“Rita would like to thank her enablers,” I announce into the microphone. “Especially Boone, who keeps feeding her things she shouldn’t eat, Jesse, who built her a pen she escapes from daily, and Wyatt, who made a spreadsheet of her dietary crimes. She ate that, though.”
Rita bleats, sounding pleased with herself. A piece of corn dog falls out of her mouth and hits the mayor’s shoe.
“She’d also like to announce her candidacy for mayor next year.”
“That’s not how democracy works!” the mayor cries.
“Rita doesn’t recognize your human government,” Boone shouts.
The crowd laughs. Even Madison, who’s here with her new boyfriend, someone from out of town who doesn’t know her history and thinks her obsession with Jesse is “quirky” rather than “restraining order-worthy.”
Back at our booth,the banner reads:
THOMPSON/McCOY CHILI: NO POTATO SALAD ALLOWED
Dad and Mr. McCoy are manning the chili pots, arguing about seasoning but in the way people argue when they don’t actually hate each other but don’t exactly like each other, either.
“Needs more heat,” Mr. McCoy insists.
“It’s already hot enough to strip paint,” Dad counters.
“Your paint’s weak.”
“Your taste buds are dead.”
“From eating your chili for six months.”
They continue bickering while ladling chili for customers, who are taking photos of the historic Thompson-McCoy cooperation. The town’s new tourist attraction.
The judge wobbles up to the booth, already three sheets to the wind at 2 p.m.
“I’ll take a bowl,” he says. “And I promise to count the beans correctly this time.”
“There are no beans,” Dad says flatly. “Because beans in chili is a crime.”
“Amen,” Mr. McCoy agrees, and they fist-bump, which is so weird to see.
Mrs. Delaney appears and grabs Dad’s hand. They’re wearing matching T-shirts that say “PLOT TWIST” with hearts around it. Someone takes a photo. Mrs. Delaney posts it with multiple hashtags.
“The engagement is through the roof!” she announces.
“On the photo?” Dad asks.
“No, our engagement! The wedding planning is going viral!”
“We’re not engaged,” Dad protests.
“Well, that’s true,” Mrs. Delaney says confidently. “But when we are, I have the hashtag: #MayoToMatrimony.”
“That’s terrible,” I tell her.
“It tested well with my Norwegian followers.”
“Why do you have Norwegian followers?”
“They love our drama. Bjorn sent a wedding gift already.”
“But you’re not engaged!”
