Apples
"Hey Percy!" Annabeth called from the kitchen. Since we got our new apartment she had taken up baking and was not very good, but I didn't have the heart to tell her. So I had tried a running total of 14 awful deserts and smiled my way through all of them. Today was apple pie. I always loved my mom's apple pie, and I didn't think she could mess it up to bad. So as I got off the couch and made my way to our small kitchen, which was a complete mess. She stood there holding a lumpy apple pie. It didn't look very good but I tried to keep an open mind. She cut me a slice and put it on a paper plate, our only plates, and walked it over to me. I took my fork and forked a large chunk off the end, I put it in my mouth and all I could taste was cinnamon. I also got a few chunks of flour, but I managed a smile as I ate the whole slice. "Wow, babe that was really good," I lied. "Thanks," she smiled. That's the only thing that made trying all of these bearable. Seeing her smile. I haven't even been able to eat apples since.