Nerdelicious

by Mary Frame

  But Beast knew. He got it. It’s such a stupid little thing, and yet . . .

  I’m nobody! Who are you?

  Are you nobody, too?

  Who are you, Beast?

  Chapter Four

  “The hottest geek on TV is Liz Lemon. It’s not up for debate. She’s nerdelicious. Her name is even a type of food.”

  –Overheard at Comic-Con

  * * *

  It’s Sunday, which means three major events: church, Sunday night supper, and mandatory check-in with the ’rents.

  “Jack is dating your friend Morgan,” Mom says. The words pop out of the phone and into my ear in one big rush, like a comic bubble that reads POW!

  I sit on the edge of the bed and hold the phone away for two full breaths. Then I force it back to my head. “Oh, that’s nice.” The words are dry on my tongue.

  It’s a good thing I took this call upstairs in my room and Grace and Granny are outside somewhere. I would never have heard the end of it. Between the two of them, they would have picked and poked until I unraveled. They still might. I wouldn’t put it past Grace to have tapped my phone. The girl is a tech genius and as crafty as Puck.

  I wince.

  “We saw them at Blossom,” Dad cuts in from somewhere in the background. “He’s still a putz.”

  Blossom on Ninth? That’s where he used to take me when we first started dating, back in high school. It’s is one of the best vegan restaurants in the city. He knows my parents have a standing date there every Thursday. Was he trying to run into them? So that they would pass the information on to me?

  No way. I’m reading too much into it. He doesn’t care. Hasn’t called. Probably doesn’t even realize I’m not in New York anymore.

  “We wanted to tell you before you found out from one of your other friends,” Mom says.

  Friends? I don’t have friends in New York, except Scarlett. All my other “friends” were Jack’s friends, and now that I’m two thousand miles away, their loyalty reverts back to him.

  Scarlett never liked Jack. She’s the reason I’ve been living in Texas in the first place. The ranch house belongs to Scarlett’s parents—Granny’s son and daughter-in-law. They’re never here because they are major artists. Like the really famous, rich types who do shows all over the world, tell everyone they’re BFFs with Banksy, and have assistants and junk.

  Scarlett grew up in Blue Falls before moving to New York. She hired me a couple years ago to help her with her food truck, For Goodness Cakes. This past Christmas, right after Jack and I split up, I came with her to visit her family for the holidays and ended up staying to help Granny. Granny had some fainting spells, and everyone was worried about her living here, mostly alone, except for Grace. I had nothing else to do. Though, I probably needed to feel useful more than Granny actually needed help.

  “Do you care?” Mom asks after I’ve been silent for too long.

  What were we talking about? Oh, right. Jack. Jack with someone else.

  Do I? I try to get a handle on the reaction fluttering through my belly.

  I care that the person I thought was going to be my life partner decided that I wasn’t worth any effort. I care that I’m on a long train to nowhere, twenty-two years old and still clueless about what I want to do with my life. I thought I was on the fast track when I graduated from college early, but here I am, crashed to a halt.

  Is there such a thing as a quarter-life crisis?

  But do I care that he’s moved on? Not so much. I don’t want him back. I wouldn’t want him even if he begged and pleaded, as satisfying as that might be in theory.

  “We’re over. We’ve been over for months. I have no reason to care.”

  “Have you met anyone new?”

  “I don’t need a boyfriend.” I stand and walk to the window, pulling back the flimsy curtain. Granny and Grace are standing at one corner of the yard and Granny is showing her how to load a shotgun. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me to stand on my own without a man and be strong and all that?”

  “Well, yeah. I’m not saying you should jump into something serious, but there are surprising psychological benefits to having a rebound relationship. It will help reaffirm that you don’t need to be dependent on Jack for meeting your emotional needs. Not that he ever met those anyway.”

  “Mom, are you telling me to sleep around?”

  “No, of course not. But I’m also not telling you not to.”

  Yep. Tried that. Mission failure. Don’t need to relive the other night all over again.

  Despite my best intentions, a memory flashes through my mind. Not Slobber Man. Beast. Specifically, trying to kiss Beast. My whole body goes hot with embarrassment.

  But then the poem . . . Maybe he didn’t mind too much?

  Beast isn’t my type. Not at all. He’s too big, too silent, too intimidating, too . . . everything. But he’s also kind. And protective of the people he loves. Maybe overly protective, but it’s actually pretty endearing.

  This one time, we were all having milkshakes on the patio at the Frostee Freeze on Main Street and a car backfired. Beast threw himself over Grace. The move was immediate and instinctive. A reflex born of necessity and past experience.

  There’s a bang from outside as the shotgun jumps in Grace’s small hands, her entire tiny body listing backward with the force of her shot. Granny grins big. I cough into the phone to try and cover the sound.

  Time for a subject change. “I’m starting my job next week.”

  “Oh, right. The restaurant, Bodean’s?”

  “Yep.” Okay, so it’s not really a restaurant, it’s more of a dive bar with a side of food, but that’s on the list of things I don’t tell my parents. I mean, I’m in the middle of nowhere, which is nice for an escape but not so nice for finding a job. Bodean’s was the only option.

  “Well, that sounds nice. I know how much you love cooking.”

  She stops and doesn’t say what I know she’s thinking: I should be doing something more with my life.

  We’ve already had this conversation. The last time was when I took my third part-time restaurant job to help support Jack while he was getting his master’s and starting his career.

  I never thought about what I actually wanted to do with my life because I was too busy helping Jack with his.

  “I have a plan. I’ve mapped it out. If I work for eight weeks and save all my wages—not even including tips—I could have enough with my other mediocre savings to live somewhere for about a month in New York. That way, even if I don’t have a job by the time I get back, I’ll have a little buffer.”

  “You can stay with us as long as you need to, Fred.”

  More shotgun blasts ricochet outside, along with some whooping and hollering.

  “What’s that noise?”

  “Uh, it’s just my roommates.” Outside, Granny is wearing her new bright red overalls, grey hair hanging in two long braids down her back. Grace is laughing with the shotgun pointed toward the ground. They start jumping around and cackling like two weird witches.

  “What are they doing?” Mom asks.

  “Target practice.”

  A long silence meets that pronouncement. “With guns?”

  “Uh, yes?”

  “And they’re near the house?”

  “They’re . . . a moderate distance.” If moderate distance includes the surrounding yard and immediate area. “Sound travels here. All wide-open spaces, you know.”

  She sighs heavily and the worry is like its own bullet shot down the phone line. “So eight weeks and you’ll be home?”

  I drop the curtain and spin back to the bed, flopping backward on the mattress. “Maybe before then. When I have enough money saved, or a job back in the city so as not to be a burden, beholden to all and sundry.”

  “Have you heard anything from prospective employers?”

  “Uh . . .”

  “Anything with a 401k?”

  “Maybe? There’s one place I was thinking about apply
ing. It’s a new restaurant chain. It sounds pretty amazing, actually. They have all these fandom themes and the job is—”

  “Another food service job? You’re too smart to waste yourself at some restaurant. And I know you love the whole comic thing, but can that actually translate into a lifelong career?”

  I grit my teeth. She didn’t even let me finish. I know she means well, but my parents have worked the same jobs their whole lives, and they have no idea how hard it is to get a job now even with a college degree. Not to mention finding gainful employment that’s not going to suck out my soul like a daily dose of dementor.

  “It’ll be fine, Mom. I’ll find something good. I know it.”

  And then I’ll breeze back into town with a new, great job and make Jack and everyone else eat their hearts out. Like when Harley Quinn beats the crap out of the Joker before leaving him in Arkham. But, you know, without all the bleeding.

  “Tell Granny to call me this week. I found a great recipe she will love.”

  She won’t love it, it will be vegan and awful and Granny will end up adding bacon to it, but for some reason they love exchanging these things.

  “I will. Love you guys.”

  “Love you, too, Fred baby. We miss you.” The twist in her voice sends a corresponding wrench through my gut. As much as they drive me crazy, I miss my parents. This is the longest I’ve ever spent away from home.

  We hang up and I toss the phone on the bed and blow out a breath. I should probably make sure no one shoots their eye out.

  I’m halfway down the stairs when the front door opens and a giant steps in.

  Beast.

  I stop. He does the same, looking up at me, big and silent, his face as impassive as stone.

  He’s holding a casserole dish covered with foil.

  “Oh. Hi.” I give a fumbling wave, not sure how to act. So of course I say the first thing that pops into my head. “You like Emily Dickinson.”

  He stares. I stare back, waiting, for what I don’t know. It’s not like he’s suddenly going to sweep across the room and belt out “The Room Where It Happens,” like he’s Leslie Odom Jr. except in Texas instead of Broadway. Just the idea of Beast in full dance mode tickles the back of my throat with laughter. I attempt to choke it back but a chuckle escapes.

  He frowns up at me and then stalks away.

  Smooth, Fred. Why don’t you act like even more of a weirdo? That would be brilliant.

  I smack myself in the head right as Reese, Fitz, Annabel, and Jude walk through the front door.

  “Why are you standing around on the stairs hitting yourself in the face?” Annabel asks.

  Where’s an invisibility cloak when you need one?

  Chapter Five

  There was the allegory of my whole life:

  I, in the shadow, at the ladder’s foot,

  While others lightly mount to love and fame!

  –Cyrano de Bergerac

  * * *

  “Dearly beloved, thank you for bringing us all together for this fine meal.” Granny pauses for a moment, clearing her throat before adding, “of which I did most of the preparing.”

  Grace, sitting to my left, squeezes my hand while I press my lips shut in an effort to suppress a bubble of laughter threatening to break free.

  “Except for Beast who prepared a wonderful . . . what was it? Potato rosaries?”

  “Potato rissole,” Jude says, somehow completely straight faced.

  “Right, right. Rissole. Some fancy French food,” she continues in a grumble. “It’s a good thing you’re handsome,” she tells Beast.

  His lips tighten. Granny can even get the marble statue to crack.

  “Please bless this family and all our friends, and in your infinite wisdom, if you see fit to compel Elaine Kilgarriff to share her fried chicken recipe with me, it would be most appreciated. In Jesus’s name, amen.”

  “Amen.”

  There’s a slight pause and then the table erupts into a flurry of activity, hands grabbing for plates and passing the food around.

  “What are your plans for summer, young man?” Granny asks Jude. “You can’t get by on your good looks alone, and idle hands are Satan’s misfits, as I always like to say.”

  “I reckon I’ll stay busy. No Satan hands here.” He holds up both hands with a grin. “I signed on for some freelance computer work for people around town.”

  Grace’s eternal teen slouch straightens. “Can I help?”

  “No,” at least three people say at the same time.

  Her shoulders slump and she goes back to pushing food around with her fork.

  “I need your help around the farm,” Granny tells her. “Fred’s new job will keep her up all hours of the night, so I’ll need someone to feed the chickens in the morning and milk the goats.”

  Grace groans.

  “Perhaps you could invite some school friends over to help you while away the lazy dog days of summer.” Jude pours her a glass of tea from the pitcher on the table.

  Grace shrugs. “People at school were mean. I didn’t really make any friends.”

  “I find that hard to believe considering your sunny personality.” Jude winks at Grace.

  She rolls her eyes. “I shouldn’t be in school anyway. It’s not like I’m learning anything new.”

  “You promised to try,” he reminds her. “And you’ve said on countless occasions that you want friends your own age.”

  “Whatever.” She shovels a big forkful of potatoes into her mouth.

  Reese nods at me. “Fred, I heard you made peach pie?”

  I love Reese. She’s almost as dorky as I am, but less of a fandom nerd and more of a science geek. Plus she’s a whole lot smarter. She reminds me of home, too, since Scarlett is her older sister, even though they don’t exactly look alike. It’s only when I look closely that I can tell they are even related. Reese is tall and slender with dark hair, and Scarlett is shorter and a redhead. But they have the same refined nose and full lips, and some of their mannerisms are nearly identical. “Yep. From the trees out back.”

  “You are a goddess. Or a devil. Between you and Beast I’ve gained twenty pounds since Christmas.”

  I shoot a quick glance in his direction on the other side of Grace, and my stomach twists. He’s focused on his plate. He probably thought I was laughing at him earlier. I have to explain. Without sounding like a freak.

  Too late, you filthy muggle, Delores Umbridge tells me.

  Last night I was drunk and emotional and he got a front-row seat to my stupidity. Then even more foolishness today, and I don’t even have the excuse of being drunk. He probably hates my guts, especially since he had to carry them upstairs last night.

  “Where are you working this summer?” Annabel asks me.

  “Bodean’s.”

  Jude reaches for a biscuit from a bowl in the center of the table and points it at Beast across from him. “Beast here got a summer job at Bodean’s as well. He’ll be working security.”

  I glance down the table at Beast again. What are the odds? Actually, probably pretty high, since there are literally less than a handful of eating establishments in the area. And I know he’s on the culinary track at school . . . but security? Did he apply for the kitchen job, too?

  “I’ll be in the kitchen mostly,” I say quickly. “But also helping the bar after food service ends. We probably won’t even see each other.” Our gazes lock.

  I don’t know if I’m reassuring him or myself. I force my eyes down to my plate, forking a bite of pulled pork into my mouth. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Is he angry we’ll be working in the same building? Ambivalent?

  The table has been silent for too long.

  Can they feel the tension?

  “We need to go camping this summer, before Fred leaves and while school is still out,” Annabel says.

  Fitz nods. “Our parents used to take us up to Lake Richardson every year. We know a sweet spot that doesn’t get too crowded on the south side of t
he lake.”

  “We’ll have to go when y’all aren’t working.” Reese nods at me. “Isn’t Bodean’s closed Sundays and Mondays?”

  “Yes.” I take a sip of sweet tea.

  “I’ve never been camping.” Grace tilts her head, her posture perking up again.

  “I’ve never been either,” I say.

  Her eyes widen. “Really?”

  “My parents’ idea of camping is renting a cabin in the Poconos and having only one bathroom for a week.”

  Grace smiles, but the movement doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “That sounds fun, too.”

  Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I don’t know what happened to her parents and why she’s being raised by Granny. Even though I want to strangle my parents half the time, I’m lucky to have them.

  “When do you start work, Fred?” Annabel asks.

  “This coming Tuesday.”

  Grace groans. “This Tuesday? In, like two days? I hate waking up early.”

  “Then go to bed earlier,” Granny tells her. “Work is good for the soul. Like I always say, to make an omelet, you need to break a leg or two.”

  A beat of silence while everyone at the table glances at each other, and then the room bursts into laughter. Except for Granny.

  “What?” Granny squints at us. “It’s a sayin’, look it up.”

  After dinner, it’s chore time. Every week, Granny press-gangs us into helping out around the farm. As a method of defense, Annabel, Reese, and I have volunteered as the regular dishwashers. In reality, it’s an excuse to stay in the kitchen and out of the heat so we can drink moonshine and talk.

  I tell them about my conversation with my parents and how I misrepresented my job hunt.

  “I’ve applied for nothing. I don’t even know what to do with my life.”

  Annabel lifts a spoon out of the soapy water, waving it in the air. “I get it. It’s hard to decide and it feels like you’re supposed to know everything by the time you’re eighteen, you know? But sometimes it just takes longer to find your niche.”