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Delia: Yes. I'm great. In fact, I'm happier than I've ever been.
Brody: Happy. Sure. So what you're saying is you've met someone.
Delia: I don't need to explain anything to you.
Brody: Just be for real right now. Are you messing around with my dad?
I break out in a cold sweat.
Brody: That's fucked up. You're such a terrible person.
I stare at the text, feeling numb. Is this really happening? Am I a terrible person?
Delia: I don't care if you think I'm terrible. We're not together anymore, and you can't stop me from seeing whoever I want.
Brody: So you are hooking up with my dad.
Delia: It's none of your business.
Brody: Of course it is. You're supposed to be my girlfriend.
Delia: Not anymore. We're done, remember?
Brody: Whatever. You can have him. Just don't pretend you didn't start this.
I roll my eyes.
Delia: Sure, Brody. Enjoy the rest of your Thanksgiving. I have somewhere to be.
I don't wait for him to answer.
After Dean takes a quick shower, we head out. It's cold and dark, but I can still see the trees lining the street and the way the moon shines above us. My heart is still racing, and I'm a little shaken after texting Brody.
I didn't pack a lot of things to wear, but Dean insisted there was no reason to dress up for this outing. He's wearing a flannel and well-worn jeans, so I'm confident my knit sweater will be perfectly fine.
We take the cruiser this time—my request since I put my hair up—and Dean refuses to tell me where we’re going. He'll only answer in grunts and shrugs, which annoys the hell out of me, but I guess this is just part of his personality.
To my surprise, we don't end up in the parking lot of some restaurant. Instead, it looks like a small farmstead, and there is just a smattering of cars in a grass field. He comes around to open the door for me and hands me a fleece-lined jacket.
"We'll be out here a while. I don't want you freezing to death," he says, waiting patiently until I relent and put the enormous jacket on. It goes down past my wrists and nearly to my knees.
"Now will you tell me what's going on?" I huff, and his mouth pulls up a bit.
"Nature hike."
My mouth falls open. "In the dark?"
He nods once. "There are some lights. Supposed to be pretty romantic. I heard a buddy talking about it at work. Come on."
With this wildly sparse description of our outing, I throw caution to the wind and take his hand. We stop inside the barn first, where he insists on buying us both an enormous cup of spiced apple cider at the snack stand. Then we go out back, where the only light is the stars and the moon. There’s the faint sound of cows mooing in the distance and the scent that is undeniably farm, but soon enough, our path curves left and into the forest that lines the property.
There’s a faint glow I can see when we're still at a distance, but as we get closer, I see what it really is—the nature trail lined with carved pumpkins, all with a white-lit candle inside. There must be almost a hundred of them winding through the wooded path.
"Dean," I gasp, looking at him. "This is...perfect."
He squeezes my hand. Then, as if by magic, the two of us begin to walk the trail. We don't rush, and it feels a little like time slows down.
"I’ve never seen anything like this,” I marvel, stopping to look at some of the intricately carved gourds. These aren’t just jack-o-lanterns but works of art.
