It looks like there’s almost twenty people of varying ages who have entered this thing. As I watch one group of volunteers placing two pies in front of each participant and another group tying the participants’ hands behind their backs with long strips of cloth, my first thought is that I’m glad no one asked me to bake all those pies. And my second, while someone ties Riley’s hands, is that I wonder if I could snag that cloth to do a little tying of my own later.
Andrew shifts beside me, reminding me that he’s right there, and that this is probably an inappropriate time to be imagining all the dirty things I want to do to his sister.
“I can’t believe she actually signed up,” he says. “There’s no way she can eat like she used to.”
Nope. Absolutely not, brain. Do not go there.
Clearing my throat and the new wave of inappropriate thoughts, I tell him, “I don’t think she expects to win.”
“No, probably not. I think she’s just having fun.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Andrew turns to give me a searching look. “There isn’t. And you know, something about her seems different today. She seems lighter somehow.”
“Oh yeah?” I say, unsure if he’s trying to imply that I’ve had something to do with that.
“She’s been in such a funk since she got here, but now it feels like she’s herself again. I’m happy to see it. She’s always known how to have fun, never taken herself too seriously. Except when it comes to music.” He glances at his sister, then fixes his keen, dark eyes back on me. “She takes her career very seriously. People act like she got lucky and magically fell into fame because she’s pretty and writes catchy breakup songs. But she worked extremely hard to get where she is now. And that’s why it makes me so mad that all this bullshit has happened to her.”
I nod, because I agree. It is bullshit. The stuff with Skyler James and their PR relationship happened so long ago that I don’t see why it mattersto people now. And while it’s not surprising that the public is chomping at the bit over finding out another celebrity might possibly be queer, it still pisses me off that they drew their own conclusions about her before she even had the chance to figure it out for herself.
“She’s stronger than she thinks, though,” Andrew continues. “I know she’ll get through this and be fine. She just needs to find her own way to do it. In the meantime, I’m glad she’s found you.”
It takes a second for that last statement to land, and then I scramble for a response that won’t give away anything she hasn’t already told him. “I, uh—I’m only keeping her company while she’s stuck here.”
“Hmm. Maybe.” He gives me a small smile that feels like he’s letting me in on a secret. “But I think your company is what’s helping her getunstuck.”
I have no idea what to say to that, so I’m thankful when a man announces into a megaphone that the contest is about to begin. Andrew and I both turn our focus to Riley, who grins back at us. The man goes over the simple rules, then blows a whistle, and faces immediately dive into the pies in front of them.
I’m not sure if I should be impressed or horrified with how quickly these people are gobbling up the food without the use of their hands. Suddenly, blueberry filling is everywhere. Their faces are stained with it—in the split-second glimpses I get whenever they come up for air. And so much of the stuff is sliding down their chins and landing on the tablecloths that I’m not sure if it counts as cheating.
As they all eat, the majority of my focus stays on Riley. Her pace isn’t quite as fast as some of the other participants. Which I’m glad for, because they must be at risk of choking. But she’s not being dainty about it either. She gets through what looks like half of her first pie before she slows down, lifting her face and pausing to take a few breaths. She’s a mess, covered in blueberry from her forehead to her neck, all the way down to her formerly white shirt.
And she’s smiling like this is the best day of her life.
The crowd is cheering for everyone, getting even louder as participants finish their first pies and start in on their second ones. Riley has definitely fallen way behind now, but she hasn’t given up.
Andrew laughs as he takes a few pictures of her, and I wish I could do the same, but I don’t know if that would seem weird. Deciding I don’t care, I slide my phone out of my back pocket and take one photo, capturing her as she lifts up her face. If that’s the only thing I’m left with after she leaves here, at least it will make me laugh. That is, as long as her departure doesn’t wind up leaving me even more bitter than I was before she got here.
I can’t let that happen. That’s why I’m being careful not to get too attached to a woman who I already know is going to leave me.
Riley is still working on her first pie when an elderly man finishes his second and shouts, “Done!” People start clapping as a volunteer goes over to check before declaring him the winner. The volume of the clapping increases, and the rest of the participants stop eating and begin to catch their breath.
I catch Riley’s eye, and she’s beaming proudly, even though she came so far from winning. Then she glances at the people on either side of her, faces covered in blue goo, and laughs. She must realize she looks just as ridiculous.
The volunteers untie everyone and pass out small hand towels. I don’t even notice what prize the winner receives, because I can’t take my eyes off Riley as she runs right over to me. Or, more accurately, to me and her brother. But I’m the one she’s grinning at with those blue-stained lips and teeth.
“Oh my gosh, that was awesome,” she says before wiping her face with the towel. It seems like a useless endeavor. She’s going to be so sticky. And her face-painted flower is smeared beyond recognition.
“You only managed to eat half a pie,” Andrew tells her with a laugh.
She shrugs good-naturedly. “I didn’t want to make myself sick. It was still fun though.”
“It was definitely fun to watch,” I say. She’s still got some blueberry on the side of her neck, and the desire to swipe it up with my finger and taste it is so strong that I shove both of my hands into my back pockets to stop myself.
“You should’ve brought a change of clothes,” Andrew comments.
Riley laughs as she glances down at herself. “Yeah, I didn’t exactly plan for this.”
