“Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, and teammates.” Chuckles ripple across the crowd. “I’ll keep this short as it’s almost midnight, but Camille and I wanted to say thank you to everyone for coming tonight and spending New Year’s Eve with us. We know y’all have many places you could be and you chose here, so thanks again. As we ring in the new year, I would be remiss if I didn’t give a shout-out to the one that’s ending. After all, some amazing things happened.” He looks over at Camille, and whistles rip through the air. “I can’t imagine this next year being better than the last, but I welcome it with open arms.” He bends down to kiss her and then pops up, grinning. “I mean, how many seasons have we gone undefeated?!” The guys roar, and I find their happiness infectious. “I’d like to make a toast, so raise your glasses. As we head into the new year, I hope it brings each of you good luck and happiness, and may all our dreams come true.”
Someone coughs the words “Super Bowl championship,” and the crowd cheers through laughter.
“Happy New Year’s, everyone!”
Jack sidles up next to me as we all raise our glasses, and after I’ve clinked mine with Lexi’s, I turn to face him. I’ve caught him watching me several times throughout the night, and I can’t even give him a hard time about it. He knows me that well, and I know he’s heard all the little comments made tonight.
“You know it’s just noise, right?”
I don’t answer him; he can read my nonverbal cues. I’m also proud enough not to give credence to their gossip. Admitting it would mean I believe it’s true, and it’s not.
“I’ll be on the field at ten tomorrow morning. Think you’ll be ready by then?” he asks, even though I know he’s really asking about my mental state. He wants the negativity gone and me, his quarterback, focused on what’s next, not what’s passed.
“I’m always ready,” I tell him definitively. Fake it till you make it, I tell myself. This too shall pass.
“That’s my boy!” He again knocks his drink with mine and grins from ear to ear as we swallow them down in one go.
Around us, people start counting down, and Lexi wraps herself around me. I wish I would have enjoyed tonight more. It’s amazing to be undefeated and heading into the playoffs, I’m surrounded by my friends, and I’m with Lexi—my Lexi. The only thing missing is James, but outside of that, everything is as it should be. It’s perfect.
Only tonight I don’t feel perfect.
I feel uneasy.
I feel off.
And I hate it.
My friends, my teammates, they all chant the countdown to midnight, and as they break out with shouts of glee, anxiety overwhelms me. Fireworks explode overhead and everyone is laughing, hugging, kissing, but I feel frozen. With each breath tonight, there’s been this rise of panic growing on the inside. With each word I’ve heard passed around over the hours, I’ve felt more paralyzed. I feel tense, too tense. I feel like I’m about to spiral. I feel like a storm is brewing and I have no way to calm it.
That’s when Lexi’s lips land on mine.
The world is drowned out, the noise mutes, and the clouds recede.
I’m okay with the storm; deep down, I know it’s fueling me forward. As long as it stays offshore and I can get done what I need to do, in a few weeks I’ll put all this behind me, leaving only Lexi in front of me.
I’m okay.
It’s going to be okay.
I can do this.
Black-eyed Pea Bruschetta
THINGS HAVE CHANGED between Bryan and me over the last two weeks. I don’t know how to pinpoint what it is or how it even started, but it was like the minute midnight hit and took us into January, something shifted.
Yes, I knew he was struggling after the last regular season home game, but this is different. He tried his best to put it behind him when we went to dinner, but I could still see the discontent in his expressions and behind his eyes. He was with me, but at the same time he wasn’t, and this just seems to intensify in the new year. I hoped being around his friends, he might relax a little, but he didn’t. Instead, the tension around his eyes got worse. He works so hard to maintain this embodiment of self-control and constant discipline, but I fear his rational side might be slipping. He’s a general for his team, and people speculating about weaknesses in his armor is affecting his mental game. He knows it shouldn’t be, but sometimes no matter how hard we fight the tide, the waves still pull us under.
With each passing day, our phone calls to each other have become shorter, and while our conversations are nice and normal, they feel scripted and almost stale. His tone sounds a little different, and I can feel it deep down in my soul.
Then again, maybe it’s not him. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m different.
“Ma’am, if you’ll just sign right here.”
An invoice slides across the kitchen counter and toward me. Looking up from my checkbook, I stare at the plumber, who was another friend of GiGi’s for years. That’s right, a plumber. He smiles, and it’s kind, but I just don’t have it in me to smile back.
The hot water heater cracked the thermal expansion valve, which leaked water all over the floor. Fortunately, the utility closet is next to the mudroom, so I was able to redirect the water outside. Unfortunately, the heater is old. He said there was too much sediment inside and I needed a new one. I know he’s giving me the best deal he can, but that doesn’t change the fact that this is more money I don’t have, and I’m heartbroken.
I sign his invoice then my personal check and hand him both.
“Thanks, Lexi. I appreciate your business.” He nods as he says this to me.
Business.
Business has dipped for Firefly Kitchen since the holidays are over. We knew it would—it happens to everyone—but I had hoped the exposure from the article would extend our season just a bit. Don’t get me wrong, we are still getting orders, and our regular accounts are ordering more than in the past, but it’s not enough. It never seems to be enough.
After walking the plumber out, I return to the kitchen and pull out the ingredients to make a new pie dough: flour, sugar, butter, shortening, salt. There are many different ways to make a pie crust, but GiGi always said it’s the shortening that makes the crust flaky, so that’s what I use, and no one has ever complained that the crust isn’t buttery or flaky enough.
I fall into the repetitive movements, ones that have woven themselves into my DNA. There’s no music, no television, and no sound. It’s quiet except for the voice in my head and the beat of my heart. It’s these moments of quiet where I’ve learned to listen and heal myself. After all, no matter how long Bryan and I are together or how serious we become, I know only I am responsible for my happiness. Whether it’s in conceding, embracing, or finding, it’s all on me. For years, it’s just been me, and this is how I do it best.
Slipping my hands into the dough, I break it into two sections and allow it to squish through my fingers. Tonight, I’m going to drown myself in sympathy wine while eating an old-fashioned comfort food dish: chicken pot pie.
On the table in the dining room, my cell phone rings. At first my heart skips a beat, because I’m hoping it’s Bryan, but quickly I decide I don’t want it to be. I’m not really in the right head space to talk to him. He’s already under so much pressure, so when I do talk to him, I want things to be easy and supportive. I don’t need him worrying about me too, at least not until the postseason is over.
Picking it up, I see it’s Meg and accept the call. As I put it on speaker, a smile stretches across my face.
“Hey, Meg! How are you?” I ask, walking back to my workstation. Somehow I’ve gotten loose flour all over the counter and didn’t even realize it. I swipe my hand through it, pushing it into a pile.
“Hey! I’m good. I’ve been dying to catch up with you, but the restaurant has been so crazy lately.” In the background, I can hear the telltale signs of restaurant kitchen life: “Order up!” and “I need a runner.”
Meg’s restaurant has
really hit the food scene in Charleston. She’s booked daily with reservations and has received glowing reviews from local critics. I know it won’t be long before she’s recognized on a larger scale. We’re all so proud of her.
“Oh, no worries. I know you’re busy, and that’s great! I love hearing that things are going so well.” I also follow her on social media; her food pictures are mouthwatering and to die for.
Scraping the flour into my hand, I toss it into the sink then place the two pieces of dough in a bowl and take it to the freezer for chilling.
“They are, and I see things are going well for you too.” Through her words, I can tell she’s smiling, but they’re also laced with sarcasm.
“What do you mean?” I walk back to the sink to wash my hands.
“I saw a few pictures of you pop up in different places recently.”
My head lifts and I stare at nothing out the window, my heart rate instantly taking off. I hate having the attention so focused on us, on me. I thought I would be able to handle it, but I’m not so sure anymore. I’ve always been the girl who stood off on the sidelines. I’ve never wanted to play—anything, ever. It’s not who I am, and I would never say this to Bryan, but I can’t wait for the season to be over.
“Really? Like where?” My mind instantly drifts to the worst possible scenario, sleazy tabloids, and my stomach turns as I think about all my clients, customers, and friends around town seeing it. I imagine the headline Jarvie Jinx Strikes Again! accompanied by a picture of a rotting pie.
“Let’s see . . .” she says. “Between the news articles, sports articles, analyst predictions, and my Instagram newsfeed, you’re kind of all over.”
Oh no.
My eyes slide shut and burn with unwanted tears. I can’t help the groan that slips out, and she laughs. I don’t know what she thinks is funny about all of this. Nothing, and I do mean nothing is amusing me right now.
“What are they saying?” I ask her, leaning forward to put my weight against the edge of the counter for support. I’m not super confident I want to hear what she’s about to tell me, and I rub my chest as my heart starts to ache.
“You sure you want to know?” she asks.
No.
In the background I hear her moving through the kitchen and toward her office. The noise dies down and then there’s the soft click of a door closing.
“Yep, give it to me.”
“Your pies are poisoned.”
My jaw and my stomach drop.
“What! Well . . . that’s just mean.” I’m not sure if there’s a more hurtful thing they could say about me. They went for the jugular, went for my livelihood, and they probably knew the damage it was going to cause.
These pies—they are my dream. This is my business, my blood, sweat, and tears, and they are belittling something that means the world to me. They don’t even know me, and yet they have no problem setting into motion something that could potentially be devastating for me.
“I thought so too, but it gives them something to talk about.”
Only, I don’t want to be talked about—at all! I haven’t done anything wrong, and there’s nothing about my pies that’s poisoning anyone. I thought people joking around about the Jarvie jinx was bad enough, but hearing this just adds to my already bruised heart over my finances and makes me feel . . . I don’t know . . . like I’m just a joke.
I’ve always understood that Bryan hates the media. He’s avoided the spotlight because he’s never wanted his career to be picked apart. He’s worked too hard, and that’s how I feel.
At first they all said I was with him to promote my business, and now they’re saying this. I’ve worked hard too, just as hard as others to get where I am, and it feels awful to be belittled so much in front of such a large audience.
“I don’t want to be talked about.” A lump has formed in my throat, and it’s hard to talk over it. I’m certain Meg hears my distress, and I just don’t care. This hurts. I don’t want to be discussed or pitied; I don’t want this.
Poisoned pies.
It’s cruel. So cruel.
“I know, but just think, it’s almost over.” Her tone has softened. She’s trying to get me to focus on the end goal here, pointing out that in a few weeks this will all stop. But will it? And really, all my brain can stick on is the word over.
Over.
In so many ways, this word doesn’t sit right or feel right. Over can be applied to so many different things. I worry my business might be over, I worry I might lose my home, and something I don’t even want to think of for fear of jinxing myself is that Bryan and I might be headed that way too.
Nope, I’m not going to go there.
Letting out a deep breath, I change the subject. “I had to replace my hot water heater today.”
Out the window, my eyes catch on movement. I have a bird feeder hanging off the front porch, and a beautiful red cardinal has flown in and landed on it.
“Really? That’s crazy. I feel like everything but the walls have recently been replaced. It’s like you have a brand-new home.”
A brand-new home I can’t afford.
“It feels that way to me too.” She made it sound like a good thing, but it’s really not. It’s so hard to save money, takes so long to even accumulate just the smallest amount, and then with just one strike of a match or one drop of water, it’s all gone.
“What did Bryan say?”
“I didn’t tell him.” The cardinal swoops away, circles the feeder, and then lands again. The feeder sways.
“Why not?” she asks, sounding surprised.
“He has enough on his plate to worry about besides me, and he would worry. You should have seen him after the fireplace broke. It was a battle of the wills to not let him pay.”
“You should have let him. If he wants to help his girl out, there’s nothing wrong with that. Besides, he can afford it.”
“I’m not taking his money. He’s been back in my life all of ten seconds, and it doesn’t feel right to me. If he wants to buy me dinner, that’s one thing, but to repair my home—just no. It’s my responsibility.”
“Okay, I see your point, but I still think you should tell him.”
“Maybe.” I don’t agree or disagree with her; there’s no point, and quite frankly I don’t feel like she would understand. No one can understand how I feel right now, not Bryan, not my friends, not even James—not that he and I ever talk. He’s too busy off doing whatever it is he’s doing, and I’m lucky if I get an email from him once a month.
“Lex, are you doing okay?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. Today isn’t the best day, but this too shall pass, right?”
“It will. I’m sorry things are rough for you right now.”
“Yeah, me too.” The cardinal’s wings flap twice, and then he’s gone just as quickly as he came. I know it’s ridiculous, but I can’t help but draw a parallel between the bird and the things in my life that mean the most.
“On a positive note, part of the reason I’m calling is to place an order.”
Hearing this lifts my mood, just a little.
“That’s great.”
It really is. I’ll take anything I can get right now.
Meg and I wrap up our call, and I push my phone aside as silence envelops me. I take in the full view in front of me, and my heart swells with love for the land, the trees, the fence, the porch, and all the details that have been added over the years. Except for my brief time at culinary school, it’s the only view I’ve ever known, and it’s one I hope to know for the rest of my life.
Never has a day gone by that I haven’t been grateful that GiGi left the house to me. Although, if I’m being completely honest with myself, I am jealous and frustrated that James doesn’t have to worry about these kinds of things, and all these problems I’ve had would be so simple for Bryan. I work hard, and I’m not saying they don’t; it’s just different. What rests on my shoulders is heavy and feels like so much more. Because, un
like them, if I’m not careful, like the water from the tank today, everything can slip away.
Chicken Pot Pie
PULLING MY EYES away from the monitor, I look around my office and notice it’s dark. When I sat down to begin looking at films from today’s game, the sun was still present in the sky, which means hours have passed, but I don’t care. I need to memorize every single error I made not only today but over the last couple of weeks.
With this thought, I shake my head in disgust, and my pointer finger clicks the mouse to drag the play bar back one minute.
I made one of the biggest mistakes a quarterback can make today, and I didn’t even realize it. I stared too long at the receivers on the left side and gave away our plays. Over and over, I did this. So stupid, and the fact that I didn’t even realize it makes it that much worse.
Coach kept yelling at me to get my head in the game, and it was. Well, I thought it was, but now I’m doubting everything, including myself. Seriously, what was I thinking? What was I doing?
I’ve never doubted myself, not ever. Doubt has a way of making itself known. Like an illness, it’s quickly passed on to others, and that’s how teams lose. It’s not for a lack of talent or effort. When it comes to sports, it’s the mental toughness, the mental game that plays a major part in whether teams win or lose.
I know better. I am such a better quarterback than this. I’ve spent years perfecting the ins and outs of my position and how to make things happen the way I want them to. I know how to trick the other team into thinking one thing when I’m actually doing something different, but I didn’t today. In hindsight, today, I have no idea what my end game was.
If you consistently stare toward the same side of the field, the defense is going to assume that’s where the ball is going. Usually, I use this kind of manipulation to create throwing lanes and open up extra space to throw the football to the backside of the play, but not today. Today, I was a bad quarterback who repeatedly made a fundamental error. I’m lucky my offensive line is as good as they are or we would have had more interceptions than we did. As it was, there were three.
Last Slice of Pie (Starving for Southern Book 2) Page 17