I don’t know when I realized I loved the boy with the pink roses.  Perhaps it was his wide smile as he gave me a cluster of roses after I had finished my dance recital.  Maybe it was when on Valentine’s day, my parents had to bring in a bouquet from my porch, or the single blush rose I carried around all that day.  Maybe I just fell in love with the smile that showed on my face as I was given with these bunches.  Either way I loved the boy with the pink roses.

            We’d been dating for close to two years after he asked me out when we were sophomores, though the thought of having a future with Caspian still made me confused. 

Therefore, the majority of our relationship was spent trying to create memories that would last a lifetime even if we didn’t.  That’s why the advertisement for the World’s Greatest Pie stood out to me.  I loved adventures that seemed like the journey would be worth more than the destination, they were the adventures I looked for.  I showed the newspaper clipping to him and he smirked. 

“That sounds like us,” was all he said.  It was the summer before we both left, I needed one more memory.

I don’t know why Caspian wanted to create these memories, perhaps he did really want to have memories to tell our possible children one day.  I knew however that I just wanted to have something to remember him by. While the roses always died, tossed into my trash can, crushed and browned pink as well as the brown dried out stems, my memories wouldn’t die.  I wanted something to remember the boy with the pink roses by even if he wasn’t there beside me. [?]

~

            His car smelled like him, like mints and roses.  He had adorned me with a bouquet the morning we left and I sat them in an empty lemonade bottle I had left in his car from a previous adventure.  It was the time we broke into my mom’s office building.  I had stolen her key one night and after driving to his house the key burning a hole in my pocket.  We got into his truck and together we trespassed.  We didn’t cause any harm, just spent hours in the office chairs twirling until we couldn’t see or walk straight.  My mom only found out by the Altoid container left on her desk.  It was partially how she knew Caspian, he always had a metal case surrounding 75 mints in his pocket.  It was the type of thing I could rely on when it was on of the constants that I loved. 

This time there was a box of Altoids sat in the gap above his gear shift, below the stereo which was blasting a compilation CD I had made.  The used red pickup truck in his moment could not have belonged to anyone else.

            “So, tell me,” he started and I reached to turn the music down.  “Why is this the World’s Greatest Pie?”

            “Well, Cas,” I reached into my wallet to bring out the piece of paper.

The ad had yellowed slightly, but not as harshly as the yellow background, a piece of apple pie sat on a white plate with the words “World’s Greatest Pie,” written in all caps across the top, below that “Miami’s City Diner,” was written.  On the bottom of the ad, there was an address which I had looked up and scrawled in black pen. 

“It just is,” I shrugged.

“We certainly need to discover if that is the case or not,” he stated and I laughed at his seriousness.

We were quiet, letting the music fill the space where our words could have hung.  The song was upbeat and I mouthed the words.  I liked sitting in silence with him, there were no expectations.  He was always the one to end our silence.

“Amelia?” I looked at the boy who sat next to me.  “Do you mind if I have a cigarette?” he asked, I nodded slowly. 

He opened the window beside him as did I, this was the constant that I didn’t like.  It was the reason he had Altoids stored in all parts of his life.  It was the scent that the roses and mints masked.  It was the scent that made my head hurt and the words that made my heart drop.  The part of us that I was not a fan of.  I didn’t like the smell that clouded our clothes or the reminder that while I loved the boy with the pink roses with every fiber of my being, he wasn’t perfect and there wasn’t anything I could do about that.

I grew quiet as he lit his cigarette, this time it wasn’t so that I could hear the music, this was so that I didn’t yell.  It only took a matter of two songs for him the white tube to calm him down and when it did, his hand still dangled outside while he pulled off the highway to find a gas station.

“We needed gas anyway,” he told me and I nodded.  He knew I didn’t like the smell, but that wasn’t why he was getting gas.  The caring boy would never litter in fear of hurting an animal.

The car rolled into a Speedway where he pulled into pump six and turned off the car. 

“Cas, I’m getting a soda,” was my excuse to leave the car.  We were about 75% done with our journey, though I had begun to grow antsy sitting in a car.  The smell of smoke only made it worse and he knew that.  Soon, I had exited the store and we were back on the road.

~

            “This pie better be the best damn thing in the world, Amelia,” Cas said after a yawn.

            “It will be, what company would falsely advertise,” I said sarcastically and he laughed.  The windows that were still down caused the wind to breeze through my red tinted curls.

            “Have I ever mentioned how much I love your hair?” he asked and I giggled.  It was a fact he reminded me of daily.

            “You’ve mentioned it maybe once or twice.”

            “Well I love your hair, but do you know what I love more than your hair,” he asked and I bit my lip.

            “What?”

            “I love you,” he said and I grinned wide.

            “I love you too, Cas,” I could hear him smiling even though I was looking at the roses. 

Their pink petals had not yet turned brown on the edges.  They were still a light pink, like the color of cotton candy or that beautiful moment in the sunset or sunrise where the oranges and blues, blend to create pink clouds on a darker rosy background.  They were still safe, they were alive.

~  

            We got to the diner around two o’clock.  Plaques of awards hung in the window, and inside were red booths and black checkered floors.  Gripping his hand I felt safe in this old little diner; I felt home.

            “How many?” a woman with the nametag Sugar, asked the two of us.

            “Two.”  She led us to a booth in the back.

            “Can I get you guys something to drink,” her soothing southern accent told me she wasn’t from here.

            “Just a water,” he spoke, she turned her head to me.

            “Is your lemonade pink or yellow?” I asked and she smiled.

            “Pink,” was her response.

            “May I have that?” she scribbled it down into her notebook.  After she had left our table I was left staring at my boyfriend who beamed at me.  “What?” I giggled, his smile was contagious.

            “You’re so adorable,” he said and I smiled wider, “Because I know you wouldn’t have gotten the lemonade if it was yellow.”

            “Is my borderline obsession with the color ‘pink’ amusing to you?” I giggled, to which he nodded.

            We both grabbed a pie menu and read over our options.

            “Fudge Pie,” our words came out in unison and when Sugar returned with our drinks, I ordered for the two of us.  We sipped on our drinks while we waited, our minds filling with imagining how good this pie would be, considering that we’d been promised the greatest.

            It arrived, a brown clump of brownie batter on a pie crust, dotted with whipped cream.  The plate was tinted yellow from years of use and the forks were crooked, the tongs out of line with the others.  I took a deep breath, he did too.  We were both bracing ourselves for what was hopefully delicious, though it didn’t look that appetizing.

We each grabbed a fork and counted down, our voices in sync.

Three.  I bit my lip.

Two.  He smiled.

One.  We took a bite. 

            I watched as his face turned on something of disgust as I imagined mine did the same.  The overly artificially sweetened taste was prominent in the lumpy pie.  He reached for the paper napkin the same time I did, the taste lingered in my mouth and I took a sip of my lemonade to wash it down though it only made the mixture taste sour.  I just gaged stole Caspian’s water, this finally cured the gross flavor.

            “Oh f,” Cas muttered after spitting his pie piece into a napkin.  I nodded.  Our lumpy pie-filled napkins sat on the plate of the now untouched pie.  We sat there for about ten minutes mumbling curse words under our breaths. When the check landed on our table as Sugar passed by, he quickly paid and we left the restaurant.

            It wasn’t until sitting in his truck that we spoke again to each other.

            “That was hell, Amelia.”  We spent so many f*ing hours driving there and spent so much gas money for that shit,” he told me and I nodded, he wasn’t angry, more frustrated; it was an emotion that I knew all too well.

            “I know, but it isn’t my fault,” I replied. 

“It was your idea,” he stated and I rolled my eyes. 

“It was a fun journey,” I told him, he just shrugged.

I looked out the roses again, the edges had browned.

~

            We were an hour into our car ride home when his truck began to slow, and the car became slightly lopsided as he pulled into the grass median.

            “What was that?” I asked though he didn’t reply, hopping out of the vehicle to go view the damage.  I followed suit and soon saw what he was staring at. 

The back tire was sunken to the ground and the entire car was slanted, the already peeling red paint and the large dent on the fender from when he got t-boned last March made it like it should belong in a horror movie. 

“Do you know how to fix a flat?” I asked and he looked at me.

            “I’ve had this car for almost three years, Amelia.  I’m not an idiot,” he snapped.

 I watched as he opened the bed of his truck, going to grab the tools.  He positioned the jack under the car and began to try to raise the car.  I sat on the ground.  I wasn’t good when he was frustrated, I just tried to get myself out of the way and avoid any arguments.

            I watched his hands begin to shake as he loosened the screws of his tires before placing the jack underneath the car.

            “Do you need help?” I asked and he sighed loudly.

            “Amelia, I need a f*ing cigarette, but you won’t let me,” he said and I groaned.

            “If you need a cigarette, just smoke one.  It’s not my problem, Cas,” I told him and he rolled his eyes.  He walked to his window and grabbed his pack of Marlboro cigarettes and clear BIC lighter.  

            “Amelia, I see that look in your eyes, like you’re so much better than me.” He began to raise his voice and I just groaned. 

            “You promised me that you wouldn’t get addicted, you said it was a bad habit and that you wouldn’t ever get addicted, yet here you are.  You’re f*ing addicted and you’re on the side of the road shaking because you haven’t smoked in what four hours.  Do you know what that’s called, Caspian?  That’s called being f*ing addicted,” I screamed.  “And I can’t do it anymore,” my voice dropped off at the end.  Tears glistened in my eyes and I watched as his face softened.

  He calmly lit the cigarette and began to smoke.  I watched as the white cylinder turned orange on the edges and embers fell to the ground.  Smoke rose after he blew it out.  I turned my head away to the car the smoke beginning to hurt my head, through the window I saw the petals wilted from the summer’s heat, I took a deep breath.  When he finished the cigarette, he moved to lean against the car looking at me.

            “Do you think I like smoking?” he asked in a calm tone and I shrugged.  “Why do you think I have mints?  Why do I buy roses to mask the smell and roll my windows down?”

            “Then why don’t you get help?” I asked him, we were tranquil, I wanted to last in this moment, but Caspian had other plans.

            “I don’t need help, Amelia, I was doing f*ing fine until you came along.”

            “I’ve been ‘along’ for two f*ing years, Caspian.  And I love you, but I can’t fill my lungs with smoke because you refuse to get help.  I can’t pretend that you don’t have a problem even though every time I smell your smoke I get a headache.  I just can’t do it anymore,” I yell desperately, I didn’t want to let this go. 

I thought of one of our memories: the time we sat out on his balcony watching a common Florida storm.  The thunder crackled above us and the rain poured from the sky, but we were protected under the awning.  We just sat up there, his arms wrapped around me as he held my chest every time I flinched from the storm.  The lightning hit a tree in front of his house and it split almost perfectly, the fire that started was quickly put out by the rain.  I felt as vulnerable as that tree now.

“This isn’t your decision, Amelia.  You don’t get to decide what I fill my lungs with, they’re my lungs,” he spoke angrily.

“That’s what I’ve been telling myself for years, but it is my decision if I stay with you. And I can’t do that if you keep smoking.” 

            “Do you mean that,” he asked.

            “Yeah, I do.  I can’t−”

            “Amelia−” he started, cutting me off.

            “I can’t do this anymore, I said I would never do this, but this has to stop.”

            “Amelia−” he tried once more.

“It’s me or the cigarettes, Cas,” I sounded desperate, I was desperate.  I needed to get my ultimatum across. 

“Amelia, don’t do this, don’t leave,” he begged.

“Choose dammit,” I yelled.

“You wouldn’t love me the same even if I chose you.  You would always have this doubt that I wasn’t right for you.  You’re going off to college, Amelia.  Face it, you’re over me,” Cas sighed.  We both knew it was accurate.  I was leaving for college in New York, he was staying in Florida.  We wouldn’t work.

            “So, this is it?” I asked.

            “I guess it is.”

~

            I left his beat-up car that day with my last bouquet and his mints.  The roses sat on my bookshelf until their petals dislodged themselves from the stem.   It was then that I stored the pieces in a wintergreen Altoid container.

            Setting the container open on my desk in college, my room mints and roses, like the smell of his car and like the smell of the boy with the pink roses.