Cal

Years ago, when you were a child of the ripe old age of 9, you spent the summer with your grandma. You met a boy your age and immediately became the best of friends with him. His name was Calvin but you always called him Cal. He taught you how to skip stones on the creek and the two of you competed for who could catch the most crickets. It was one of the best times of your life, innocent and carefree. You left, that September, with the promise to return the following year. But you never did. Your grandmother died shortly after and her house was sold. Her passing overshadowed any memories of seemingly endless summer days with Cal. A decade later, the two of you reunite. In college while with a few of his friends, Cal saw you studying under a tree nearby. He just had to see if it was you. He jokingly berated you for never returning and then asked you out to dinner, under the guise of catching up. Over the course of another decade, "old friends" became "just friends" became "dating" became "happily married." Cal often remarks how lucky he is to be with you and you feel exactly the same.