That green apple
Saturday, 11:45 a.m.
As we inched toward Hollywood in traffic, I asked my husband, “Do you have a snack in your car? I need to eat something.” He knows my blood sugar’s been giving me grief recently.
“Don’t you have that apple?” he asked.
“You’re right!” I smiled as I reached into my purse for that green apple.
Saturday, 11:00 a.m.
My husband and I were on our way to our first date in months. We’d almost made it out the door when our seven-year-old, Li’l D, asked me, “Aren’t you going to take the apple with you?” He’d set a green apple in front of me a few minutes earlier.
“I don’t need an apple, sweetie,” I said. “But thank you!”
He looked so crestfallen, I put the apple in my purse. For show.
Saturday, 7 p.m.
My littlest one, Littler J, babbled with overtired zeal as we loaded him into our car. Li’l D was quieter in his sleepiness as he climbed into his car seat.
“Hey. You know what?” I told him. “I ended up needing that apple!”
“Told you!” he cheered. To himself, he murmured, “I helped.” His chest puffed out for a moment, leading my heart to swell in return.
“You sure did,” I said, smiling. “You sure did.”