On a rare girl’s night out, Emery and I decided to have dinner at an outdoor cafe. The good food and gentle breeze enticed us to linger over our iced tea after our meal was finished, and the slow pace gave birth to discussions on topics ranging from school teachers to life plans to poetry. After talking nonstop, we enjoyed a few moments of silence as the sun shot its last light into the sky. I glanced at Emery and noticed a small smile and a dreamy look on her face.
I’ll bet she is thinking about a boy, I thought to myself. “What are you thinking about,” I asked her quietly, so as not to break the mood.
“Raspberries,” she replied in a whisper, still dreaming.
“What?” I asked, rather loudly. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” she answered, startled. “Raspberries are so good. I love them. They are best in the summer, and I especially love the ones that come straight from gardens. They taste like sunshine, and they are so good all by themselves.”
And then I had to listen to twenty more minutes of raspberry exaltation.
She wasn’t kidding. That girl loves raspberries.