The Yellow Umbrella

Chapter Seventeen: Losing a Key

There's this common phrase.

What goes up, must come down.

It's super cheesy, I know. I never really experienced it until a warm spring day nearly three years ago.

She was sitting on the top front step of her house, bent over a drawing pad. You probably wouldn't believe me when I told you it was probably the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Sure there must have been places, people that were prettier, but to me she was incomparable. Like a scene taken from a movie, a painting ripped from The Met.

It was a particularly warm day for March, the chill of winter feeling far away, but not quite gone. We hadn't seen snow since Christmas, the New Year came in hot and heavy. By afternoon, everything would be kissed and golden by the sun, the promise of a hot summer coming. In my car, I stuck my hand out of the window and felt the warmth of the sun on my skin. The fresh air caressed my hand, sneaking into the sleeve of my windbreaker.

What could possibly ruin our day?

I pulled up to the front of her house, jumping her curb on accident with my tires. I pressed my eyes closed and groaned. Her mom just had a gardener come and service their yard. I stretched my neck and peered out the window. A few unbloomed tulips were crushed, their necks snapped along the edge of the yard. I readjusted the wheel and felt my car plunk down as I parked on the street.

She picked up her head.

I would never ever forget that smile, that crooked smile with the one front tooth that was ever so slightly chipped. Or that dimple on the right side of her mouth, blending in with every freckle sprawled across her face.

It was everything that made her so Mia.

She skipped over to my car.

I couldn't stop smiling. Like I physically could not, it was as if someone held invisible strings, holding my mouth hostage. But I couldn't have been a difficult hostage, I was willing. Mia just made me so happy.

"Hey," She smiled, resting her elbow on the edge of the window, "I think you killed some grass."

I cringed, "Oops. Is your dad gonna kill me? Should I go in and officially meet them as the grass killer?"

Mia made a face, but quickly shook it away, "Don't worry, I won't let him. But my mom might, when she finds out you killed her tulips."

The truth was, I really wanted to meet her parents. I wanted to see the people who made Mia, what parts of them they gave and took. Meeting her parents felt like the next step in our relationship, yet whenever I brought it up, she changed the subject. Sometimes I thought about bringing it up, but things felt so good between us, like calm waters. Why create waves?

I stretched across the passenger seat and swung the door open. Mia stepped back and froze, "I spoke too soon." She muttered.

The car door clipped a few more tulips in half.

Why were these stupid flowers so damn fragile?.

Mia laughed, stepped over the flowers, and hopped in the car, "Whatever, we'll blame it on the mailman. They still think he's the one who drove into the mailbox" She buckled her seat belt, "So, where to?"

"Well do you know what today is?" I asked, starting the car.

"Hmm, March eighth?" Mia said casually, looking out the window.

I pulled out of her development.

She tossed her denim jacket in the back and noticed a picnic basket on the seat, "Ooh what's this?"