He felt a whole lot of something around her. About her, too. Actually, now that he thought of it, there was a word—and several, too—describing each and every thing on the subject of... her. A large part were... good, obviously, which was... good, but there were some... others in there.
And if only he had the words to even try describing them.
Big Macintosh was no real good with words. And looking back on his prior musings, it was pretty clear that he definitely could have been a contender for the Element of Honesty alongside his sister. Maybe it just ran in the family. This lacking proved a very massive, very much irking problem for his new relationship.
Cheerilee was a mare who spent her days talking. Whether at a conference she'd had to intend instead of one of their mutually nervous dinner dates, or every weekday from about eight to two o' clock where he could only swoop in for half an hour or so before going back home to work the fields awhile. Cheerilee's career was completely based on talking, and talking, and talking. She used words day in and day out to ed-u-cate students; she spun them and exercised them like it was the only thing she could earthly do.
Well, that was kind of presumptuous. And really rude.
He didn't mean it like that.
She was smart, and he felt nothing less than paling by her side.
There she was, a smart teacher teachin' mathematics, dating a farm-grown farmpony whose only other concern was, well, his farm. He liked to joke about it—a lot more than he should, to the point where he was probably endlessly annoying her even as she giggled away and snorted her cute little snorts—but she, time and time again, told him that she wasn't into snooty, super smart stallions whose sole objective in their relationship would be to show her up anyway. Which led to him thinking she much preferred somepony worth talking down to who wasn't much better than a mortar-and-brick wall, but she must have realized what she'd said, and always followed their usual conversation deviations with a gentle reassurance of some kind.
What word was that? He'd been trying for many years, wracking his brain, tearing it apart, picking at it like a scab, completely turning it end over end as if searching for a prized needle in a haystack in the barn, looking, for it. They didn't have a dictionary in the farmhouse, Big Macintosh was—as he'd admitted—not too well off in the word department, and he was much too wary of asking Rarity's smart younger sister about it even if he'd get the answer in a couple of seconds or so, raised eyebrow and little devilish filly grin notwithstanding.
Well, he knew a few words. They came with the feeling that he got with her. The kinda feeling you got with someone that truly made you happy.
Big Macintosh was no stranger to happiness, as it was. Getting a new yoke for Hearth's Warming, enjoying a nice cider after a long day of work, biting into a warm apple pie for dessert, finishing up the West Fields at a record time, not tripping over himself on that damn stump he'd year after year promise to stomp into oblivion. He knew what being happy was like, because his life was no tragedy. He knew the smiling, and the crooked grin, and the flappy ears, and the straighter posture, and the feeling of just being that came with the whole package.
But it was... different, around Cheerilee.
Like the sun. Like flowers.
That's what Cheerilee was. Like flowers.
He'd just likened his lover to inanimate objects that wilted without water. That wasn't the most romantic comparison he could make. He really was hopeless, wasn't he? If he'd been in any brighter state of mind, he'd shake his head at himself and scold his thoughts. She'd probably poke him, too. She loved poking him.
But he'd always liked flowers. The idea of water, the sun, and a little seed coming together to create pretty-looking petals with pretty-looking colors ponies used as deep messages for one another felt strong in his head. So maybe it was okay to think that.
Cheerilee was like flowers, which he guessed fit, since her Cutie Mark was three of the little suckers smiling like they were glad to be where they were. Then again, permanently being on the flank of a beautiful pony for the rest of your life sounded pretty swell to him...
He felt like he could take on the world with her, but he could settle for just the farm.
Maybe it was reliance. That was a word, right? Like, some kind of version of 'rely', right? It sounded right. Reliance. Knowing that, at the end of any day, great—getting his daily work done before schedule—or horrible—finishing later than he'd usually liked—there was always someone waiting to hear about it with a grin and a hug. Not to say that his family wasn't up for seeing him after a whole day, but Applejack was usually out with her friends doing something... big, Granny Smith was usually draped over a couch, or a table, or a staircase, or—most of the time—her rocking chair asleep, and Apple Bloom... well, Apple Bloom was at least someplace safe, he hoped. She was a growing young mare, and he wasn't her pa by any fitting definition, but she deserved her own time anyhow, and he was happy to give it to her. Where Applejack played a bit of the cautious, wary mother-figure, Big Macintosh was the more easy-going, if more understanding father, who, as part of his role, always got a stern earful after sending the filly off to go do whatever the hell it was she always did.
Cheerilee liked to listen, though. It was one of the greatest things about her, on the long list of literally everything about her that he liked. They'd meet at a bar, or a restaurant, or the park, or a street corner, and as they began drinking, or eating, or sitting, or walking, she would listen, and he would talk, and his misgivings about his part grew more and more apparent as he went on. Despite his stumblings, and his restarts, and his reddening cheeks and his scratching of the back of his neck, she had a big smile on her face and a patient ear flicking in the air they were both pleasantly sharing with one another. She was waiting for him. And she was happy to do so.
It was a feeling of belonging, for sure. Of knowing that, out of millions upon millions upon probably way more in the world, there was one for him, and he was one for them. Ponies happily greeting them as they passed; familiar faces beaming in their direction; introductions, simply, as "Cheerilee's new boyfriend", with hoofshakes and compliments and jested jealousy. Folks around town began to root for the new couple and, to be completely honest, it made him feel... good. He never really liked the idea of "belonging" to one another, because you couldn't rightly own another pony... but what he and she had came pretty darned close. They spent the entire day apart from each other practically every week, and when it came time to be together, they were inseparable, like glue on the old cabinet, or a nail in a creaky floorboard.
It was a feeling of greatness. Being satisfied knowing the greatest, most incredible pony in the world, and having them right by your side through anything it tried throwing at you. They each had their own daily trials and trib-b-bul...ations in life, and they only had to sit next to each other, smile, and talk and listen, and listen and talk to dissolve it all away, like toothpaste down his drain. He wasn't good with words, or talking as he'd later found out, but what little he could muster was more than enough for her, and she took up most of their time talking anyway, so excited to just talk to him about how Diamond Tiara had given her lip, and how she felt terrible writing the big red F on Scootaloo's last test, and how angry she was with Rainbow Dash constantly barging in to whisk Scootaloo away as if she actually had the right to. He was glad to listen. They could at least share a skill at that.
It was a feeling of... everything, honestly, but miles and miles above all else, it was mostly a feeling of happiness.
And he saw all of it whenever he looked Cheerilee's way.
When she smiled, when she frowned, when she hummed or when she sang, when she nodded, or shook, or picked up a hoof to wave it about, or when she pushed her mane out of her eyes and threw her locks back over her ears, or when she looked right back at him. When she was there.
It was relief, because he knew that there was no one even slightly better that he'd love nothing more than to be with.
He could talk to her about anything whenever he managed to get the old locomotive up and going, and she always had an interest in his words, and had her own, countless questions as she tilted her head and bunched up a cheek that he loved nothing more than answering. She didn't judge him, even at times he knew his other friends would interrupt him with a loud laugh not too helped by the beer in their bellies and tease him until they either fall onto the floor face-first, or giggled themselves asleep. She also watched herself whenever they drank together. He counted himself both lucky and unfortunate that he didn't have to carry his drunken, red-faced girlfriend halfway across town over his back to deliver her home, but knowing Cheerilee, she wouldn't have been in any state of mind to be rational, and they might have ruined their relationship over the course of a single night. Not to say that she... ugh.
That was another thing. She was a bit of a roadblock for all the times he'd make fun of himself as he spoke. He knew he could barely keep a conversation up, but she was on the constant drop of a hat to let him know that he was "just being dumb", and waited for him to collect his thoughts before continuing. He really liked that about her. Really, he did. Even if they were lovers, she was still a friend just watching out for another friend, and that made them both feel good about this whole relationship thing that neither of them had really put much more than a few thoughts into.
Lovers, did he just say?
Huh.
He never put much thought into that either.
Despite his lack of skill, Cheerilee had been the one to blurt out that she'd loved him before he left to go back to work early one morning in her bedroom. Simple, and in a matter of seconds. He never understood the hesitation toward professing such things to each other, but, then again, he hadn't been on the sending or receiving part of it before Cheerilee, so what would he have even known about it all? His reply, as she'd instantly clamped a hoof over her mouth and went wide-eyed, was more like a verbal shrug.
"Okay."
And there he was again.
Cheerilee obviously hadn't expected it. She'd shut her eyes tightly, thrown the other hoof into her mouth, and, beginning to burn red across her cerise face, she'd laughed and laughed and laughed until he'd had to walk over to her and throw a shoulder over her to keep her from falling onto the floor. And even then, she just couldn't stop, and he'd had to spend the rest of his afternoon giving her glasses of water and sitting down on the carpet, against the wall, next to his brightly glowing mare. She must have been thinking too much of him to expect an "I love you, too," from the most inexperienced conversationalist this side of the country—and probably even in it as well—but, really, was it too hard to do? Say? Four words, or even just three if he was quaking, and they'd both feel satisifed, and happy, and filled with renewed... something. They both knew that they loved each other. It was like some kind of unspoken, mutual thing only worsened by being made vocal.
Despite, they were quick to tell each other their "I love yous" right on the floor of Cheerilee's bedroom, and, after a nice muzzle nuzzling, they went to go get something nice to eat to ease the stress that had so needlessly built up since the break of the day.
It had been a nice restaurant, serving Bitalian pastas and fine wines that neither of them felt well enough to indulge in. Big Macintosh had, after scouring the menu for apple-related dishes, settled on a fettuccine alfredo, and Cheerilee, not even looking at hers, had ordered some kind of linguine with a hard-to-pronounce name that Big Macintosh, pushed by Cheerilee, had tried three times thereafter to say, failing miserably each time. As it turned out, Cheerilee didn't know how to say it either, and as they both laughed and just... enjoyed each other's company, Big Macintosh began to realize that this was his life now. Eating food with a beautiful mare, talking shop with a listening mare, walking around with an active mare, and being around a wonderful mare. She might not have had the methods to test it or even see it, but Big Macintosh's heart felt ready to burst at the seams, and, right then and there, he'd blurted out what he'd, earlier that day, intended to say.
"I love you!"
Cheerilee had nothing for him for awhile.
"Okay."
She'd said it, smiling at him.
And then they'd started talking about their week.
And it was a nice conversation.
A week later, Granny Smith passed.