# Apples Dont Fall Far From the Tree - by Sean McAron (~BBW, Eating, Romance, ~MWG)



## Observer (Sep 21, 2006)

_~BBW, Extreme Eating, Romance, ~MWG_ - A son discovers a beautiful secret about his late parents, and also better understands himself

*Apples Don't Fall Far FRom rthe Tree
by Sean McAron​*
When my father Michael died early this summer, he left everything to me. My mother passed away nearly fifteen years ago. For years my wife and I have been begging Dad to clear out some of the accumulated junk of a lifetime in his house; still, he kept procrastinating. 

It was up to me to dispose of everything after the funeral so we could sell the house. I took two weeks off from work, got a ten-yard dumpster and set to work. 

I was able to sell most of the big stuff at a tag sale and most of what was left went to the Salvation Army. About the only things I kept were a dozen boxes of papers, some of which I thought might be important. It was while going through some of these papers that I found a small batch of letters which made my jaw drop. They were letters my mother had sent to my father during a time in the mid-50s, not long after they were married and before I was born. My father was away on business for four months and during that time, my mother discovered something about herself. 

I read the letters over and over again. 

_Dear Michael,

I spent last night at a dinner party at my mother's house. The only thing that could have made the evening more exciting for me would have been your presence. I missed you terribly, thinking of you every moment, even though you've only been gone one day. Before I even realized it, I had decided to go along with your request, and from the moment of that decision onward, I felt a freedom such as I've never felt before. 

Ever since you left, I've been thinking of nothing but our last conversation. I can still hardly believe that you said what you did. The idea that the thing I find most imperfect about myself is one of the things you most admire is, admittedly, difficult to understand and even more difficult to believe. It is only because I know how much you love me and how much I love you that I even allowed the discussion to continue. 

If I had been in the least uncertain of your affection and sincerity, I should have asked you to take me home then demanded you leave our house for good. And, yet, if that had occurred, I should have missed out on an adventure. It is one that I am sure will be as enjoyable to me as it's effects will be to you. 

My writing of this decision, though, is only a confirmation from my mind of something my body decided before I even knew it. But I know I am getting ahead of my story. So, back to the party.

Mother had asked me to please arrive at five so I could help her organize. The company was to be four couples from my father's office, including his boss. He's up for a promotion, as you know, so it was all very important that everything be perfect. 

Unfortunately, at five-fifteen, when the kitchen girl was supposed to be there, she called instead and told my mother that she would not be able to come. Mother started crying in frustration, but I saved the day by suggesting that instead of being a spare wheel, I could be the kitchen help. 

So, there I was, in a kitchen filled to the rafters with food, feeling lonely and missing you already, and wondering how I would survive the next four months without you. I don't even think I realized it for quite some time, but, as I was putting the canapés and hors d'oeuvres on the serving platters, I was picking at them, nibbling here and there. I started feeling full, but told myself it was okay, since I'd eaten nothing since my chicken-salad sandwich at lunchtime. 

The company began arriving at six, and my mother was able to mingle and entertain, because I had things under control in the kitchen. Frankly I feel I was doing much better than any help would have. I was also eating much more than any help would have. Every time I brought back an appetizer tray with just one or two items on it, I put them in my mouth instead of in the garbage. No one was the wiser.

I served salad and soup, eating a bowl of each in the kitchen while I plattered the roast beef and the side dishes. Dad came in the kitchen to carve, since the table was just barely big enough for the ten of them. He then went back out, while I made up the plates, helping myself to a piece of roast beef here, a spoonful of mashed potatoes there, some onions in cream sauce, a dinner roll, some more roast beef. 

I had to loosen the apron for the second time before I brought out the main courses. When everyone was served, Mother insisted that I make up a plate for myself and join them. And this is when I made my decision. I was already completely stuffed, having eaten the equivalent of two or three dinners already. 

I could have said that I'd eat later or that I wasn't hungry, but instead, I thought of you. I thought of your hand lovingly rubbing my soft belly. I thought of your request, strange as it was, that I gain some weight because you'd always fantasized about me being fat. 

I realized that by denying you your fantasy, I'd be denying myself pleasure, and what would be the purpose of all this denying? I told Mother that I'd join them as soon as I finished powdering my nose. 

In the bathroom, I hurriedly removed my girdle, feeling a great relief as my already full belly swelled out, free of its confinement. I tried to look at myself through your eyes, seeing the roundness of my stomach as "beautiful and womanly", to use your words. I must confess, I cannot see the beauty in it yet, but I am willing to believe that you do. 

Returning from the bathroom, I found that Mother had placed a large helping of roast beef, potatoes and all of the other side dishes on a plate for me. I ate quickly, not wanting to still be eating when everyone else had finished. We chatted for a little while as, with great effort, I managed to eat everything in front of me. 

I could feel my stomach testing the skill of the seamstress who sewed my dress. I got a little thrill as the conversation turned to your whereabouts. After explaining your absence, I helped myself to another serving of nearly everything, filling my belly to bursting as I talked about you. While clearing the table, it was all I could do to hold my belly in. 

Nonetheless, Mother noticed the effects of my overindulgence, and told me that you would be home in just four months and that I shouldn't let myself go. 

I told her it was just a phase. I was sure I'd settle down and get control in plenty of time for your return. 

She kissed me and told me that, of course you'd be thrilled just to see me after so long an absence. Still, I should try to make it a special homecoming by looking just the way you'd want me to. 

With that in mind, I treated myself to four slices of pie! I'm sure Mother had no idea just how her advice would inspire me! When I got home, I felt fuller than I've ever felt before. I could do nothing but fall asleep hugging my round stomach. 

I'm writing this in the morning, with my stomach still feeling quite full. As soon as I finish this letter, I am going to eat a large breakfast, then plan out my meals for the rest of the week. I'm sure I won't be eating as much at each sitting as I did last night, but I shall endeavor to overindulge whenever I can. 

I cannot wait to hear from you let alone see you again. 

Love always,
Your Linda 

My Dearest Michael,

I must say, your letters are quite "erotic". I am only worried that someone 
might read them and think that we are some decadent "hipsters". Nonetheless, I couldn't bear to miss a word of your thoughts. 

My "project" is going along quite well. I have gained seventeen pounds all told and I am bulging out of every piece of clothing I own. I have even outgrown the clothes I bought just two weeks ago. I cannot imagine how fat I will be by the time you come home in three months. Actually, two months, three weeks and four days. 

You asked about my weight and measurements, so here they are. My bust (I think that is the first time I have ever written that word!) measures 37 inches at its fullest, while my chest measures 33. I am overflowing my brassiere. My waist (at least what there is left of it!) measures 32 inches and my hips are measuring just a hair under 40 inches. I can barely get my panties up over my thighs! When I got on the bathroom scale this morning, it told me I weighed 159 pounds. 

My weight gain is not going unnoticed. When I went to the grocer yesterday, I met Diane from around the corner. We got to talking and she said that something about me looked different. She asked if I had changed my hair. I could see that she was glancing at my belly that was very obvious in my sheath skirt. I told her that my hair was the same, but that I'd gained a few pounds. 

She said she's gotten quite large since she married Henry and that we should probably try reducing together. We agreed to meet on Sunday evening to prepare our "diet" for the week. She said that was a good night since Henry would be bowling, so I told her to come over our house and I would cook us some dinner. We'll be weighing and measuring ourselves then, so I'll refrain from doing it myself until then. Maybe there'll be some "news" to report! 
Your loving wife,

Linda 

Dear Michael,

Diane has gone home and I am writing to let you know of my evil nature! I feel a little guilty, but that doesn't take away from the fun! 

I spent the whole day cooking like a fiend, so when Diane arrived at six, dinner was all prepared. She immediately caught the aroma of baking cake, so 

I wasted no time in setting forth my lie that would be the premise for the entire evening. 

I told her that I'd read an article just that week in one of the women's magazines which said that the most successful diets involve a great deal of preparation. One of the most important preparations, I told her the article claimed, was a pre-diet feast. 

She said she hadn't heard of that before. 

I told her that a scientific survey proved that our "willpower" works best when it has some recent event to react against. When one feasts oneself into discomfort immediately before beginning a reducing plan, our bodies remember how terrible they felt after the feast and so they have no problem with the deprivation of a reducing diet. 

She said that sounded logical, and I almost believed myself! However, I knew that the article I'd read had actually shown the opposite! 

I suggested we weigh and measure ourselves before the meal, so we both removed our clothes, then our girdles, until we were stripped down to our bras and panties. Although we were practically the same height, Diane appeared much heavier than me. When I took out the tape measure, it was confirmed. 

Now, I feel a little funny giving you such private details about another woman, but I'm only doing it because you know how big she is and I want you to have something to compare my gain with. Diane measured 41 inches at the bust, 37 at the waist and 47 inches at her hips. She weighed 192 pounds. My measurements were only a little different from earlier in the week: 371/2-33-40. My weight belied such small increase in those measurements, because it had increased by nearly five pounds to 164. 

Once we'd finished measuring, we spent the rest of the evening overindulging and having a great deal of fun. We started with franks-in-blankets as appetizers, moved on to a creamy mushroom soup, then a spinach and bacon salad, followed by a meatloaf ring with creamed spinach, buttered broccoli, and sautéed potato balls. There was three pounds of ground beef and pork in the meatloaf, but we left not even a crumb! We had a good-natured competition in all of our gorging and if anyone had peeked in our window, they would have been treated to the very unusual sight of two fat women feasting in their underwear! 

While we ate, we planned our skimpy meals for the week, then, while looking over our plan of deprivation, the two of us devoured an entire chocolate fudge layer cake, giggling as we fought to scoop up the last scrap of icing with our fingertips! Neither one of us could move after that, so we just sat back groaning about how full we were and how fat we were and how we'd have no trouble if we never ate again. 

When we were finally able to move, I suggested we weigh and measure again. I said it would be very encouraging if we started from this ridiculously inflated point and therefore, could see an immediate loss. 

Diane agreed and it was back to the measuring tape, where the score was this way. Diane: 41-39-47, 198 pounds. Linda: 371/2-36-401/2, 170 pounds! (I'm not sure why my hips increased, but I'm sure we measured correctly. 
After she'd struggled back into her clothes, we agreed to meet the next Sunday night at her place for another weighing and measuring session, but WITHOUT the feast! 

Now, I'm going to finish this letter and go to sleep, dreaming of you. 
I Love You Always,
Your (fat) wife, Linda 

Dear Michael,

Time is rushing by. I cannot believe that it is less than two months until you come home! I know I had great reservations about gaining weight for you. Now I am having so much fun both getting fat and being fat, that I feel a great pressure to redouble my efforts in the time remaining. I want you to be bowled over when I meet you at the airport. I want to feel your passion consume me the way I am consuming every bit of food in my path! 

The extra money you sent in your last letter went to good use. I bought three new pair of panties in the largest size they had. Next time I need a bigger size, I will have to go to the Matron's department! I also purchased two new bras at the Sears store, since they are the only ones that carry a 40 bra with a D-cup. With the leftover money, I bought two pounds of Whitman's chocolates and finished them all in two nights! 

Diane has canceled our Sunday night meeting again. She's been doing this now for the last three weeks. In fact, since the first feast at our house and the next meeting at her house where we each had gained five pounds instead of losing, we have not gotten together. She says that this is a bad time for her since Henry and his brothers are feuding over their father's will, and she just can't concentrate on a diet. I told her she should let me know whenever she's ready to start over again and we'll have another "reducing feast." She agreed that it was a very enjoyable way to start a diet. 

Well, that's all for now. I dream of you every night, imagining your strong hands all over my soft body. I know you will be home soon, but I wish you were here now. 

Love always,

Your (hungry) wife 

P.S. I almost forgot my measurements: 381/2-37-421/2, 179 pounds! _


----------



## Observer (Sep 21, 2006)

_My Darling Michael,

Only 38 days until I see you again, and only 38 days until you see ALL of me! I feel so wonderfully big right now, I can only imagine how much bigger I will be when you come home! I cannot believe that I ever hesitated about gaining weight for you. 

I have never felt so alive and so free as I do now. Whereas before, my body was something to be ashamed of or to ignore or to try to fight its natural tendencies, ever since I have started getting fat, my body is something to be enjoyed, to be flaunted and to be catered to. 

I FEEL my body now, in all its marvelous ripeness. My hips bump into things, my belly commands me to eat, my breasts are like a metronome to my stride. I am constantly reminded of my size and I am constantly aroused. 

I did as you wished with the money you sent in your last letter, and came home from the bakery with a seven-layer cake, a black-forest cake, a devil's food cake, an apple pie, a pecan pie, a dozen doughnuts and a half-dozen eclairs. Then I closed all the blinds, got undressed down to my birthday suit, turned on the radio and danced and ate and danced and ate until every last crumb, every last bit of icing was in my monstrous belly. It took nearly five hours and when I was done, I felt dizzy and dreamy and more gorged than I'd ever imagined I could be. 

I fell asleep on the couch and I dreamed, as I dream most nights, of you laying beside me, caressing my rolls of fat with your hands and your mouth. My dreams have become more explicit and I long for intimacy. I am so filled with lust, my thoughts often shock me in their animalistic frankness. I hope I am not scaring you with my forthrightness. I hope you are not expecting that the changes in my body would not be reflected in my mind. This increase in my appetite has served to increase ALL my appetites, but my appetite for your love is still the strongest. 

Longing for you,

Your desirous wife 

Dear Michael,

I'm glad I didn't scare you with my frankness. I'm glad beyond words that my desires are matched by yours. I also hope that you were able to put aside your loneliness and your longing that you might enjoy yourself on Independence Day. 

It's because you're such a nice person yourself that the people you are working with were kind enough to invite you to a barbecue, so you wouldn't have to spend the day alone. I hope you had a wonderful time. I hope, as you do, that you were able to watch your chubby secretary Maryanne as she stuffed herself, while pretending it was me you were watching. I say this knowing that I trust you implicitly and I know that you would never betray me, nor would you ever even look at another woman if it weren't for this separation which is driving the two of us to the edge of insanity. 

My Fourth of July brought me to my biggest excess yet, since I went to two barbecues. The first was at Mother's house, where she was expecting thirty people. I spent the morning helping her prepare the salads and the cakes and the hamburgers. When everything was as ready as it could be, we finally took a break for the half-hour before the guests began to arrive. 

That was when my mother asked me if I had told you of my "changes" since you'd left. I asked her if she meant my weight gain, and when she said yes, I told her that you knew. She asked if I had been honest and told you of the extent of my weight gain, because she didn't think it was something I would want to surprise you with after such a long separation. 

I felt a little wicked, so I asked her if she really thought I had gained a lot of weight, because I knew I'd gained a few pounds. I told her I didn't think it was that terribly much. 

Then, she hugged me and told me that she knew it was difficult being alone, but that I should really take a long, honest look at myself and try to better myself in the time remaining before you returned. 

I said I would, and that after that party, I would go on a rigorous diet so you would not be disappointed when you saw me. 

She hugged me again, and then told me to go enjoy myself as much as I wanted, so the next morning I could start dieting with no regrets. 

For the rest of that afternoon, I ate with all abandon. Mother even encouraged me to eat whenever she spied me with an empty plate. All told, I had seven hamburgers, five hotdogs, several platefuls of coleslaw, macaroni salad, potato salad and baked beans. Then I finished up with several large helpings of ambrosia, two giant slices of blackout cake and half an apple pie. 

Mother helped me into the car, where I barely got my belly behind the steering wheel, and told me to remember that tomorrow I must diet. 

It was four o'clock and I was supposed to be at your mother's barbecue at five, but I was so stuffed, I needed to lie down for a little while, so I called her on the phone and told her I wasn't feeling well, but I'd be there by six. 

I fell immediately asleep and was awakened by the telephone's ring. I looked at the clock and saw that it was nearly six-thirty. Your mother was on the line and I apologized for my rudeness. She was very solicitous and told me that there was plenty of food and I should come over whenever I felt ready. 

I was so embarrassed about my tardiness, that I didn't bother changing my clothes and just rushed right over. I hadn't seen your mother in nearly two months. Although she tried to hide her shock at my obvious growth, her wide eyes gave her away. Nonetheless, she was very polite, introducing me around as her "daughter", then guiding me toward the food table. 

I felt a little self-conscious at first, especially when I caught a glimpse of your sisters looking at me and giggling when they thought I didn't notice. Fat as I've become, I'm still not nearly the size of either of them. I almost put my plate down, but then decided that rather than feel embarrassed about 
something I knew you wanted, I would embarrass them. 

I loaded up two plates with four burgers, three hot dogs, two fried chicken drumsticks, a mountain of coleslaw, potato salad and macaroni salad and headed over towards them. While we caught up with each other, I finished everything on those plates. Then I wiped my lips and asked them if they were eating anything, because I was going up for seconds. 

Miranda said she'd join me, but Valerie just asked if you knew that I'd gained so much weight. 

I told her that you knew I'd gained some, but that I was planning on going on a reducing diet the next day. 

She just rolled her eyes while Miranda and I walked away and loaded up a couple of more plates, then sat down and gorged ourselves. 

Miranda said she was going to reduce, too, and that it was always fun to "feast before you fast". The twinkle in her eye told me she knew we were both just kidding.

We had a really nice chat, and probably for the first time I realized that I really like at least one of your sisters. She said that she always thought I looked down on her because she was so fat. Now, after talking and realizing that we had a lot in common, she was sorry we hadn't become friends earlier.
I suggested that we cement our friendship by indulging in some dessert, to which she replied that she was waiting for me to ask. 

We each had three or four slices of apple pie, each piece topped with a mound of ice cream and whipped cream. When I sat down from my last trip to the dessert table, I heard something rip. After discreetly feeling around, I realized it wasn't my dress, just my panties. Miranda offered to loan me a pair of brand new panties she'd just bought, and I accepted. I followed her up to her room, then put on the new panties in the bathroom, surprised to find that, although they were a little loose, they weren't ridiculously so. 

We sat in her room for a few minutes, both of us so stuffed we could barely move. 

I asked her what she thought you would say if you saw me right then, full-to-bursting and fat as a cow. 

She said that it wouldn't matter to you because you loved me, just the way it didn't matter to you that she was so fat. She said that you often comforted her when she was in a self-despising mood, telling her that she was beautiful and that there was some man, somewhere who would find her to be his dream girl, either despite her appearance, or maybe because of her appearance. 

She asked me if I thought that there might actually be a man somewhere who PREFERRED a fat woman. I told her that I was certain of it. 

When we were finally able to heave ourselves off of her bed and waddle downstairs, most of the guests had departed. I found another piece of pie and was sitting down and enjoying it, when your mother came over and sat down next to me. 

She told me that she'd noticed me eating quite a bit today, and I admitted that I'd gone a bit overboard. Then she asked me if I'd been to a doctor recently. 

I told her no, and asked her why she inquired so. She said that, with my appetite and my recent weight gain, she wondered if I might be pregnant. 

I asked her if I really looked pregnant and she said that it certainly looked like I MIGHT be several months pregnant. I told her that my periods had never been very regular, but that I was pretty sure I'd had a period in the last month or so. Then she made me promise I'd see a doctor anyway. 

When I got home, I immediately took off all of my clothes and stood in front of the full-length mirror. My belly was enormous and hard as a rock under a thick layer of blubber. Just on appearance alone, I can see why someone might've thought I was pregnant. Couple that with my appetite and my feeling sick that afternoon, and I'm surprised no one else has mentioned this to me. 

I climbed on the scale and was amazed when I squeezed my belly in with my hands in order to see the needle stop at 201 pounds! I hurried to find the tape measure and was amazed again when my measurements read as 41-41-47. I laid down in our bed and caressed myself as you would caress me if only you were here, and I fell asleep dreaming of where all that food would turn into fat for you. 

Dreaming of your return,

Your bulging wife 

Dear Michael,

In less than two weeks, we shall be together again! I've made reservations at Mirabella for your homecoming dinner and I plan on giving you a dinner to remember! And your dessert will be me. ALL of me! All 211 pounds of me! Remember carrying me across the threshold on our wedding night? It would take two men to perform that today! 

Yesterday, I went shopping at the fat lady store. It is the place my father calls "Omar the Tentmaker." I bought my first muumuu and for the first time in a month, I am comfortable in clothing. It flows around me and I keep imagining the day when I fill up all its volume and it is as form-fitting as the tightest sheath skirt. 

I have stopped wearing a girdle and when I walk, I can feel all my flesh flowing and shaking and jiggling. My thighs have become as loose as Jell-O, and my rear end is so massive it moves a half-beat behind the rest of my body. I long to feel your hands all over me. I long to feel you sink into my flesh, like the way you sink into a soft mattress. I long to be your bed, to engulf you in my flesh, to make you warm and comfortable. 

I've been dreaming of you feeding me, filling my gargantuan belly every minute of the day. I've been dreaming of getting fatter than the fattest circus fat lady and having you worship me with food. I want to lose you in my rolls and folds and find you in my most intimate places. 

I have eaten two entire blackberry pies already this evening, and now I am going to eat two more in bed, thinking of you. 

With deepest love and hunger

Your enormous wife 

My Dearest Michael,

This is most likely the last letter I will have to write you, since I you will be home in just seven more days. 

So, you have put on some weight, too? Why did you hesitate to tell me? 

Why would you think that I would greet your news with any less enthusiasm than you have greeted my changes? 

I cannot wait to see your belly! I cannot wait to feel your bulging flesh against my bulging flesh. I cannot wait to indulge ALL our appetites together. I cannot wait to compare our growth and to continue our growth together! 

The thought that it was my letters, describing my passion for eating that brought you to the same passion fills me with an indescribable joy! We will feed each other's hungers and we will feed each other's passions and we will feed each other's love for all eternity. Hurry home, because I cannot stand this hunger anymore! 

With desperate love,

Your hungry, hungry wife. _

A couple of days after my discovery, I asked my Aunt Miranda if she remembered that time. 

She told me that it was when she and my mother first became good friends. 

"Did anything else happen then," I asked her.

She smiled at me, with a strange, sly smile and said that was the time my mother first got fat. 

I asked if it was just out of depression or loneliness, and she looked at me, winked, and said that it was anything BUT that, and that if I was asking, then it was pretty obvious that I knew the reason. 

I have very few pictures of Mom, but in every one of them, she is enormously fat. I never asked, and Dad never told, but she must've been close to 400 pounds. She was healthy up until the day she died in a car accident. 

Dad was fat, too, although he never weighed more than 270 pounds. I often wondered until that moment, why I'd never seen either of them on a diet at any time in their lives. I'd often remarked how they seemed so physical, so in love with each other, so touchy-feely. 

I was sitting in my living room, looking back at Mom and Dad in some of Dad's old photo albums, when I realized that someone had quietly entered the room. 

I turned around and saw that it was my wife, Marcy. I hadn't realized that she was even home, and I thought about my father's letters, which I hadn't wanted her to see, sitting on the kitchen table. 

The light was coming from behind her, and it illuminated her lustrous brown hair. She was leaning one shoulder against the door-frame and both hands were behind her back. 

I found her to be more beautiful than the day I met her nearly twenty years ago. Although I couldn't make her believe me, I found the forty pounds she'd put on over the years made her even sexier and more beautiful. It was suddenly obvious to me where my attraction to fat women and weight gain had come from. I wondered what she'd think if she got to read the letters. 

I didn't really have to wonder, because she brought her right hand out from behind her round hip and it was clutching the sheaf of letters. 

"They were strange and beautiful," she said. "I almost put them down at first, because I thought of our... troubles about... similar subjects." 

We'd almost broken up a few years ago when she discovered that I was having an online correspondence with a young woman who was posting her weight-gain diary the internet. She'd forgiven me, eventually, but she'd never forgotten it. 

"But, I kept reading," she said. "I know where you got your writing ability from. And now I know where you got your tastes from." 

"I was just as shocked by those letters as you were," I said. "I had no idea. Aunt Miranda said that she was the only one Mom ever told, and - you know Dad - he is - was - not the most open, talkative person you ever met. I thought my - proclivities - were some Freudian thing. I've always been a little twisted up about it. I always felt like I was some Oedipal case and I've always been embarrassed, closeted even. I only ever told you, and only because you caught me..." 

"Your Mom was scared and fascinated by the whole idea," my wife replied.. "She was repulsed, initially, just like me. But, I think she felt this 'danger' thing, and I think that excited her. You can see in her letters that she goes from this almost reluctance, to acceptance, to enthusiasm, to this burning passion. She found herself, sexually. She came to terms with her appetites - all of them. It makes me a little jealous. She was - what - twenty-five years old? 

“She knew her desires, faced them, embraced them. Here I am - here WE are - past forty, and neither one of us have come to terms with our desires. You've suppressed yours out of fear of losing me and I've ignored any suggestions, rejected anything outright that wasn't 'normal' and so I've been sitting around wondering why I feel stifled, unfulfilled." 

I was scared. "It's just some letters," I said. "They're from different people, a long, long time ago. I've gotten past my - fantasies. We're finding each other. Don't find anything bad in this." 

She smiled. "You're such a pessimist. You can't even conceive that I might find something GOOD in this!" 

She put the letters down on the back of the chair in which I was sitting, then pulled her other hand out from behind her back. On the plate was a half of an apple pie that one of the neighbors had brought over. 

"I love pies," she said. "All pies. But especially apple pie. And especially 
because like fathers and sons, apples never fall far from the tree." 

She started eating the pie, one large forkful after another, and I knew right then that she wasn't going to stop for a long, long time.


----------



## Observer (Aug 18, 2008)

bump after format update


----------



## Mr. Jigglesworth (Apr 30, 2020)

What a wonderfull story, thanks for sharing it.


----------

