Page 57 of Last Slice of Pie

“Oh my God. Dramatic much?” She glances at me with annoyed yet sympathetic brown eyes, the dark braid of her hair falling over her shoulder.

“I’m serious. It’s like it physically pains me to smile,” I tell her, wishing she could understand. I get it; I do. To her—to the world—we weren’t together that long, maybe two and a half months at the most, but for me, it’s been a lifetime. I’ve lived a lifetime of wanting him, loving him, and dreaming about him, and now it feels as if the dream is over. My dream didn’t come true, and it hurts.

“You can, and you will. Suck it up, buttercup. There’s plenty of time later for us to drown your sorrows.” A huge smile splits across her face as she waves to someone down the row.

Drowning my sorrows sounds divine. Another feature of this festival is the kumquat cider beer, and it’s delicious.

“Hey, y’all. How’s it going?” We turn and see Sharon walking our way.

Sharon has been a friend of ours as long as I can remember. GiGi was good friends with her family, and it’s because of them we are here today. Sharon’s family owns Kumquat Growers, the nation’s largest producers of kumquats and kumquat products since 1912. Kumquats are the little golden gems of the citrus family and are the perfect fruit for vegetables, meats, marinades, marmalades, and salsas. In fact, our biggest seller this weekend is the kumquat salsa, which is made with kumquats from a mixture of our trees and Sharon’s.

“How’s it going over here?” she asks, full of smiles.

“It’s going well. Lexi here has been in more photos this morning than she was all three days combined last year.” Marie laughs at me, and my frown deepens.

“Well, she is a local celebrity, and she’s dating our beloved quarterback.” Sharon beams.

It seems everyone here knows about Bryan, and I haven’t corrected one of them yet, haven’t said we’re over. It’s too hard, and quite frankly, it’s no one’s business. The thought of having to answer questions of Why? and Oh, what happened?—I just can’t, and don’t even get me started on the looks of pity. Those will be front and center, and I feel enough pity from myself. I have zero interest in receiving it from other people.

“Is he ready for this weekend’s game?” she asks.

“I think so. From what I hear, practices have been brutal”—thank you, Sports Network—“and he’s been watching film nonstop.” I know this is the truth, because he watches a lot of film. All. The. Time.

“You tell him we’re all rooting for him and can’t wait to watch our team play.”

“I will.” I force out a kind smile. “I know he appreciates all the support he can get.”

And he does. He hates the media, loves the fans.

Sharon and Marie chat for a few more minutes while I sit there mute, trying to look engaged, and then Sharon’s off to greet the next booth. More customers come by, more pictures are taken, and with each passing minute, I feel like more pieces of my heart are blowing away with the wind.

This sucks.

Across the lane from us, a couple of squirrels dart out as if they’re going to come our way, but then they suddenly stop and stare up at me with their beady little black eyes. A gasp escapes me, and when I reach over and grab Marie’s arm, she starts to laugh.

“It’s like the universe is conspiring against me! Why? Why are they staring at me? Look at them.” I point, and she laughs harder. They bob up and down as they look over our whole booth, and I pull my feet up into my chair.

“The universe is not conspiring against you. Stop it.” She yanks her arm out of my death grip.

“It is. Oh my God! They’re coming closer. Marie! Do something!”

“Fine!” Still laughing, she gets up and moves to the front of the booth. The squirrels watch her, and as she gets closer to them, I swear they look at me one more time in a We’re coming for you kind of way and then take off.

“I just don’t understand. As if things aren’t bad enough, now the squirrels are plotting against me.”

“They are not.” Marie rolls her eyes as she moves to stand next to the booth and chat with people as they pass by.

Letting out a deep sigh, I lean back in my chair and reach for my phone. I know I shouldn’t be looking for news notifications of him, but I can’t help myself. A new picture has gone viral. He’s in a navy suit, he’s had a haircut, and he’s wearing a pair of AirPods. He carries a large tan leather overnight bag, and he’s boarding the team plane. His face is devoid of emotions, but the muscles in his jaw are strained; it’s clenched shut. He doesn’t look happy, but he doesn’t look sad either. He looks indifferent, and that makes me feel even more foolish.

Did he ever care for me like I did for him? Or was I just a distraction? A good one, until I became a bad one?

“Seriously, though, I still think you’re overreacting,” Marie says. She’s watching me stare at my phone; of course she knows who I’m looking at. “If there was ever a time for him to be stressed out to the max, it’s now. This is everything he’s worked for, he hasn’t been playing very well, and the people closest always get the brunt of someone’s emotions. They have to be taken out on someone, and well, you were his person. You know this.”

“Maybe, but you didn’t see him. You didn’t hear him.” I think back to how disconnected from me he was. There wasn’t much remorse in his eyes—if any—and he was adamant that this is what he wants. He made me feel bad, not only for being there, but for thinking we were actually headed somewhere. He made me feel stupid, like I should have known better.

“No, not that day. But, I’ve heard enough from you about before, and I know what I’ve seen while you’ve been with him. I don’t think you should write him off just yet. Let him get through these next two games, and then we’ll see what happens.”

“Why are you defending him? Just a few weeks ago you were warning me against him.”