Chapter 5
SERENA
Istare at the plate sitting on the kitchen counter and the strange reddish-brown pie. It looks like the red clay dirt you’d find on baseball fields and with the chunks of pecan mixed about. It makes me think of…
“This looks like someone vomited after eating a nutty candy bar and tomato soup. I will not be tasting this.” I look up at Santi who stands there with a fork in hand and a giant ass smile on his face like this isn’t the most horrendous dish we’ve ever laid eyes on.
“You can’t judge it before you even have a chance to find out how it tastes. Haven’t you ever heard of don’t judge a book by its cover?” He asks.
“I have and I do. All the time. This looks horrible and to me that means I’ll be puking it up later tonight.
So, to avoid me hugging the toilet, I’ll skip over the part where I let this monstrosity touch my tongue.
” I push back from the counter, away from the thing that appears to have crawled out of the sludge bucket from the Krusty Krab.
“Then what are we going to enter, Rena? The competition is only two weeks away and we have yet to nail down our dish.” Santi chases after me as I speed walk to the front door.
“This is the exact reason why I didn’t want to enter the competition this year.” I grab my purse and fling it over my shoulder. “We should be solely focused on selling some of our past winning recipes to Queen Food Distributor.”
“Where are you going?”
With a sigh I close my eyes then turn to look at him.
“To the grocery store to buy ingredients to make…something for this damn festival. We can’t really rely on you to come up with a winning dish.
I don't want to poison all of the judges. That would not be a good look for the company. Be back.” I walk out of his house, letting the door close with a thunk behind me and straight to my car.
First it was CEO, now I’m Betty Crocker. How do I find myself in situations I don’t want to be in. I blame my brother.
I hum to the music flowing from the speakers of the grocery store as I shop through the aisles, looking for ingredients to make something new and exciting. There are only so many recipes one can make with pecans, and I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel of ideas.
My heels click across the vinyl floor and the wheels of the shopping cart squeak.
Shoppers roam up and down aisles, filling their baskets with necessities, some arguing with their kids over junk food purchases.
I give friendly smiles to those who greet me –strangers that I don’t care to interact with, but those who think they know me because of who my family is– but don’t engage beyond that.
When I see someone who looks like they are going to approach me, I quickly pick up a package and pretend to study it.
Or I begin scrolling through my phone, talking to myself about a non-existent problem.
Most pass me by without broaching further conversation.
I’m distracted looking at a sale end cap when I turn the corner and slam straight into another shopper. Our carts crash with a loud ksssh, and I startle, my ankles twisting when I come to a sudden stop.
“Oh gosh. I’m sorry,” a voice says while mine apologizes with, “Excuse me. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Rena? Hey. How are you?” I notice the young woman and smile that I don’t have to pretend to be nice to someone or come up with a reason not to speak with them.
“Hi Aster. I’m good. Are you shopping for a big dinner?” I look into her cart and see a litany of items.
Her eyes scan the items then connect back with mine. “No. Dad and I are trying out some new recipes. We’re on a new business venture so we’re–”
“Aster. Quit spilling our secrets to the enemy.” I look up to find the outrageously handsome face of a grumpy man with furrowed brown and narrowed eyes.
“Dad. I wasn’t spilling any secrets, and Rena isn’t the enemy.”
He struts over to where we stand, our baskets still stuck in wreckage, with a slow swagger that has me breaking out in a sweat. Why is it that the people who despise most are the ones who crank up the heat?
“Don’t let her fool you. She is most definitely the enemy.” He stops next to his daughter and props his hands on his trim waist.
For a man in his…40’s?... he looks as fit as a man in his 20’s. Better I dare say.
“Oh Burke. Do I intimidate you that much? I didn’t realize you were so soft. My apologies. I’ll try to be less successful." I arch my brow and challenge him with a small smirk. I can see his ears turn red with anger.
“I am neither intimidated nor envious of you. But I don’t trust you or your company. Every year you come to me with some bullshit offer to buy my company, and every year I turn you down. It’s insulting really, and makes me think you’re the one scared of me.”
I scoff and roll my eyes. I don’t even know why this man hates me so much, or I him, but the feeling has long been there and remains deep seated.
My dad respects Burke, and I genuinely like his girls.
They’re lovely and friendly and seem like the kind I could spend time with if I was younger.
But there’s just something about him that makes my eye twitch.
“Well, it’s been nice chatting with you, but I must leave before I say something you’ll regret.
Guess I’ll see you at the festival when I’m accepting our gold medal for the best new dish.
I don’t even know if we have room for it on the shelf.
We may have to buy a new one.” I know I’m poking the bear but he’s all roar and no maul.
My brain tells me he’s a bitter man, but my mind wants to know just what kind of mauling he can do. I shiver and squeeze my thighs together as I walk away with a little extra swing of my hips. This is simply a distraction tactic and nothing else.
It’s not!