Chapter 3 #3
“Did you make dessert?” I ask.
“I did.”
“What is it? Something complicated or something delicious? I’m not really a good sweets person, but I do have a crazy weakness for pie.”
“Pie…” he echoes.
“Yes. What’s your favorite pie?”
It’s official. I’m going to hell for this. I am a lying, manipulative, twister of a twisty twizzle.
He sets his fork down and arranges his hands in his lap. His head swivels to the window. “I don’t really like pie very much. That’s the one thing I make sure I never make.” There’s zero imagining the pain in his voice. It’s steeped in it like a freaking teabag.
“Why?”
Hello, heat. It’s getting hot in here, isn’t it?
“It’s a long story.”
“Give it to me brief,” I say.
“When I was younger, much younger, I got to know someone who had a passion for pies. It was his lifeblood.”
My breath evaporates out of my lungs, and for a second, all I can do is sit here, but Luca still isn’t looking at me. I don’t think he even notices. I finally force myself to push something out, muttering, “Kind of weird, but continue.”
“It sounds strange, but it wasn’t. It was wonderful.
” Ouch. My chest is going to implode. It’s a good thing Luca’s laser focus isn’t drilling into me because there’s no way I’m controlling my face.
“He was wonderful. A great friend and a great man. It was always understood that I was just staying with him for a short time, but when I left, I felt like I broke his heart. Some of his last words to me were to accuse me of breaking a promise I never made in the first place. After I left, I just… it was like I’d ripped his heart out of him.
I felt like I’d ruined him even though I never meant to.
Whenever I even smell pie, it churns my stomach.
It reminds me of how much I hurt a good man. ”
“Are you sure that’s what happened?”
“Am I sure?” He frowns, turning back to me. “It was more complicated, but I’m certain. I never meant to hurt him. It was a misunderstanding, but not the kind you can come back from.”
“You should have tried calling. Apologizing,” I murmur.
“I did.”
“No.”
He blinks but obviously doesn’t pick up on the crazy person vibes I’m giving off like a nuclear reactor.
“I truly did. I’ve tried every year for the past twenty-five years.
When the accident happened and I lost everything, I couldn’t help but think it was karma…
life getting back at me and hurting me for putting that hurt out there, even if it wasn’t intentional.
The ladle wasn’t intentional either. It wasn’t anything personal.
But I’m still angry at it. I now understand what it is like to be broken.
I’ve tried calling, but I always hang up. In that, I’m a coward.”
“But…”
“But?”
“Maybe we should make a pie,” I suggest gently.
“A healing pie.” For us both. And for my dad, even though he’s not here.
We all need this. This being how you change the world with pie.
This being another reason I’m here. It’s not just to save our business and a building, and not just for my dad, but for Luca and me too.
“I think we’d have a better chance of making a hair toe pie, but… fuck it.”
“Fuck it?” I choke out.
“Okay. What good is being alive if you’re not really living?”
“Tonight?” I grasp the table, my smile so wide and eager and bright. This moment is so full of life that it hurts. It’s hopeful, and that hurts most of all.
“I was hoping you might come back.”
I lean forward just a little. “I think it’s established that neither of us wants to marry each other, and you’re safe because I signed all those hostile forms, so why not? I think you could use a friend.”
“I have friends here.”
“Is there a limit on friendship? Could you use another? Even one who is slightly annoying and has a terribly sick sense of humor?”
“You’re the first person who hasn’t treated me like I’m made of glass. With you, I feel seen and heard. I’ve never even told anyone that pie story. Not even my parents. They know some of it, but not everything. I just gave you one of my deepest secrets.”
“I won’t hurt you with it.” I wish that were true with every fiber of my being. I don’t want him to have to endure more pain. “Your pies were probably as magical as this.” I wave my hand over the best meal I’ve ever eaten.
He shakes his head. “They’d be the opposite of magic.”
“It might be therapeutic.”
“Therapy hurts. The physical kind, at any rate.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. None of this was your fault. You can come back tomorrow, but you have to promise you won’t apologize to me again.”
“Can I watch your crows?” I blurt out.
His lips twitch. “Maybe. They might have something to say about it.”
“Can I bring something for the pie?” I offer.
“What kind do you want to make?”
“Rhubarb cherry?”
“That’s oddly specific.”
“I’ve had a craving.” His eyes bore into me, not intrusively, but I still squirm in my chair, almost panicking that he picked out something in my face that would identify me as a liar despite my heavy makeup.
Maybe the fact that I look a lot like my parents, for one.
“Do you read?” I blurt. When I’m under stress, things get more random.
By the way, I’m sorry to anyone and everyone who had to do group presentations with me in college.
“Pretty much anything and everything,” he answers.
“Do you listen to music?”
“It would be painfully quiet around here if I didn’t.”
“What music are you passionate about?”
“Punk rock, mostly.”
I nearly fall right out of my chair. And it’s a very nice chair. I’m just now noticing the tiger oak in it. It’s very crafty. “Oh my god! Seriously? That’s such an odd type of music to like.”
“Is it?”
“Past or present?”
“Both.”
“Holy shit,” I gasp. “How many pairs of suspenders do you own?”
“A few.”
“Safety pins?”
“Sadly, I had to retire them a long time ago,” he replies.
“Do you still customize your clothing?”
“I’m old now.”
I wave that off. If he’s old, then I’m learning something new about myself. I like old. Too much. Way too much. Old is my jam, and I’m not talking about what one puts on toast, although if I could spread him on toast, I might just… erm, yeah, okay.
“Music is universal. It transcends the boundaries of age. It’s for everyone to enjoy. That’s the magic of it. It can pull you out of the shittiest moment. It’s amazing how songs can just speak right to the heart of you.”
“Are you an optimist?” he asks without any snark.
“I want to think joy can find you in the most unexpected moments. I look for something good every single day, and I hold on to it. Even if it’s small, it’s the small things that matter most.”
“What’s today’s?”
“That’s easy. You,” I reply without hesitation.
“No.”
“Yes! Definitely!”
He keeps looking at me skeptically for a minute. And another, and another, until it almost gets awkward. I hold my breath. I think he’s holding his too. I literally can’t see him breathing.
He lets it out first. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“I’ll prove it tomorrow when we make the world’s most kick-ass pie.”
He debates with himself, and I just about go into round two of my lungs bursting, but he saves me. “How’s one?”
I sit here and try not to give one of the happiest grins of my life. That would turn the corner to aggressive smiling too fast. But there’s nothing fake about my happiness.
“Should I wear a bag over my head?” He’s joking this time. He wasn’t joking before, so that already feels like progress. I should be totally removed from this, but already, my whole objective has changed. I have to remember why I came here.
But can’t healing my dad and healing Luca be all wrapped up together?
“Only if I can wear one too.”
He laughs softly, and when my whole body clenches at the sound, I know I’m so in trouble. I might not be obsessed with him, but I certainly am with his laughter, his smiles, and his whole bleeding heart. And isn’t that the same thing, really?
I’m in trouble. My family’s in trouble.
Only pie can save us, so I had better make it the best it can be. The best I’ve ever made. Ever. All while continuing this insane charade before probably crushing Luca with the truth.
No pressure or anything.
I can hope all I want that this doesn’t turn into a mess, but it already is.