Author's Note

Chapter contains: Human/Humanized, Incest, Unrealistic Anatomy, Harem/Polygamy

Remembrance

I was roused from my slumber by the piercing cry of a rooster as it sounded off its usual announcement that morning had come. The thick blanket of drowsiness covering my mind was slowly drawn away, taking with it the lingering traces of my sweet dreams. My eyes fluttered open, and I saw the wall of my bedroom, bathed in the soft, early-morning light that snuck in through my closed curtains. I lied there for a few moments, fighting off the urge to close my eyes and allow myself to drift back to sleep. As much as I wanted to, I knew that I could not laze about all day, especially on that day in particular. Summoning my willpower, I forced my muscles to push me up off of my bed and into a sitting position, a slow and laborious process.

I sat there for a few more moments, letting my blood adjust to my new position, before I grabbed my covers and gently pulled them back. I shivered as the cool morning air kissed my naked body and my still-tender member. I had put him through quite the workout the night before, forcing him to pump a load deep within both of my sisters’ asses and making him suffer through a long, sensual double titfuck before finally depositing the last bit of my reserves into my sisters’ hot, wet mouths. By the time we had finally said our goodnights and went to our own beds, I had been too exhausted to do anything but flop down and go right to sleep. I throbbed as the memories of our passionate evening together came rushing back to me, but for better or worse, I knew that I would be getting a day off from such activities.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly lifted my legs off of the bed and down onto the floor, carefully rising to my feet. Walking over to my dresser, I began pulling on my clothes, finishing my ensemble with a thick wool sweater. My mother had knitted the festive garment for me years ago, weaving in images of goofy-looking snowmen frolicking in the snow. It was not one of her finest works, and I was typically too embarrassed to wear it around town, but for Hearth’s Warming Eve, I could put up with a little bit of embarrassment if it meant making my mother happy. When I was ready, I stepped out of my bedroom and into the hallway beyond. After making a quick pit stop at the bathroom, I continued on down the stairs and into the living room.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I took a moment to take in the sight of the room. Standing tall and proud in its place of honor was our Hearth’s Warming tree, a large evergreen that we had cut down from the nearby woods and hauled back to the farm. My mother had spent quite a while decorating the tree with strands of popcorn garland and a plethora of ornaments of varying shape and size. Some of the ornaments were antiques, passed down through the years from before Granny Smith was even born. Others were newer, typically being gifts from our friends or just things we made ourselves. As one would expect, most of them were apple-themed, matching the rest of the room’s decor well. Wreaths hung from the walls and garlands were draped over doorways and wrapped around the handrail of the stairs. I sighed, my lips stretching into a smile as a warm feeling of nostalgic comfort came over me.

My moment of peace didn’t last long, however, as I quickly became aware of the flurry of movement and noise taking place in the kitchen. Crossing the room and walking into the kitchen, I was greeted by the sight of Buttercup and Granny Smith running about the room, seemingly busy preparing a number of different dishes at once. Our oven was full, our stovetop was fully occupied, and every available surface in the kitchen seemed to be at least partially taken up by ingredients, cookware, or some combination of the two. The warm air was filled with the combined scents of sizzling meats, fresh pastries, sweet fruits, and a million other things. Over at the kitchen table, Applejack sat at her spot, devouring a plate of fluffy, syrup-drenched pancakes.

“Mornin’, sweetie!” said Buttercup when she noticed me. She was wearing a thick wool dress the color of pine needles that went down to her ankles. The dress was not tightly cut, but with her generous assets filling it out, she could not help but make it look snug. Her long, curly locks were bound into a tight ponytail so as to not interfere with her work. It was only a little after sunrise, but I could already see weariness on her face. Despite this, she still managed to give me a warm smile that made me feel just as at ease as it always did.

“Mornin’, Mama,” I said, smiling back at her.

“No time for gabbin’ now, young’uns!” said Granny Smith, not even looking up from the vegetables she was chopping. “Have a seat and get some grub in you! There’s lots that needs to get done before tonight, and I don’t want any of y’all keelin’ over on me.”

“Good mornin’ to you too, Granny,” I said.

I walked over to the stove, where my mother was standing, and she handed me my own plate of pancakes. My breakfast in hand, I walked over and joined my sister at the table, taking my usual spot to her right. Applejack was wearing her usual jeans as well as her own tacky holiday sweater, hers adorned with images of apples with smiley faces on them. She grinned at me as she chewed and gave me a wink as I approached. As I set down my plate and sat down in my chair, Applejack swallowed and leaned over towards me, planting her syrup-coated lips against me cheek in a chaste, sisterly kiss. I looked over at her and we shared a soft chuckle before I dug into my pancakes.

Not long later, the missing member of the Apple family arrived on the scene, Apple Bloom yawning as she walked into the kitchen. She was wearing her work jeans as well as holiday sweater number three, hers bearing the images of red-and-white-striped candy canes. Her hair bow stood up above her head, its reddish color conveniently matching her sweater. She quickly collected her own breakfast and joined us at the table, smiling at us as she approached. She set down her plate, but walked over to us before sitting down. She quickly leaned in and gave both Applejack and I quick kisses on our cheeks, kisses of the sort that would not be considered improper for a young woman to give her beloved older siblings. She sat down and joined us in our meal, all three of us exchanging grins and knowing glances throughout.

After breakfast, the three of us got busy taking care of all the various tasks that needed to be taken care of that day. Granny Smith had not been exaggerating the need for haste, as there was more than enough work to keep my sisters and I on our feet all day. In addition to our usual daily chores, such as tending to the livestock and shoveling snow, there were also some last-minute holiday preparations to be done. As usual, my mother and grandmother were in charge of preparing the elaborate feast we would be having that evening, occasionally pulling Apple Bloom and Applejack into the kitchen to help. Applejack and I both had some last-minute gift wrapping to do; she made sure to show Apple Bloom and I the gift we had prepared for our mother before she boxed it up and placed it beneath our tree. Last, but certainly not least, my siblings and I hauled out the large flagpole we kept stored in the barn for most of the year and set it up in front of the farmhouse, where it would patiently wait until the next morning.

As was tradition, the local weather team kept up a light snowfall throughout the day, just as weather teams all over the country would be doing for their own towns. But as the day slowly transitioned to night and the sun was lowered below the horizon, the clouds grew darker, the snow fell thicker, and the chilly winds turned icy cold. The snowstorm was not intense enough seriously inconvenience anyone; it was merely meant to encourage the people of Equestria to spend the night huddling together in their homes with their friends and loved ones, and to remind us all of the terrible, unending winter our ancient ancestors had endured centuries prior. Luckily, my family and I were able to complete our appointed tasks and get back indoors just around the time the storm picked up.

My sisters and I were exhausted by the time we finally finished our work, showered, and dressed for the evening. Fortunately, we had a reward waiting for us that made it all worthwhile. While we had been busy chopping firewood, Buttercup and Granny Smith had been even busier filling our kitchen with all manner of delicious dishes. Platters of juicy meats that oozed gravy, bowls of steamed vegetables and buttery mashed potatoes, and about a dozen different types of apple-related dessert were ready and waiting to make the trip down our gullets. As per usual, Granny Smith had her six-layer bean dip as well, an odd feature of the traditional meal that I had long since stopped questioning. The table had been set with six place settings, one at each seat. We all quickly washed up and took our places at the table, our mouths watering and our bellies grumbling. After saying grace, we all picked up our forks and dug in, stuffing ourselves with the goodies before us.

As I ate, subjecting my tastebuds to one scrumptious bite after another, my eyes wandered about the table, gazing upon the smiling faces of my family. The traditional Hearth’s Warming Eve meal was meant to remind us of the bounty and prosperity that came with working together, and to make us feel grateful that the darkest times of our history were behind us. I had a great many things to be grateful for, I realized. I was grateful for Applejack, grateful that after all we had been through, I still had her love, both as a sister and as a woman. I was grateful for Apple Bloom, grateful that she and I had finally made peace and rekindled our love for one another after many long years. I was grateful that Granny Smith was still with us, and was still just as strong and energetic as I could ever remember her being. Finally, I was grateful for my mother Buttercup, grateful for the love and care she had given me and my sisters throughout the years. No matter what happened between she and I over the coming days, I would always be grateful to her for that.

Little by little, our plates and dishes emptied, and our bellies grew round and heavy. We talked amongst each other as we ate, discussing only enjoyable, lighthearted topics. We exchanged jokes and silly anecdotes, eliciting laughter and bringing smiles to each other’s faces. When we finished our main courses and finally started on dessert, I noticed Apple Bloom looking at me and nodding towards my left. Looking to my side, I saw that Applejack had chosen to have only a single, small tart, rather than sampling the delicious apple pie sitting on the table before her. I sighed, realizing exactly what was going through my big sister’s head. I leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Hearth’s Warming only comes once a year. Enjoy it.” Applejack looked at Apple Bloom and I as we gave her supportive smiles. She sighed and smiled back at us, before serving herself a huge piece of pie, which she greedily devoured.

Eventually, the last bite of cobbler and the last spoonful of vanilla ice cream disappeared from our plates, and we leaned back in our chairs with contented smiles on our faces. Fighting through our lethargy, my sisters and I rose from our seats to help clear the table and put away what few leftovers remained. With us helping our mother, the kitchen was returned to its normal state in no time at all. While the rest of us worked, Granny Smith was at the stove, preparing some of her famous mulled cider for us. As we finished, she handed each of us a tall mug of the delicious warm liquid, which I was quick to sample. The taste of cinnamon and orange melded perfectly with that of the cider, creating a perfect finisher for our feast.

With our drinks in hand, my family and I made our way to our living room, where we would spend the rest of our evening. Out the windows, the snowstorm was already going strong, battering our old house with icy winds. To stave off the cold, Applejack and I built up the fire in our fireplace, which quickly filled the room with its warmth and flickering light. Before we could all sit down and relax, however, we had one last tradition to attend to. As we had stoked the fire, Buttercup had gone off and retrieved a small wooden box, which she then presented to us. The box was about the size of a large shoebox, and its surface was decorated with carved images of trees laden with apples.

Buttercup carefully set her burden down on a small table and slowly lifted its lid, revealing its contents. Six small, crocheted dolls lay within, each doll having clothing and hair that reflected one of the members of our family. The dolls themselves were antiques, passed down through the generations, but were given new features whenever they changed ownership. We each had our own doll, the same ones we had used every Hearth’s Warming of our lives. The only exception was Buttercup’s doll, which was not the same one she had used when she had been a child. She had lost access to that particular doll, along with many other things, the day she and my father had married. The doll she now used was one that had belonged to Granny Smith’s mother, and had been gifted to her on her first Hearth’s Warming with my father. I had never seen her express anything but absolute love and respect for that doll.

Applejack reached into the box and carefully withdrew her doll, which had long yellow hair, jeans, boots, and a cowboy hat, and arranged it on the mantlepiece. Apple Bloom did the same for her doll, which had long red hair and a pretty little bow, long absent, now restored. Granny’s doll soon joined the others, its light yellow hair the only questionable feature. While it didn’t match the bone-white of the real thing, none of us had ever had the courage or the inclination to question the severely out-of-date design. My doll was next, its clothing and hair mirroring my own. My mother’s doll, with its long orange curls and a slim figure that was even more unrealistic than the hair on Granny’s doll, was added as well.

When all five had been put in their places, Buttercup returned to the box one last time to retrieve the final doll. She reached into the box, lifting it out as gingerly as if it were made of porcelain. The final doll had scruffy red hair, a cowboy hat on its head, and wore the clothes of a farmer. Buttercup slowly walked to the mantlepiece, then sat the doll down next to hers, nestling them together cozily. For a moment, she paused, staring at the doll and gently caressing its hair. The rest of us said nothing until she finally sighed and stepped back from the mantle, turning to face us. She wore a smile on her lips, but her eyes were filled with a much different emotion.

“C’mon, y’all,” Buttercup said. “Let’s get comfortable.”

Granny Smith took her place in her old rocker while Buttercup sat down in her plush reading chair. My sisters and I sat down on our old couch, snuggling together with me in the middle. We pulled a large, thick quilt over our legs, both to help keep us warm and to let us play a gentle game of footsie while we sipped our cider. A euphoric feeling of coziness came over me as we sat there together basking in the warmth of the fire while the storm blew outside. With the two loves of my life by my side and my beloved mother and grandmother nearby, things were shaping up to be a very good Hearth’s Warming indeed.

As the oldest in attendance, Granny Smith had the honor of starting off the evening with her own retelling of the founding of Equestria, a task which she particularly relished. We had all heard the story countless times before, of course, but it was a tradition that always managed to get us into the holiday spirit nonetheless. Granny’s humorous portrayal of the founders, which had brought me genuine mirth as a child, now filled me with nostalgic comfort. Her overly dramatic descriptions of the terrible storms and fearsome windigos that had once driven our people to the brink of extinction had not scared me or my sisters for a very long time. Despite this, Apple Bloom still used the situation as an excuse to cling tightly to my arm. I even felt Applejack cuddle up to me a little bit closer as Granny did her best impression of a windigo’s ghostly wail. When the story was finished, we gave Granny a token round of applause, which she seemed mighty pleased with.

The rest of the evening was filled with the tellings of much more lighthearted stories, both from folklore and from our own family’s history. Granny Smith and Buttercup had no shortage of entertaining anecdotes up their sleeves, only some of which involved embarrassing things I had done as a child. Soon enough, all five of us were smiling and laughing together just as families should on Hearth’s Warming. Inevitably, some of our stories, such as those from back when our family of five had been a family of six, filled our hearts with more bittersweet feelings. The stories were interspersed with music provided courtesy of Buttercup and her guitar, which she played as beautifully as ever. We lent our voices to the songs, belting out every holiday carol we knew. I was especially taken with my sisters’ harmonious singing voices, but I also took comfort in Buttercup’s strong, soothing pipes as well.

The hour eventually grew late, and I felt my eyelids begin to droop. Buttercup was just wrapping up a humorous story about the time my father had gotten stuck in a cider barrel. When the story had ended and our laughter had died down, a silence fell over us. I didn’t have to wonder what was on everybody’s mind, because the same thing was on my mind as well. Buttercup looked over at her guitar, which she had set aside for a while, then slowly reached over and retrieved it. She positioned it on her lap once more and put her fingers to the strings, ready to play. For a long moment, she hesitated, her fingers either lacking the strength or the will to move. Finally, she closed her eyes and breathed a gentle sigh, then began to play.

Her fingers moved slowly, but purposefully, plucking the strings with an expertise developed over decades. The notes were quiet, but powerful, sounding louder to my ears than an entire orchestra. I recognized the tune immediately. Within seconds, I could feel my eyes growing moist and my breathing grow heavier. When it came time to sing, Applejack opened her mouth, and the words flowed from her lips like a gentle breeze blowing through the orchard in springtime.

When family cannot be here
Havin' journeyed far and wide
We sing a song to honor them
To remember days gone by

Apple Bloom grasped my hand and held it tight, then joined in the song.

So take your cup and raise it high
Just as surely I'll do mine
And laugh we will at stories told
As we smile at days gone by
As we smile at days gone by

Holding back tears, I joined in as well, accompanied by Granny Smith.

For family not here, my dears
Havin' journeyed far and wide
For loyalty and kindness both
We smile at days gone by

A tear slowly traveled down Buttercup’s cheek as she played the musical interlude. When we sang again, she opened her mouth, but did not lend her voice to the song, merely mouthing the words silently.

Our paths will cross again one day
In time to reunite
For family is always near
Even when the seas are wide

Applejack grasped my other hand. I don’t know which of us needed comfort more.

So take your cup and raise it high
Just as surely I'll do mine
And make a toast for family
And the tales of days gone by

Taking a deep breath, I belted out the last bit of the song as strongly as I could.

For family not here, my dears
Havin' journeyed far and wide
For loyalty and kindness both
Take joy at days gone by

For loyalty and kindness both
We smile at days gone by

Our voices fell silent as the notes ceased flowing from Buttercup’s guitar, leaving only the gentle crackle of the fire and the dull rumble of the storm to fill the void. But soon, another noise reached my ears: the sound of soft sniffling. Looking up, I saw that the noise was coming from Buttercup. Her head hung low and she trembled slightly, holding her guitar with an unsteady grip. Applejack slowly lifted the quilt off of herself and rose to her feet, crossing over to where she sat. She knelt at Buttercup’s side, putting an arm around her shoulders and holding one of her hands.

“I think it’s time we call it a night, y’all,” said Applejack softly.

An unspoken agreement passed between the rest of us. I rose from the couch and walked over to the fireplace, where I carefully extinguished the blaze. Apple Bloom collected everyone’s empty cider mugs and returned them to the kitchen. Applejack calmed Buttercup, and was able to get her up onto her feet. Each of us gave her a hug in turn, wishing her a good night and pleasant dreams. She wiped away her tears and managed to give us a smile, returning our sentiments. After exchanging goodnights with us, Granny Smith took Buttercup’s hand and slowly led her upstairs.

My sisters and I watched them go, not looking away until they were out of sight. We looked at one another, then wordlessly came together in a hug. We wrapped our arms around each other and pressed our faces together, closing our eyes. I could feel us trembling and hear us sniffling together, but none of us cried openly. I could only speculate, but I imagined that all three of us were trying to be strong for the others. We gently nuzzled each other’s faces and planted soft kisses on each other’s cheeks and foreheads.

“I love you two,” I whispered.

“So do I,” Applejack whispered.

“Me too,” Apple Bloom whispered.

The first sensation I detected as I stirred from my heavy slumber was the feeling of a familiar pair of soft lips pressed against mine. My body reacted before I was even lucid enough to recognize what was happening, weakly puckering my lips to return the kiss. As the lips gently caressed my own, I gradually became aware of other sensations as well. I felt strands of long, soft hair brush against my neck. I felt a feminine hand on my shoulder, squeezing me lightly. I smelled the scent of a body that I had become intimately familiar with over the past several months. As I slowly emerged into the waking world and my heavy eyelids fluttered open, I was not disappointed by what I saw.

A beautiful face with a cute nose and a smattering of freckles loomed over mine. A waterfall of straw-yellow hair fell from the back of her head, flowing from underneath a weathered old cowboy hat. Her eyes were closed, but shortly after I opened mine, they drifted open as well, revealing their striking green color. When she saw that I was awake, she pulled back her head a few inches and smiled down at me. She brought a hand up and lightly stroked my cheek.

“Hey,” Applejack whispered.

“Hey,” I whispered, smiling back at her.

“Happy Hearth’s Warmin’,” she said.

“Happy Hearth’s Warmin’,” I echoed.

“Get dressed and come downstairs,” she said. “We’re waitin’ for you.”

She leaned back in and gave me a quick peck on the lips before standing back up and quietly making her way out of my bedroom. Such an enjoyable wakeup call made it much easier for me to haul my groggy self out of bed and get dressed. I opened my window curtains to try and let in some light, but it was so early that the trifling amount of light streaming in made little difference. I could see the sky brightening above the horizon, signaling the coming of dawn, but I estimated that it would still be several minutes before Princess Celestia raised the sun. Still, I did not want to miss the sunrise, so I quickly pulled on my clothes and made my way downstairs.

My family were waiting down in the living room, looking wide awake despite the early hour. Buttercup swept me up into a hug, giving me a peck on my cheek and wishing me a happy Hearth’s Warming. I quickly exchanged similar greetings with the rest of them, minus the kisses.

“Alright, enough standin’ around,” said Apple Bloom as we parted from our hug. “I don’t wanna miss the sunrise.”

The five of us quickly slipped on our boots and coats, and Apple Bloom picked up a long wooden tube that lay propped up against the wall near the door. When we were ready, we stepped out of the house and into the brisk morning air beyond. The previous night’s storm had covered the farm in a thick blanket of snow which crunched loudly under our feet. Despite this, no snow fell from the sky; in fact, the sky was completely clear, not a single cloud to be seen. The weather would remain like that for the rest of the day, as was tradition. Just as our ancestors had done on the first Hearth’s Warming centuries prior, we emerged from our home to find that the ice and winds had gone, clearing the way for a bright and sunny morning.

Just a few minutes after we had assembled in the barnyard and turned our eyes towards the East, we were greeted with just that. We watched as the sun slowly peeked up above the horizon and rose into the sky, shining its warm light down on the earth, the trees, and on us. The sunrise after Hearth’s Warming Eve was often said to represent second chances, new beginnings, and the coming of a bright future. While looking upon it did fill me with the same sort of comfort that it always did, it came with a twinge of concern as well. The founders may have had a bright future ahead of them all those years ago, but could the same be said for me and my sisters?

I lowered my gaze, looking down at Buttercup standing in front of me. She was the woman on whom so much depended, I thought to myself. She was the woman who had loved us, nurtured us, and protected us throughout our entire lives, but soon, she might also be the woman who would turn us away in shame. There was no way to say for sure how she would react to the truth. There was no way to say for sure whether we would all be standing there watching the sunrise together when the next Hearth’s Warming came around. Far from a bright future, ours had clouds looming over it darker and more foreboding than those that had covered the skies the night before.

The gentle touch of a soft hand on mine caught my attention, and I looked over to my right. Apple Bloom stood next to me, looking over at me and smiling. She held her wooden tube in one hand, but with her other, she was reaching down and grasping mine, squeezing it tightly. From the look on her face, I could tell that she had read my thoughts, and that she had been feeling the same way. Feeling another touch on my free hand, I looked to my left, where Applejack stood. She was giving me the same sort of knowing smile Apple Bloom had, and was squeezing my hand just as tightly.

I felt the rumbling storm clouds hanging over me dissipate under the influence of my sisters’ warm gazes. I sighed, squeezing their hands and smiling back at each of them in turn. I turned my gaze back to the burning sun, letting its warmth fill me up and banish my fears. They had said nothing, but I had gotten the message as clearly as if they had shouted it in my ear. Hearth’s Warming was not a time for fear and worry; Hearth’s Warming was a time for taking comfort in those closest to you, those you loved, so that you could face your futures together. Things might be fine, or they might not, but no matter how bad things got, I decided, any life with my sisters by my side would be one worth living.

After another minute or so of watching the sun rise up into the sky, I heard Applejack’s voice. “Apple Bloom,” she said, “it’s time.”

The five of us tore our eyes away from the sunrise and followed Apple Bloom as she led us over to where we had planted our flagpole in the ground. Applejack approached her, taking the wooden tube from her and holding it while she carefully removed its end, revealing the hollow space inside. Apple Bloom reached into the tube and carefully pulled out a thick roll of blue cloth with a white border, unrolling it in her hands. The flag of Equestria was slowly revealed, inch by inch, its star-covered surface shining brightly in the morning sunlight. When the majestic banner was fully unrolled, Apple Bloom slowly, reverently even, carried it over to the flagpole.

As the youngest member of the family, Apple Bloom had the honor of raising the flag, a duty which, in recent years, she had not particularly enjoyed. I sympathized with her to an extent; the flag-raising was, after all, typically used as an opportunity to let young children participate in the holiday and feel good about themselves for having contributed something to the celebration. As she had grown older, however, the zeal she had once had for the task had gradually faded, the “honor” becoming no more than a poignant reminder that she would always be at the bottom of the pecking order. But as Applejack helped her attach the flag to the pole and she began to hoist it up, I saw a smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye that made me recall the excitable little girl who had so gleefully performed the same task all those years ago.

The flag eventually reached its zenith, a gentle breeze causing it to sway and ripple. Apple Bloom stepped back and joined the rest of us in staring up at it, its familiar pattern filling us with a warm feeling of patriotism and community.

A few silent moments later, Apple Bloom turned to us and spoke. “So...can we open presents now?” she said with barely concealed enthusiasm. One tradition she had never grown tired of had, of course, been the giving of gifts.

“Yes, we can open presents now,” Applejack chuckled.

We all filed back into the house, Apple Bloom visibly impatient as she waited for us. We slipped off our boots and coats, and Applejack and I walked over to the fireplace to light it up. By the time we had a steady blaze going, the rest of the family were already seated, Apple Bloom with a present in her lap already. As soon as Applejack and I joined her on the couch, she tore into the package, clearly eager to see what was inside. The present ended up being one of our mother’s obligatory gifts of knitted wool socks, which each of us would inevitably unwrap ourselves. I expected Apple Bloom to fake a smile and force out some polite words of gratitude, but instead, she rose from her seat, quickly crossed over to where Buttercup sat, and gave her a surprisingly warm hug. Even Buttercup was a bit surprised at the gesture, but seemed genuinely touched as well.

The first present was followed by a parade of others of various size, shape, and color. Apple Bloom received a golden charm bracelet from Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo, the baubles hanging from which resembled all three of their cutie marks. Predictably, Applejack received a book from Twilight, a simple, yet beautiful sundress from Rarity, a stuffed animal from Fluttershy, and several pairs of running shorts from Rainbow Dash, the tight cut of which would undoubtedly leave little to the imagination. Pinkie Pie, as usual, had sent a gift to everyone in town, which included us, of course, although her gifts still managed to be fitting and meaningful. When Applejack and I each opened our own boxes of socks from Buttercup, we immediately gave her a loving hug as well, not to be outdone by Apple Bloom. Granny Smith slipped each of my sisters and I a non-insignificant amount of money, giving us a wink and telling us not to spend it all in one place.

Among the many other presents opened was a large box that Apple Bloom carefully set in my lap. “This one’s for you,” she said with a smile.

“It’s from both of us,” said Applejack, sitting by my side.

I quickly, but carefully tore off the wrapping paper, eagerly wondering what gift my beloved sisters had gotten for me. As the last piece of paper was removed and I gazed upon the box underneath, my eyes widened and my lips stretched into a wide smile. I immediately recognized the present as a model kit, the front of which bore the image of a large, powerful-looking airship and text that identified it.

“Is that...the Inspiration?” I said, not even bothering to hide my growing excitement. “The oldest Cachalot-class vessel still in service? Survivor of over 50 direct engagements? Capable of transporting hundreds of battle-ready soldiers straight to the front lines?”

“Erm...maybe?” said Applejack, shrugging. “The fella at the store said this is the one everyone wants.”

“Do you like it?” said Apple Bloom.

My sisters knew me well. I had had a thing for model-building ever since I was a kid, back when my father had gotten me into it. He and I had spent many hours together hunched over tables assembling models of majestic castles, huge airships, and fearsome monsters. Even when he had no longer been around to help me, I had still carried on with the hobby when I had had the time. I still had some of my old models on display in my bedroom, providing a bit of character to the otherwise plain chamber. Looking back on it, I suppose I had kept it up for so long because doing so always brought back memories of those happy times I had spent with my father; it made me feel closer to him, somehow.

I reached out and put an arm around each of my sisters, pulling them into a hug and planting a big kiss on each of their cheeks. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!” I babbled, squeezing them tightly. “You two are the best sisters ever!”

“Whoa! Take it easy, big guy!” Applejack chuckled, gently pushing me away.

“We get it already, you like it!” said Apple Bloom, laughing along with her.

“Sorry! Sorry!” I said, still grinning stupidly. “But...this is just so great. Thank you both so much. I love it.”

“You’re welcome, sugarcube,” said Applejack.

“Happy Hearth’s Warmin’, you big goof,” said Apple Bloom.

I turned the box over in my lap, reading the extensive technical information with glee. “You know...this one’s pretty big,” I said. “I might need you two to help me out with it.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” said Applejack. “I’m all thumbs. I could never build somethin’ little and delicate like that.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an almost imperceptible smirk appear on Apple Bloom’s lips. She suddenly scooted close to me, leaning in and placing a hand on my forearm. “Don’t worry, big brother,” she said in a sickeningly sweet tone. “I’ll help you build your ship thingy.”

An equally imperceptible scowl appeared on Applejack’s lips, and she quickly scooted closer to me as well. “On second thought, I’d love to help you out,” she said. “I might not be much help with the buildin’, but...I’m sure I can find some other way to be of use.” Her tone made me wonder just what sort of help she planned on providing.

“Thanks, you two,” I chuckled. “Y’know, I...feel a bit bad now. You guys got me somethin’ so great...much better than what I got for you two.”

“Oh, don’t fret about that,” said Applejack. “I’d be fine even if you hadn’t gotten me anythin’.”

“Yeah, me too,” said Apple Bloom. “I’m sure we’ll love whatever you got for us.”

“Well...let’s find out,” I said, carefully setting aside my model kit and rising to my feet.

I strode over to the tree and retrieved the two boxes containing my gifts for my sisters. I had tried my best when preparing their presents, but gift wrapping had never been my strong suit, so both boxes had ended up covered with an unnecessary amount of tape and held together with sloppily tied ribbons. Nevertheless, my sisters both had warm smiles on their faces as I handed them each their gift and sat back down between them. They had their hands on the wrapping, poised to tear into it, when they suddenly stopped and looked over at each other.

“You go first,” said Apple Bloom.

“No, no, you can go first,” said Applejack.

“Really, it’s fine, AJ. I can wait,” said Apple Bloom.

“So can I,” said Applejack.

“I want you to go first,” said Apple Bloom.

“And I want you to go first,” said Applejack.

“Would one of you just open your darn present already?” said Granny Smith abruptly.

My sisters looked over at her, then sheepishly looked back at each other.

“I’ll, um...open mine first,” said Applejack.

“Yeah,” said Apple Bloom.

Applejack looked down at her present and carefully removed the wrapping, revealing a lidded cardboard box. She grasped the lid with both hands and slowly lifted it off. As her eyes fell upon the box’s contents, her eyes widened and she inhaled sharply. With trembling hands, she set the lid aside and reached into the box, never taking her eyes off it. When she raised her hands again, she was holding a waist-length burgundy coat with a fleece lining. Applejack stared at the coat as if it was the gleaming regalia of Princess Celestia herself, her awed expression making me grin.

Leaning in close to her, I whispered in her ear so quietly that only she could hear me. “A woman as beautiful as you deserves to wear beautiful clothes,” I said.

Applejack’s lips started trembling, but stretched into a wide smile. In one swift motion, she put down the coat, turned, and wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug. “Thank you,” she whispered, kissing my cheek and nuzzling my neck. “Thank you.”

I put my arms around her and hugged her back. “Don’t mention it,” I whispered.

When Applejack finally released me and we pulled apart, I saw that the corners of her eyes were moist. We shared a warm chuckle, and she reached up and wiped her eyes. As Applejack looked back at her new coat, running her eyes and hands over it, I turned and looked at my other sister.

Apple Bloom’s eyes were wide after witnessing the display Applejack had just put on. She quickly looked down at her own present, her mind probably filling with thoughts of what could be inside it. Her fingers moved quickly and dexterously, stripping the wrapping from her present in moments. As soon as the lidded box within was revealed, she grabbed the lid and yanked it off, tossing it aside. She froze, then slowly put a hand over her gaping mouth. With her other hand, she tentatively reached out and touched the pair of red snow boots with black laces that lay within the box before her. She must have thought they were made of clouds, so lightly did she drag her fingertips across them.

Grinning at her reaction, I leaned closer to her and whispered in her ear just as I had done with Applejack. “A woman as amazin’ as you doesn’t need pretty clothes to stand out,” I said, “but you deserve them anyway.”

As soon as the words left my lips, she clamped her eyes shut and began to sob softly. I reached out to try and put an arm around her shoulder, but she suddenly whipped around and pulled me into a hug, almost leaping into my arms in the process. She buried her face in my neck, squeezing me tightly as she trembled. “Thank you,” she whispered as she sniffled. “Thank you so much.”

I hugged her back, gently stroking her shoulders. “You’re welcome,” I whispered.

Apple Bloom eventually released me, giving me a kiss on my cheek as she pulled back. She quickly wiped the tears from her eyes, smiling at me as she did so. Looking back at her boots, she lifted one out of the box, inspecting its finer details.

“Those are some beautiful gifts you got for your sisters, Anon,” said Buttercup, smiling at me. “Why, if I’d had even one of those when I was your age, I’d have been the happiest girl in town.”

“Well...we couldn’t go back in time to give you a present, Mom,” I said, “but I think we got you somethin’ you’ll like all the same. Ain’t that right, girls?”

At my comment, my sisters looked up at me, then all three of us turned our attention towards a large box sitting under the tree. It was the last present sitting down there, and was probably the only thing that could have gotten my sisters to set aside their new clothing, at least temporarily. Exchanging a silent signal, we rose from the couch and walked over to the tree, where I picked up the large box. Thankfully, Applejack had been the one to wrap the present, so it ended up looking as pretty as any of the other presents that had been unwrapped that morning. Together, we carried the present over to where Buttercup sat, smiling as we presented it to her.

“This is for you,” I said.

“It’s from all three of us,” said Applejack.

“Happy Hearth’s Warmin’, Mama,” said Apple Bloom.

Buttercup looked surprised at first, but her expression soon melted into a warm smile. “Oh, sweeties, you shouldn’t have,” she said as she reached out and took the box from me.

“As if we wouldn’t get our mama a present on Hearth’s Warmin’,” I said.

“C’mon, open it!” said Apple Bloom. “I know you’re gonna love it.”

“Alright, alright,” Buttercup chuckled, lowering her gaze to the present. “But I already know I’m gonna love it, ‘cause it’s from the three best children any mother could ask for.” With her deft fingers, Buttercup made short work of the wrapping paper covering the box. Her gift also came in a large lidded box, but unlike the others, this one bore the stylized image of a carousel. “Something from Rarity? Oh, you three got me a new sunhat, didn’t you? Ain’t that just the sweetest...” She fell silent as she removed the lid and saw that the box most definitely did not contain a hat of any kind.

The garment within, which Applejack had shown to me the day before, was actually an evening gown of the same color as Buttercup’s orange curls. The fine silken material seemed to shimmer slightly in the light of the room, evoking the image of a summer sunset. I didn’t know if Rarity had weaved some sort of enchantment into the dress, or even if such a thing was possible, but either way, the dress managed to be breathtakingly beautiful. It would be ankle-length when worn, go over the tops of her shoulders, but leave her arms bare. A small oval-shaped window in the bust of the dress would display a small amount of cleavage, enough to draw attention, but not enough to be scandalous.

The exact details of the dress had been a point of contention between us, specifically, between my sisters. When the three of us had approached Rarity about commissioning our mother a dress for Hearth’s Warming, she had been ecstatic and had practically begged us to let her make it. What followed had been an excruciatingly long consultation between the four of us up in Rarity’s workshop, where we had tried to decide exactly what sort of dress it should be. I say “we”, and yet most of the discussion had been dominated by my sisters, who had spent an inordinate amount of time arguing about every little detail while I had sat on the sidelines, trying to pay attention despite my severe lack of interest in the world of fashion. Applejack had continuously argued for a design that was modest, conservative, and appropriate for a respectable woman of my mother’s age. Apple Bloom, on the other hand, had pushed for a design that was more revealing, more conspicuous, and more flattering. Thankfully, Rarity had been there to mediate and offer her expert advice, eventually getting the two to agree on a design that managed to be elegant, respectable, and attractive all at once.

All that effort turned out to be worth it, I thought to myself as I watched Buttercup’s reaction. The lid of the box fell from her hand, her fingers seemingly having lost all strength. Her eyes widened, and she inhaled sharply. She froze where she sat, staring down into the box as if it were filled with gold and jewels. “By the princess...” she breathed. “Wha...what is this?”

Applejack slowly reached into the box and grasped the top of the dress, reverently lifting it up into the air. “This is your new dress, Mom” she said as the top half of the dress was displayed in all its glory.

As she got a proper look at the dress, Buttercup gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. Her breathing grew heavy, and her eyes grew moist. Her body shuddered as she either sobbed or chuckled; I wasn’t sure which. As her tears began to flow in earnest, she closed her eyes and hung her head, letting out loud choking sobs. Applejack lowered the dress back into the box and knelt down beside her chair, Apple Bloom and I following along. The three of us leaned forward and wrapped our arms around Buttercup, pulling her into a hug. Feeling us around her, Buttercup reached out and grabbed hold of us as well while burying her face in my neck. My sisters and I held her while she cried, gently caressing her back and nuzzling the mountain of downy curls that flowed from her head.

“We love you, Mama,” whispered Apple Bloom.

“We really do,” whispered Applejack.

After a long while, Buttercup’s sobs diminished to mere heavy breathing and her body stopped shaking. My sisters and I slowly pulled back from the hug and gently pushed her upright again. Her eyes were sopping wet when she looked upon us again, but she had a trembling smile on her lips. “Sweeties,” she said, looking down at the dress, “it’s too much.”

“No, Mama,” I said. “You deserve this.”

Buttercup chuckled and shook her head slowly. “I don’t know what to say,” she said. She looked back up at us, then leaned forward and gave each of us a kiss on our cheeks, one at a time. “I love you three so much. Thank you.”

Hours after the wrapping paper had been cleaned up and breakfast had been eaten, I found myself out in the barnyard, shoveling snow. In the name of the holiday, my sisters and I had been granted a reprieve from our morning chores so that we could spend some time in town with our friends. Of course, we had to get back to it eventually, and the snow definitely needed clearing after the previous night’s snowstorm. Apple Bloom was over at the chicken coop tending to them and Applejack was inside, helping Granny Smith with dinner preparations.

I shoveled a great mound of snow, then stood to inspect my progress. It had taken me quite a while, but I estimated that I was almost done with my work, needing perhaps another twenty minutes to finish. I took a deep breath and grabbed my shovel once more, preparing to get back to it. Before I could make another thrust, however, I heard Applejack’s voice calling out to me. “Hey, Anon!” she said. I turned towards the house and saw her leaning out of the kitchen’s stable door, looking over at me.

“Yeah?” I said.

“Can you go and get Mom for me?” said Applejack. “We need her to help finish up dinner.”

“Sure thing,” I said, jabbing my shovel into a large pile of snow. “Is she...” I jabbed a thumb over my shoulder, gesturing out towards the orchard. Applejack nodded solemnly.

It took me several minutes of walking to get where I needed to go. I had to walk out all the way to the very edge of Sweet Apple Acres, to the spot where our farm ended and another began. The farm that bordered ours had been there since Granny Smith had been a young woman, owned and operated throughout the years by another fittingly named family of orchard-folk. A couple decades ago, the farm had changed hands, and the old owners had moved away to Vanhoover. The new owners were good people, but weren’t in the same business that the previous residents had been, so they rarely tended to the trees near the border. My family and I didn’t come out to the spot that often either, at least, not for the sake of agriculture we didn’t.

As I neared the spot, working my way through the old trees and the wild brush that grew throughout the area, a noise reached my ears. It was difficult to discern the nature of the sound through the gentle breeze that whistled past me, but as I drew closer, I recognized it as the sound of a voice. My mother’s voice. In addition, I also picked up the gentle vibrations of guitar strings, filling the cool air with their somber notes. I stopped for a moment, sighing when I realized what I was hearing, then pressed on. I moved slowly and cautiously, stepping as lightly as I could in order to minimize the noise my heavy boots made.

Eventually, the bare trees before me parted, revealing a small clearing. The clearing was surrounded by trees, although not all of them were apple trees. On the side opposite where I stood, the side across the border of our land, there were trees that, when the time arrived, would bear plump, juicy pears that were sweet to the taste. In the center of the clearing was a tall tree that towered above the ones surrounding it. I thought of it as one tree, but to be technically correct, it was really two trees, their trunks twisted together and their branches growing into each other to create a single mass. Both trees were bare of leaves and fruit, but I knew that one of them bore apples and the other bore pears. At the base of their trunks, seemingly embedded into the wood itself, was a large boulder.

Buttercup was sitting on the ground before the tree, leaning back against the boulder. She was dressed warmly, wearing thick boots and a heavy coat in addition to her wool dress. A pair of blue-green earmuffs were on her head, which probably had the unintended effect of muffling my footsteps. She had her guitar in her lap, and was plucking away at the strings slowly. Her head was bowed and her eyes were closed, but her mouth was open, proudly belting out a song that I had heard her sing a thousand times before. I stopped at the edge of the clearing, off to her side, and listened.

On a prickly path that goes on for miles
But it's worth it just to see you smile

And I cannot be pulled apart
From the hold you have on my heart
And even if the world tells us it's wrong
You're in my head like a catchy song

My heart ached as the song reached my ears. For the first time in my life, I felt as if I truly understood the feelings behind those words.

The seasons change and leaves may fall
But I'll be with you through them all
And rain or shine, you'll always be mine

On a prickly path that goes on for miles
You're the only one who makes it all worthwhile

She abruptly stopped playing, her voice trailing off into silence. Even the wind had stopped, leaving the clearing without movement and without noise. For a long moment, the world held its breath, waiting to see what would happen. The stillness was broken when Buttercup suddenly began to sob, hunching her shoulders and hanging her head even lower. The tears that flowed down her cheeks were not the gentle, happy tears I had seen that morning. Buttercup cried without restraint and without finesse, her wailing echoing throughout the clearing and into the trees beyond. Her body trembled and shook with the strength of years of heartache.

Cautiously, I walked towards her, approaching her as if she were a wild animal that might bolt at the sight of me. Either due to me being careful, or her being distracted, or a combination of both, I was able to get all the way up to her without alerting her to my presence. As I stood beside her, I saw the crude, angular image that had been carved into the surface of the boulder above her head. The image depicted a mason jar filled with pear butter joined via a plus sign to a large apple with a bright star on its surface. The two were surrounded by a large heart.

I slowly knelt down beside Buttercup, whose crying had not abated in the slightest. “Mom,” I said softly, but loudly enough to be heard.

Buttercup’s eyes shot open, and she snapped her head to the side to look at me. She turned her head away just as quickly when she saw who I was. She vainly tried to stifle her sobs while raising a hand to her face and quickly wiping her soaked cheeks. “Anon!” she said. “Wha...what do you think you’re doin’! Don’t you know better than to sneak up on people while they’re...while they’re alone? Why, I have half a mind to—“

“Mom!” I said firmly. She fell silent, save for her barely restrained sobs. I raised my arm and placed it around her shoulders. At the same time, I put a hand on her chin and gently turned her head to face me. Her blue-green eyes were stained red, the product of much more than a minute of crying. Gazing into them, I saw her weakness, her vulnerability, and her fear laid bare. I could think of no words to comfort her, save for my own true feelings. “I miss him too.”

She held on for a moment more before her visage cracked, letting the flood flow forth once again. She leaned in and buried her face in my chest, her sobs muffled by my coat. I reached down and grasped the neck of her guitar, gently pulled it out of her grasp, and carefully set it aside. With her hands freed, Buttercup wrapped her arms around my middle, squeezing me tightly. I held her against me while reaching up and stroking the back of her head. I lowered my head and closed my eyes, nuzzling her voluminous hair just as I had done as a child.

She smelled of baked goods, of gingerbread, apple pie, and sweet rolls. The smell filled my mind with memories, sending me back in time to when I had been a young boy. Whenever I had been sad, whenever I had been scared, whenever I had been lonely, I could always count on my mother to be there for me. She would take me in her arms and hold me tight while I buried my face in her pillowy hair. She would caress my back, plant gentle kisses on my cheeks and forehead, and whisper calming words into my ear. I could always count her to support me, protect me, and comfort me.

But who could she count on? Where was my mother’s shoulder to cry on? A long time ago, the answer to that had been my father. I still remembered seeing them together in situations just like this one. My father would sit down and place my mother on his lap like a child. She would curl up against him while he wrapped his arms around her, making the big, strong woman appear so small and fragile. He had always been there for her, and in my childish naiveté, I had thought that there was nothing that could ever change that. I had eventually learned how wrong I was.

My father was gone, and no power in the world could bring him back to us. And as much as it hurt me to admit that, I imagined it must have hurt my mother ten times as much. I hated that. I hated seeing someone I cared for suffer so much and not be able to do a thing about it. I could work the orchard to keep food in her belly and a roof over her head, I could help her with her work to ease her burdens, I could even get her pretty clothes to make her smile, but in the end, I couldn’t fix the hole in her heart. I wished I could. If there was anything I could have done to make her whole again, I would have done it. Sadly, I was powerless to help her, powerless to do anything but hold her tight and cry right along with her over our shared loss.

Buttercup cried. She cried and cried and cried, then cried some more. She wondered why she was crying in the first place. To her, it seemed like the tears were flowing completely of their own accord, without any good reason for them. She had gone up to the tree to remember the man that had helped her plant it all those years ago. She had gone up there to remember the man who had been the love of her life. She had gone up there to remember the man who had made her the happiest woman in Equestria. So then why, she wondered, was she crying?

Why did it still hurt? After all these years, why did it still make her heart ache to think of him? It had been so long since it had happened. It had been so long that her children had become grown adults taller then she was. It had been so long that her youngest had lived more of her life without him than with him. And yet, all three of them had been able to bear with it. All three of them had become strong, independent, and capable people who never seemed bothered by what they had lost. Even his mother, who had known him even longer than she had, never seemed to let it get to her. So then why was she different? Why did it affect her so much more? Why was she weak, while the others were able to be strong?

She clung tightly to the man beside her, burying her face in his chest as a frightened child would do to their parent. He held her tightly against himself, gently stroking her head. It had been so long since a man had held her like that. His touch was comforting, but the feeling reminded her of when her lost love had done the same for her, which only refreshed her tears. She could have sat there in his arms for hours, bawling her eyes out, but something happened that inexplicably make her take pause.

The sound of gentle sobbing reached her ears, somehow detectable through the sound of her own loud sobs. The chest she clung to began to tremble, vibrating against her face. Deep within her heart awoke something that had been sleeping there for longer then she realized. It slowly spread through her body, dampening her own pain and filling her with purpose. Gradually, her sobbing diminished, letting her hear his crying even more clearly. She still breathed heavy, shuddering breaths, but she managed to prize open her drenched eyes. Slowly, she turned her head upwards, looking up into the face above hers.

Every time she looked into his face, it made her hurt just a little bit, so much did he remind her of the one she had lost. He had the same chin, he had the same nose, he had the same lips. He had the same smell of straw and sweat that came from working long hours on their farm. When he laughed, he laughed the same way, and when he cried, as he did then, he even cried the same. He was in pain, just as she was. But in her mind, even the smallest bit of pain felt by someone she loved as much as him was more important than all of her own suffering put together. She needed comfort, but he did as well.

Slowly, she raised a hand and placed it aside his face, lightly stroking his cheek. The effect was almost instant, his sobbing weakening by the second. Soon, he was merely breathing heavily, the stream of tears flowing from his eyes reduced to a small trickle. His eyes slowly opened, and he looked down into hers. She could see the pain in his eyes; she could feel his hurt as much as if it were her own. This man, this handsome, caring man before her needed her. It had been so long since she had comforted a man, but her body remembered what to do even better than she did. She moved her hand to the back of his head, closed her eyes, then pressed her lips against his.

Warmth spread through her cold body starting from her soft, plump lips and traveling all the way out to her fingers and toes. As her lips gently mashed against his, she felt her heart beat faster, her breath come more heavily, and her skin cover with goosebumps. She felt as if she were an old, rusty machine suddenly turned back on again after years of disuse. She smiled inwardly, the pain she had been feeling momentarily forgotten. It was as if she had been transported back in time and was once again lying in the arms of her husband, sharing a kiss with him as she had done countless times before. She felt the same comfort, the same peace of mind, the same happiness that she had back then, and she loved it.

And yet, something was off; some little detail jabbed at her mind and kept her from fully losing herself in her nostalgic feelings. She was kissing him, but he was not kissing her back. His lips were as stiff as the frozen ground she sat upon. Why was that? Why was her man not kissing his woman? Why was he not holding her as he used to, touching her as he used to? The nagging feeling grew and grew, until she could bear it no longer. She pulled back her head, breaking their semi-kiss, and slowly opened her eyes.

He stared down at her with wide eyes. Gazing into them, she could not see the love, caring, and affection she had expected to see. Instead, she saw only shock, fear, and embarrassment. His lips slowly parted, and he uttered a single word, “Mom.”

With that one word, her reverie shattered like glass, the broken pieces of her comfort scattering all over the ground. In the space of an instant, she was ripped out of her warm, loving fantasy and plunged back into her cold, lonely reality. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell agape as she slowly came to terms with her situation. The man holding her was not her dear, departed husband; he was not her man, and she was not his woman. He was her son, and she was his mother, and that was all.

Fear and shame filled the space in her heart where there had been happiness just moments before. She tried to open her mouth and speak, but her tongue felt as dry and limp as an old piece of leather. The gravity of what she had just done weighed heavily on her, crushing her down like a barrel of cider lashed to her back. She couldn’t speak, she couldn’t think, she couldn’t even look at him. All she could bring herself to do in her panic was to let go of him, scramble away from him, and run away as fast as she could, so that is what she did.

Her powerful legs, still strong after all these years, carried her to the tree line in moments. “Mom!” he called out to her, but she did not stop. “Mom, wait!” She barreled through the trees and shrubs wildly, paying no heed to which direction she was going. All she wanted was to get away from it all, get away from her sadness, her happiness, her fear, and her shame.

I stepped through the front door of my family’s farmhouse, slowly closing it behind me. In my hand was my mother’s guitar, wet with snow and tears. In my mind were a thousand questions, each more troubling than the last. On my face was nothing.

“Anon?” called Applejack from the kitchen. A moment later, she walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, quickly closing the distance between us. “Anon, what’s goin’ on? Mom ran straight up to her room and won’t come out. She won’t even talk to us! What happened out there?”

I slowly looked up at her, silently asking myself the same question. “AJ,” I said slowly, “we need to talk.”