Glee is eating peaches with my little sister, our faces inches from each other while we both bite into our half of the peach at the same time, foreheads knocking. Her face smiles while she chews, and I laugh at her expression, her adorable face scrunched up, framed by bright red braids that still attempt to curl into ringlets. We go in for another bite.
It's been a long time since I've eaten fresh peaches, several months at the least. I don't remember. It's been even longer since I've eaten peaches that weren't a horrible disappointment to me.
I love peaches. Call it the fact that I grew up in the Peach State, or the fact that peaches are honestly the best fruit on the face of the planet, I love peaches, and they will always hold a special place in my heart.
It wasn't baby's first peach. It won't be her last. But what was important, for that little moment we shared, was that it was our peach.
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