Full Circle

"No. To force you to sit and listen. You can't duck into your room and shut the door."

She nodded. "Smart."

We ate in silence for a few minutes.

"I think you and I are a lot alike," I said, crunching into the top of my cone.

"Yeah," she agreed. "We don't like people. Only, you seem to have forgotten that. But one day you'll remember."

I shook my head. "That isn't it. I like people. I'm just not comfortable around most of them."

She studied my face. "Okay. If that's not it, what is it?"

I finished the rest of my cone, then used a napkin to wipe the streaks of chocolate from my fingers. "We've both had someone in our family leave us."

I waited for Katie to finish her cone, then passed her an extra napkin.

"When my wife died," I continued, "it was hard. I needed her in my life, and she left me. That hurt. It hurt so much."

Katie watched me but said nothing.

"I came up with a plan to protect myself. I decided that if I didn't need anyone, then no one could hurt me."

"Good for you."

"Then I met you and your mom. I really liked you. Both of you. And I feel like you started to like me too."

She crossed her arms. "Maybe a little."

"You and your mom made me remember how nice it felt to care about someone. To need someone. That scared me. A lot."

"So you just ran?"

I nodded. "I pushed you and your mom away. I acted like I didn't care about you, but only because I was terrified of how much I did care."

"That's pretty fucked up."

"I know. And I'm sorry, Katie. I'm so sorry for hurting you. "

She hesitated. "My mom and I were doing just fine before you showed up."

"I know you were."

"And we'll do just fine after you decide to run again."

"That's what I need you to understand. I'm not going anywhere."

"Yeah, right."

"I mean it. I love your mom. I plan to be with her—and her daughter—for as long as she'll have me."

Katie stared at me for a long time. Her face was inscrutable.

"I have to get back to studying."

I nodded. Whatever she was thinking, she wasn't ready to tell me. I'd have to wait.

Two weeks later, I had my answer.

*******

"What is it exactly that we're here to see?" Sandra asked.

She and Katie trailed behind me as I led them through the wheat field. I'd asked them to stop over after Sandra finished work at the library.

"Another crop circle," I said.

The afternoon sun scorched the back of my neck. It was hot for early June.

Sandra stopped. "Wait. You can't think Katie was involved?"

I turned and shot Katie a glance, then resumed walking.

"Absolutely not," Sandra said. "She would never do that again. I know her. You know her."

"I'm not accusing anyone," I said. "It just looks a lot like what we saw last year. Thought you might want to see for yourself."

"Other kids were involved last year," Sandra said. "I'm sure one of them did it."

"Probably," I said.

We emerged into a small circle of flattened wheat. Sitting in the middle of the circle was a drone. I squatted beside it and pulled out my phone. I fiddled with the controls for a few moments, then walked back to join Sandra and Katie at the edge of the circle.

I pointed to my phone's screen. "Video from the drone displays here. It's a live feed."

"I don't see why this is necessary," Sandra said. "My daughter had nothing to do with this."

The drone whirred and began to rise into the air.

I sighed. "See, that's the thing. I saw her. Last night in this very field. I watched her make it."

"No. That's not possible." Sandra spun to face her daughter. "Katie?"

At first, Katie said nothing. She glanced at me, then back to her mother. When she spoke, her voice was soft. "It's true."

As the drone rose higher, the design displayed on my phone screen began to take shape. The circle in which we were standing formed a small dot in the lower-right corner.

Sandra didn't notice. She was staring at her daughter in disbelief. I tapped my phone screen to draw her attention. "Look."

Sandra turned to look at the phone. She squinted and leaned closer. Then she froze.

The drone was high enough now that the entire design filled the screen. The wheat had been carefully bent to form seven simple letters:

MARRY ME?

Sandra stared at the screen, then snapped upright. Her eyes locked onto mine.

"What is this?" Her eyes flitted down to the phone screen, then back up to me, then over to Katie. "Did you make this?"

Katie smiled. "James and I made it together."

Sandra's head shot toward me. "Is this ... is this a joke?"

I shook my head. "I asked Katie for help last week. She snuck out last night and I drove her over. She had the design all mapped out."

Sandra glanced at her daughter. Katie nodded, and Sandra's eyes welled with tears.

The wind rippled through the top of the wheat. The stalks at the edge of the design danced and swayed around us.

I dropped to one knee. Katie pulled out her phone as I retrieved a small box from my pocket and cracked it open. The sun exploded from the diamond's facets in brilliant flashes of color.

"Sandra Parades," I began.

Before I could finish, Sandra dropped to her knees in the flattened wheat and flung her arms around my neck.

"Yes," she whispered. "My answer is yes."

*******

"This is one of my favorites."

Katie pointed to a photograph near the front of the album that showed her mother—wearing an elegant white dress—laughing alongside Katie, her parents, and me.

Sandra nodded. "I love that one too."

The album was a gift from Sandra. In keeping with the first anniversary theme of paper, she had assembled a scrapbook of our first year as a family: photos, receipts, movie ticket stubs, printed screenshots of silly text threads, excerpts from her favorite love poems, and a copy of our marriage certificate.

It was perfect.

If it weren't for the photographic evidence, I wouldn't have believed a year had already passed. We'd had small wedding in early October at Sandra's church, followed by a reception at the farm.

My parents and my brothers, Eric and Tom, flew out. Some of Sandra's coworkers joined us, and Maria drove in from Illinois. The guests of honor were Sandra's parents, who had made the trip from Ecuador.

We didn't tell Katie they were coming. When she got home from school a few days before the wedding and spotted them sitting on the porch swing, she burst into tears.

She sat sandwiched between them for hours, chatting about school and soccer, introducing them to Luna, and bragging about how she'd stained the entire porch last year.

Once we'd finished looking at the last page of the anniversary scrapbook Sandra had made, I rose from the couch. "Well, I guess it's my turn."

I walked to the kitchen, retrieved a white business envelope from a drawer, and handed it to Sandra.

She grinned. "Love the wrapping. Very romantic!"

I shrugged. "You know me."

Sandra opened the envelope and retrieved three rectangular pieces of paper. She stared at them, a bewildered look on her face.

"Come on, Mom!" Katie said. "What did he get you?"

Sandra looked at me. "Are these ... plane tickets?"

I nodded. "Well, they're just placeholders for now. We have to pick the dates, get passports lined up, all that sort of thing. But yeah. Three tickets to Ecuador."

Katie leaned forward on the couch. "Shut up! Are you being serious right now?"

"James," Sandra said, "this is ... amazing, but can we really afford it?"

"We've had two great seasons in a row. We can afford it."

Sandra rose from the couch. "I love you," she said, pulling me into a kiss.

Katie made a gagging sound. "Old people kissing. So gross."

"Who are you calling old?" Sandra scolded.

"Hey, you can't get mad at me," Katie said. "I got you guys an anniversary gift too."

"You didn't need to get us anything," I said.

"I know. If anything, you two owe me."

"How do you figure?" Sandra asked.

"Isn't it obvious? My wanton destruction of property was the catalyst for your love!"

I laughed while Sandra rolled her eyes. Katie disappeared upstairs, then returned with a rectangular package wrapped in light blue paper.

"Here," she said, handing it to me. Her face suddenly looked nervous.

I glanced at Sandra, then unwrapped the paper and lifted the lid from the box. Inside was a charcoal sketch. It depicted Sandra and me, with Katie standing between us. We were all smiling.

The same joy with which Heather imbued her sketches also shone through in Katie's work. The sketch wasn't just a portrait of us, of our new family. It was a window into how Katie felt about our family. It was a portrait of happiness and love.

I now understood why Katie looked so nervous. She didn't want me to view her gift as an attempt to overshadow Heather's work. She probably also worried that she was inserting herself and her mother into my life in a way that somehow dishonored Heather's memory.

She was wrong. Her gesture didn't diminish my love for Heather. It amplified that love.

"Heather's artwork is really special to you," Katie stammered. "I know that. And I'm not trying to ... I just thought ... you know ... first anniversary is paper and—"

I silenced her by pulling her into a tight hug.

"It's beautiful," I whispered, kissing the top of her head. "I know just where we'll hang it."

Katie hesitated for a moment, then wrapped her arms around me and hugged me back. Sandra's arms enveloped both of us.

The following year, Sandra and Katie helped me plant milo. I think they enjoyed being a part of my work, and I enjoyed sharing it with them.

Milo seeds have a hard, glossy coat. The tough shell protects the seed against things that might hurt it: insects, birds, disease. At a glance, you might mistake a single seed for a pebble—lifeless and inert.

But it's not.

Inside that shell, it's alive. Dormant. Waiting for the right conditions to burst free and grow.

*******

Author's Note

I'm not a farmer, but a few folks who are farmers were kind enough to share their knowledge with me. My sincere thanks to PapaRomantic, deltablues65, and another anonymous reader for educating me about wheat farming. Any inaccuracies that remain are my own dumb fault. Thanks also to Demosthenes384bc for reading an earlier draft of this story.

Lastly, thank you for reading. If you made it this far, consider clicking a star below to vote or posting a quick comment. My goal is to improve as a writer, and I sincerely value constructive feedback.