“These pancakes are the best, Granny! Why don’t you make ‘em more often?”

Applebloom’s voice was unmistakable. She could have whined and yelled to make herself instantly identifiable in any crowd at town—instead, via the capricious whims of Celestia, fate, or both, she had been visited upon the most undeserving group of all: her family.

“Granny doesn’t make ‘em that often ‘cause they take too darn long,” Applejack answered, sighing at her sister’s questioning already. “I thought we went over this in that ‘talk’ we had a few days ago?”

Applebloom’s eyes fell to her pancake, a full-sized length of buttermilk sitting in a pat of butter, mired in an overwhelming lake of maple syrup.

“I don’t remember anything about pancakes,” Applebloom said.

“Well, you gotta think about it some more then,” Applejack chided, chewing a mouthful of pancake shortly thereafter.

Before taking another bite, Applejack pulled open the terribly grody lid of the table’s only syrup dispenser and squirted a ‘healthy’ amount (as opposed to the real healthy amount, which was none) onto the bite of delicious flour and magic waiting for her. She let out a little food-moan as the bit of pancake went down, and worried as she did so if it was loud enough for the rest of the table to hear.

But they were all occupied with something else.

“How do you like ‘em, cousin’ Braeburn?” Applebloom asked.

“Hooves down the best pancakes I’ve ever eaten. You pulled out all the stops, Granny Smith.”

Granny Smith’s eyes glazed over in the way they did when she couldn’t or wouldn’t pay attention to her surroundings, but her mouth curved into a smile.

“That’s nice dear,” she said, and took a tiny nibble of the small pancake she had chosen for herself. Such a tiny pancake that Applejack knew would take hours to disappear, as opposed to the two or three plates Big Macintosh had already put away. How he ate so much and never put on a pound was a mystery to her.

Applejack lowered her plate, letting the ambling trickles of syrup collect in the center and swirl around each other like the rings at the center of the tree they had come from.

“So, Braeburn, you ready for your first excitin’ day in Ponyville?”

Braeburn dabbed his his mouth with a napkin, his plate already clean.

“Sure am. You had somethin’ special in mind?”

Applejack opened her mouth—but before she could speak, she noticed Big Mac’s hoof raised above the table, held up like a colt waiting for teacher to let him ask his question. She turned towards him and gave a small nod.

“Not ta’ interject, AJ, but the east field still needs clearin’,” Big Mac said. “I got all of the south and west yesterday, so I was thinkin’ maybe you could help out—”

“Macintosh!” Applejack blustered as she pushed her plate forward, standing up from her chair. “We got a guest! Ain’t no way I’m gonna make our cousin slog through hours of applebuckin’ when he’s here on a special occasion.”

Big Mac shrugged.

“Fair enough. Just need ta’ get ‘em all picked before the week’s up.”

Applejack sighed.

“I ain’t sayin’ I don’t wanna help... you just picked a bad day to ask.”

Applebloom had already scurried off with her plate, and Granny Smith seemed more concerned with the tiny bit of her pancake left than anything else—but Braeburn was there, and fully aware of the awkward tension in the air. He didn’t want to be the source of any animosity between Applejack and her brother.

Besides which; Apples didn’t just leave work to be done. They did what needed to be done, no matter what.

Braeburn swallowed and tasted the traces of syrup lingering on his tongue. Big Mac and Applejack were still locked in a disenfranchised staring contest when he cleared his throat.

“I, uh... I don’t mind helpin’ out at all, AJ. It ain’t a big deal.”

Applejack looked aghast. Her jaw dropped slightly, and Braeburn noticed a bit of sugary maple still hanging onto the side of her cheek, missed by a napkin or ignored completely.

“You didn’t come up here to help with the farm, Braeburn. Macintosh can get the apples today and I’ll make it up to him later. We’ve got a whole day planned already!”

Braeburn stood up from the table and tapped the brim of his hat, coaxing it just a bit to the side, back into place on his mop of sandy-blonde hair.

“I hear ya, AJ, but it’s not really a bother. You did the same for me when you came to visit, and this isn't gettin’ caught up in buffalo pie-fights and wartime negotiations; it’s just some apples. Heck, I’m kinda curious to see how you do it. Been a while since I was back up, and I know y’all at Sweet Apple Acres always did the best applebuckin’ in the family.”

Applejack blushed and contorted her face shortly thereafter, trying to will away the red flush as it crept over her cheeks.

“Well... I mean, are ya’ sure you don’t mind? I could even do it by myself, if you wanna poke around town—”

“Wouldn’t hear of it,” Braeburn said, standing up properly from the table and pushing his plate forward. “Apples don’t leave each other hanging when something needs doin’. Let me help out and we’ll have the apples out of the way in no time. Then we can get on to whatever you had planned. Meetin’ those friends of yours again, I expect.”

Applejack nodded and smiled. “I got a whole i-tin-er-ary planned,” she said, enunciating each syllable.

“Lookin’ forward to it. Let’s get these dishes cleaned up so we can get on with it then.” Braeburn reached a hoof out towards his breakfast plate but found his progress impeded by Applejack’s foreleg, outstretched to block him from moving further.

“Oh no you don’t. Helpin’ with the farm is one thing, but I’ll be flashin’ brighter than a firebug if I let a guest take their own dishes.” Applejack turned her head toward the kitchen as she kept herself leaned over the table to keep the dishes away from her cousin.

“Applebloom! Get in here and take the rest of the plates away!”

Applebloom bounced through the kitchen doorway, hopping up and down on her way to the table.

“Ah’m reaw grad taw see you, cosmnm Braeburmn!” she said with a mouthful of plates, smiling at her cousin through her collection of dishes as she made her way back to the kitchen.

“I’m glad to see you too, Applebloom. We’ll spend some time together when your sister’s done runnin’ me ragged with whatever fancy schedule she’s got lined up.”

Applebloom spat the mouthful of plates and assorted glasses into the sink, the foamy water and dish soap she had put down already bubbling up over the countertop.

“I gotta show you my clubhouse! Me an’ Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo built it ourselves, and we got maps, and decorations, and furniture, and maybe you can give us some pointers on gettin’ our cutie marks, and tell us how you got yours, and then we can show you all the parts around town that Appplejack ain’t never gonna notice—”

Braeburn chuckled at his young cousin’s youthful enthusiasm.

“Sure thing, AB. Just don’t go too fast for me to keep up.”

Applebloom beamed as she took a cloth between her teeth and started scrubbing the first likely looking protrusion she could find in the pool of suds.

Big Mac took a minute to pull his chair away from the table. He sat for a moment, as though he needed a few seconds to contemplate what exactly to do with himself next. When he finally stood up, he walked towards the stairs, passing his cousin as he did so. He gave him a nod, which Braeburn returned, and then quietly made his way upstairs without saying anything further.

Applejack, meanwhile, had busied herself with the calendar in the corner, going over the schedule for applebucking and counting with her tongue between her teeth, adding up the dates and figures and amount of time left before their next big shipment.

Granny Smith snored in her chair, the miniature pancake on her plate half-gone and long forgotten as she dozed off.

Braeburn swallowed, but the lump in his throat remained.

Well... he had said ‘after breakfast’. There didn’t seem to be a better time. He walked up behind Applejack, unnoticed as her counting and tallies continued.

“Uh... AJ? You got a second?”

Applejack turned as though she was noticing Braeburn there for the first time. It took her a second to pull out of the avalanche of addition in her head, and she smiled, a glint of sunlight reflected through the nearby window catching the green of her eyes.

“O’ course, cuz. What’s on yer mind?”

Braeburn could already feel himself sweating. His legs felt hot, and he rubbed one of his forelegs against the other in an attempt to massage the heat away. That was no help; the act just made him more aware of how heavily he was perspiring. The imaginary block in his mouth seemed thick, like it was gluing his tongue down.

“I, uh... I wanted to...”

The words were too hard. He’d assumed that the second he started speaking that the words would just come, and it would be easy, and a relief, and he’d feel a tremendous weight lifted from his shoulders.

But it was different. He felt heavier now than ever, his tongue especially.

He couldn’t do it.

But he had to do it.

“I wanted to talk to you, about...”

Applejack leaned slightly to the side as Braeburn fumbled over his words. She tilted her head, her smile fading into concern.

“What is it, Braeburn? Is everything okay?”

Asking just made the words even harder. He wasn’t sure if things were okay. He couldn’t be sure until he asked.

But he couldn’t do it right now. He wasn’t ready.

“...yeah. I just, uh... wanted to talk to you about... today’s plans.” Braeburn settled on the first thing that sprang to mind. His eyes refused to stay still as he spoke, drifting around the dining room and chasing the beams of sun as they danced in through the glass panes of the windows.

Applejack tilted her head to the other side. She wasn’t the only pony in the family who folk could count on to be honest, and Braeburn’s words didn’t feel ‘real’ to her.

So what did he really want to talk about?

“You did? Just... about what’s on the agenda?”

Braeburn nodded quickly, still staring down and away from Applejack’s face, then noticing his aversion after a few seconds and looking upwards into his cousin’s eyes.

“Yeah. I, uh... I’m used to havin’ everything set up and organized back home. Doesn’t feel like a proper start to the day if, uh, I don’t know how things are gonna go ’till sundown.”

Applejack raised an eyebrow, but stayed her tongue. There didn’t seem to be a cause for worry. Just... something amiss.

She’d ask him about it later.

“Well... I was thinkin’ we gotta get those apples out of the way. With you helpin’—which again, I insist you ain’t gotta do—shouldn’t take more an’ a few hours... and then I figured we’d head into town and see what the gang’s up to. Reintroduce you proper. Then, maybe grab a bite to eat at one o’ the cafes Rarity’s always goin’ on about. From there, I figure we’ll have burned out most o’ the day, but if you had anything you wanted to add...”

Braeburn shook his head, jostling his hat slightly as he did so.

“Sounds good to me. I’ll get ready to go pronto. Just say the word when you’re ready to get to work, okay?”

Applejack nodded. “No problem. Just got a few more tallies to do to make sure we’re on track for this week.”

Braeburn nodded to his cousin and darted up the stairs to his guest bedroom, ending the conversation just like that.

He wasn’t sure if Applejack had felt it. He could certainly feel it—a tight, achy sensation in his chest.

He had wanted to tell her. But he wasn’t ready.

He could think about it for a while still. There was no hurry.

He needed to tell someone.  His journal was full of pages upon pages of his attempts to transcribe what he wanted to say. Reams of paper with "I'm..." and "Applejack..." beginning sentences and then falling apart into awkward sounding confessions, none of which managed to put into words why what he needed to say was so important. It was Applejack he wanted to tell. Not anyone else.

Who else could he tell? Appleloosa was his home, but he'd never settled there; he'd never felt at home the way he felt at home with his family. There were ponies he was close to, who he considered friends, but none that he cared about as much as his relatives. Applejack in particular had been there for him in the past. She'd been there when he was nervous, still unsure about his trip to the west of Equestria to make his way in an uncharted, unforgiving wasteland. She was there for him when he wrote for advice, even after his tide of letters stemmed as he became busy with obligation. She was just his cousin, but she felt like a sister, and he needed to tell her, more than anyone else. He needed her to know.

Maybe it would make him feel better. Maybe not better, but right.

As right as he could be, anyway.