a game-tying touchdown. "But, I think only you know what's best for you."

I closed my eyes so I could concentrate on the warm, comforting pressure of my mom's hands on my back and the sense of realization they pressed into me.
___________________________________________________________

"I didn't even realize what I was doing," I said to Tyler the next day as we were walking through the apple orchard, empty bags in hand.

The branches hung heavy with ripe fruit and the ground was littered with those knocked off or discarded for imperfections. Bees attended the ones that had been crushed underfoot in various stages of decomposition, filling the air with their sweet, cloying scent.

"Sometimes, good intentions don't always have the effect you want," said Tyler. He picked an apple over my head and tossed it to me. It was bright red, firm beneath my fingertips, with just the tiniest nick in its skin near the stem. I bit into it, the flavor exploding on my tongue and the juice dripping down my chin.

I had told him the glazed details of my conversation with my mom, specifically leaving out the part about trying new medication, on our way to the orchard. I took him through our differing views, about how our conversation had given me the strangest sense of déjà vu, only to have it dawn on me that it was the same one I had had with Amber in reverse.

"The good thing is, you know what it feels like to have someone so concerned about what they think is best for you that they blind themselves to everything else. You just needed to realize it," said Tyler as we continued down the alleyway of trees.

"You're doing it again," I said around another mouthful of apple.

"Doing what?"

"Being my therapist," I joked. I paused beneath another tree to inspect a cluster of apples at eye level.

"Well then, technically you're not lying to your mother, are you?" he asked.

"I guess not," I said, flashing him a smile.

A couple of kids came hurtling towards us at full speed, and we stepped between two trees to let them pass. With branches on either side of us, only six inches separated our bodies.

Dappled sunlight laced shadowy patterns across our faces so only our eyes, noses, and lips were illuminated. I closed my eyes and relished the feeling of sun on my face, the rustle of the wind through the trees, the smell of baking cider doughnuts; it was a picture perfect fall day. Except for the one personal dark cloud I carried with me.

"You all right?" asked Tyler, watching my smile fade.

"Yeah—it's just—" I told him about nearly throwing Danny's picture away. "I couldn't do it, but I feel guilty for wanting to," I finished.

And now I feel guilty for bringing it up here, I thought.

"You shouldn't feel guilty for wanting to feel better," said Tyler. "But I know what you mean. When Mia died I was so angry I threw away everything that reminded me of her. But it was because I had acted out of anger, not a will to move on. You don't have to throw away Danny, and I don't think you should, but it's okay to put him on shelf until you're ready to look at the picture in a way that reminds you of the time you spent together, not as a catalyst for reliving your last moments."

I was acutely aware of how close we were. The branches waving in the breeze playfully nudged us closer together, but neither of us moved back into the open grassy avenue.

"Do you believe everything happens for a reason?" I asked.

"As in do I believe that Vernon Rudolph was put on this Earth to bring Krispy Kreme doughnuts into our lives?" he asked.

I burst out laughing, scaring away a couple of finches watching us from a nearby tree. Wiping tears from the corner of my eyes, I said, "I was thinking more big picture."

Tyler used his pinky to wipe away a tear I had missed. "I think people focus on that sentiment too much when their sad or angry or stressed, but I also think that you can't rule anything out."

An apple fell to the ground behind me and I jumped, nearly landing on Tyler's feet. He steadied me with a hand on either arm, chuckling as my face flushed. I felt goosebumps rise on my arms from the feeling of his hands on my shoulders, and I was glad for the long-sleeve shirt I wore. When had my body started paying attention to his touch?

"And you?" he asked. His face was only a couple of inches from mine, his lips curled at the corners in a playful half-smile.

I raised my chin slightly. "I don't know," I said. "I'm waiting to see what happens."

And Tyler leaned down to kiss me.

_____________________________________________________

I'm on a roll with the chapter updates :) (Let's see how long I can keep it up)

So what do you guys think about the conversation between Dash and her mom? And what about that kiss??

The song that I had in mind (specifically for the apple orchard scene) is "Lemonade" by Jeremy Passion. Think it fits? Think a different song would fit better? Let me know :)