It was the third of June

Grant pulled up about two hours ago, hauling all of his earthly possessions in a tiny U-Haul trailer that looks like what you’d get if Volvo had spent the ’80s designing Airstream knockoffs.

Grant did not greet me with a kiss.

He did not greet me with a hug.

He did not even greet me with a normal, everyday “hello.”

Instead, Grant greeted me with: “Finish this line: ‘It was the third of June….'”

Because he is a hopeless Bobbie Gentry fanboy, he was expecting me to respond with: “another sleepy, dusty Delta day.”

Because I met Neil Diamond when I was 16 and promptly decided that “Desiree” was the coolest song in the world, the first thing out of my mouth was: “… on that summer’s day/I became a man at the hands of a girl almost twice my age.”

Grant was horrified.

I haven’t yet told him about my childhood, my father, or the crazy experiences I had on the road with Dad as a teenager. I think we’re going to have to have that conversation pretty soon….

— Sierra


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