Page 17 of Last Slice of Pie

“Oh yeah? Get a bunch this year?” Are my ears deceiving me? Does he actually sound interested?

“We did. These trees have made up for the last two years ten times over.” I look up between the branches at the swaying leaves and see all the nuts that have yet to fall but will soon.

“Wow, that’s great. I remember how GiGi used to say, ‘Little pieces, big taste.’ She sure was right, and I always loved your pecan pie.”

I pause and say nothing. He mentions her as if she’s not a part of his past life but his present, and it throws me off. To my knowledge, he never talked to her again after he left, and he hasn’t had my pecan pie in so long.

He breaks the silence. “I’m not embarrassed to say I ate two slices at Zach’s party over the summer.”

Oh, now I understand. Our friend Zach owns Wolff Winery in northern Georgia. He and my friend Shelby were featured in All About the South, one of Food Network’s regional issues, and she paired Southern foods with his wine. They were followed for two weeks, during which they created recipes and participated in videos, interviews, photoshoots, and more. At the end, they hosted a party for the wrap-up. Since I couldn’t attend due to the pump problem, I overnighted pies. A little bubble wrap and ice packs do the trick every time.

“Just two?” I ask. I’ve seen him eat a whole one in one sitting.

“Well, maybe a few more.” There’s a tenderness to his tone, and I can almost see his face. He clears his throat. “Listen, the reason I’m calling is the annual team family barbecue is coming up, and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me this year.”

I’m confused. “As your family?”

“Yeah, if that’s okay with you.” There’s a twinge of uncertainty. I can’t help but wonder if it was easy or difficult for him to call and ask me this. I’m not sure I could have done it. Then again, when he sets his mind to something, he goes after it. He always has.

“When is it?” I ask hesitantly.

“Two weeks from Saturday, on November third.”

That’s so soon, and two weeks from now, the curing process for the pecans will be done. Whereas most people have a dining room with beautiful furniture, mine has a functional wooden table, is lined with bookshelves, and is used for work-related things. By then I’ll have at least ten large cloth bags of pecans in the middle of the room that need to be shelled. I have so much to do to get ready for the holidays.

“I don’t know . . .” I tell him.

“I should also tell you I signed up to bring the dessert.”

“Of course you did.” The real truth is coming out now. “How many pies do you need?” My apprehensive tone slips to a flat one.

“No, it isn’t like that.” He’s backtracking. “Well, it kind of is, but I can get something from somewhere else. I just thought this would be great for you. The team is paying, and I’ll get to spend some time with you.”

If the team is paying, I could use the money, and he’s right—it would mean exposure to a lot of people who live close enough that I could potentially gain new business.

Business—Marie will be so proud.

Wait! Marie! I spin around and look up, having completely forgotten she’s standing next to me. Her hands are on her hips, her eyes are widened, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s pieced our conversation together.

“So what do you say?” he asks, sounding hopeful.

Marie nods like she might kill me if I say no, and then it really hits me—he’ll be spending time with me. I’ll be spending time with him! He wants me, in his world! As I shove away the nerves that tell me it’s too many people and I’ll be overwhelmed, a smile slowly takes over my face. I take a deep breath and tell him, “I say yes.”

The Perfect Pecan Pie

EVERY GAME, EVERY year for the past ten years, I’ve found myself looking up into the stadium for her. I’ve imagined, more times than I care to admit, what it would be like to randomly find her and have my heart soar. From ages ten to eighteen, she was at every game, and she was the one constant I knew without a doubt would be there cheering for me—that is, until she wasn’t.

There’s something about having family and loved ones at the games, win or lose, that’s like having solid ground under your feet. It’s support, it’s tangible, it’s impenetrable, and it’s a constant that feels a lot like security. She was that for me. There was no one else, and when James and I went away to college, that steady feeling that wraps around your heart went away too.

No one who meant anything to me came.

Granted, I only had three people, and two of them I pushed away. There was James, Lexi, and GiGi, but before them, it was my mother.

I never knew my father, something Lexi and I share, but my mother . . . she was like a living, breathing angel to me. She was beautiful, happy, kind, loving, and everything a mother should be. It was her and me against the world.

Until her world ended. Drunk driver.

At the time, we were living in Orlando, she had just married Cole, and I was young enough and stupid enough to think I was finally getting what every kid wants: a complete family.