“Okay. But don’t blame me when you hate it.”
“Your preference is noted but in no way guaranteed.”
The line moves quickly and soon I’m ordering not-brisket. I’m not off to a good start giving the pulled pork a fair chance, but at least I didn’t say it out loud. We fill up our drinks (sweet tea for me, obviously) and find a table.
I take the time to connect to the Wi-Fi and update Priya on the state of affairs by taking a picture of my cast and sending it to her.
So...this happened :(
She must be having a slow night because she responds right away.
THE SOUTH IS INJURING YOU!?? COME HOME NOW. WE WILL IMPORT BEAU UP HERE.
I roll my eyes and ignore that.How’s work going?
I’m at the stage where I rage quit and yet haven’t managed to actually leave the office. Or stop doing any work. Gavin is passive aggressively printing pictures of me and hanging them around the house, like at the dinner table and on the couch, to “remind himself what I look like.”
Drama King.
I know, right?
Glad that dunking on her husband distracted Priya, I put the phone back in my purse.
“If you hate this, I can eat yours and we can get you some fried chicken. No pressure.” He says that, but the expectant look on his face suggests there is pressure, he does care, and he’ll cry in the corner for an hour if I say mean things about his meat.
Oh, saucy pun. Ha... Barbecue sauce-y pun. I’m on a roll... A barbecue roll. I laugh, getting a look from Beau but ignoring it. It’s too hard to explain that I crack myself up.
Beau sets a large tray in front of me, filled with haphazard piles of meat. There are three tiny containers on the side, one with beans, one with something vaguely green but also swimming in butter, and the last with mac and cheese. Some rolls are thrown on top of the food, and I immediately grab one, just in case the pork isn’t great.
Beau goes ham (more puns!) with the barbecue sauce, spreading it over the piles like a first grader making a volcano model for his annual science project. Then he’s done and looks at me.Expectantly.
“This is a lot of pressure. Maybe can you go away while I eat and then you can come back when I’m done?”
“I won’t take it personally if you don’t like it. I promise.”
“Your mouth says that, but your wild eyes say that I’ll be sleeping with the peaches if I don’t love it.”
Beau’s brow furrows. “How would I make you sleep with the peaches?”
“Off me and bury me in the peach orchard. Duh.”
“Well. Like the pork and there won’t be any problems.”
Fresh out of distractions, I pick up a fork and dig in.
Chapter Thirty-Three
I draw out the chewing for as long as I can without anything getting gross. Not because I’m unsure. I already decided pulled pork is better than I thought it would be. It’s no brisket. But it’s a solid meal.
But with each chew, Beau moves in a tiny bit closer, waiting for the verdict. It’s adorable how much he wants me to like it. And adorable that my opinion is important to him.
I swallow. “This is...” I take a sip of sweet tea, drawing it out even more. I get a few more inches out of Beau and then I give in. “This is good. Still no brisket,” I warn before he can get too carried away with being right. “But much more edible than I thought it would be.”
“You really don’t have to finish it if you don’t want to.” Beau helps himself to some ribs.
I take one too, since all the cool kids are doing it and the pulled pork wasn’t bad. I get some sauce on my cast in all the excitement but wipe it off before Beau can see.
We polish off the tray, me enjoying the food more than I thought I would. At one point, Beau gets some sauce on his cheek, and instead of thinking he’s a filthy slob, in my mind I volunteer to lick that sauce right off him. Proof that Beau is escalating to be a big problem. Because that’s objectively gross.
