Her Cherry

by Bloom, Penelope

  Nathan shrugged off William's hand. "You're a prick, but fuck. Fine. I hate my new job here and I hate this city, anyway. Have a good life, Hailey."

  "You too," I said.

  "Hope we don't see ya." William unwrapped a peppermint and popped it in his mouth. "What?" he said to me.

  I shook my head, grinning. "You really are a prick."

  "Yeah, yeah. But admit it, you love my prick."

  "Maybe just a little."

  He shouldered me lightly, smirking. "You love it so much more than a little."

  "Stop it," I laughed, pushing him. I lowered my voice. "It's a very nice… prick. And that's all you're going to get me to admit."

  "I'll take it. And so will you. Up the ass, eventually."

  I slapped his arm. "You're horrible."

  "Then you have horrible taste, because you love me, too."

  "I'm starting to question my decision making."

  He laughed. "Question it all you want, but you're stuck with me."

  "I don't remember signing any kind of contract."

  "I'm hurt, Hailey. I got down on one knee with your panties in my hand. We made a sacred bond."

  "I almost forgot. Till laundry day do we part."

  "Exactly. And guess what, I'm rich, so there's no such thing as laundry day for me."

  "I mean, technically—"

  "Shh," he whispered, putting a finger to my lips and grinning. "Just go with it."

  The contest was nerve-wracking. Food Network always came to the fair to film it. Rumor was, one of the producers sons helped organize the fair, but once word got out a few years ago that they were filming here, the contest became more and more competitive. There wasn't much actual baking to be done, aside from pulling the dough and scooping it onto trays, but my stomach was in knots all the same.

  I had a little trouble finding someone with a deep fryer I could use, but eventually William managed to either befriend or intimidate--he wouldn't tell me which it really was--a guy who ran a nearby funnel cake stand. The oil wasn't the exact blend I wanted, but it would do.

  The cameras didn't come anywhere near me until the final half hour of the contest when we'd all set our cookies out and were waiting for the judges to try them. William was sitting in the crowd, and he'd give me two thumbs up whenever I made eye contact with him. He looked more nervous than me, and my heart melted for him a little more every time I saw it.

  I scanned the competition, which was made up of twenty bakers who had passed the initial first round, where judges all tasted a bit of our cookies informally. Now the two judges were walking dramatically down the row of tables lined with cookies while the cameras and lights followed them.

  My heart was pounding, and I quietly cursed Ryan for saying I should stand here by myself. He wasn't planning on staying in the culinary world, and he thought it would look better if I was by myself. He was probably right, but I still wished I had some backup, aside from William's over-eager thumbs.

  The judges finally reached my table and tried both my s'mores and cherry filled cookies. They nodded appreciatively, and made a few marks on their clipboard, but said nothing to me. I swallowed hard once they passed, breathing out a sigh of relief. It wasn't as bad as I'd feared, but I did wish I had some idea of whether they actually liked the cookies.

  Once the judges were done, they went to their table to go over their notes and talk in front of the cameras. One of the cameramen came down the line and asked everybody what they thought their chances were. When it was my turn, I felt like I blinked too much in front of the bright light behind the camera, but I stuttered out something resembling a coherent response and smiled when they moved on to the next contestant.

  The judges came back out in dramatic fashion, tailed by cameras and lights while what looked like the majority of the people attending the fair crowded around to watch.

  One of the judges, a woman with beady little eyes and a large nose, stepped forward. She paused for dramatic effect, scanning her eyes over all of us. "First place goes to…"

  "Fucking scam," growled William. "First place to some boring ass brownie cookie?"

  "It's okay," I laughed.

  Ryan was scowling. "He's right. That was bullshit."

  Candace nodded. "He can't win first place if he's dead, can he? William, you're kind of like a criminal, right? Can you murder him?"

  "I steal things. Murder isn't really my jam."

  "Steal his heart… straight out of his chest," Candace suggested with a frighteningly straight face.

  "Oookay. Maybe a bit far," Ryan said. "You still got a thousand dollars. That's not bad for some cookies."

  "It's a start," I agreed.

  William and Ryan were carrying bags full of now-empty tupperwares as we left the fair. Before we could make it more than a few yards from the contest grounds, a man with glasses and a receding hairline jogged to catch up with us. He was wearing a dress shirt and slacks.

  "Hailey, right?"

  "Yes?" I said.

  "I'm Chuck Patterson. I'm a producer with Food Network. I tried your cookies and thought you definitely should've won."

  "I like him," whispered William.

  I shushed him without taking my eyes from Chuck. "Thank you."

  "I help with casting for a show called Bake Off. There are ten contestants and everyone is shooting for a ten-thousand-dollar grand prize. We normally take auditions through an online competition months in advance, but one of our contestants ended up with measles a few days ago, and we're set to start filming next week."

  "Who the fuck still gets measles?" asked William.

  I tried to subtly kick at his leg to shut him up. "Are you offering me a spot on the show?" I asked.

  "I am. You get compensated for your time, too. Living arrangements are provided. The show runs over three months, but we're filming the whole contest in two weeks. Can you do it?"

  "Is she allowed visitors?" asked William.

  "Of course, she can--"

  "I'll do it. Thank you!"

  16

  Epilogue

  * * *

  One Month Later

  I nearly ruined things with Hailey because I thought she wanted my money, and now I was practically pulling out my hair because she wouldn't let me give her some of my damn cash. I thought Bruce was stubborn, but now I knew the true meaning. Hailey had the bakery taken from her a few weeks back, and then she lost her apartment a week after that while she was away filming for Bake Off. She wouldn't even let me rent her a one bedroom for a couple months, or set her up in a hotel. Once filming was over, she still insisted on leaving my place when we would hang out. She'd drive two hours to crash with Grammy McCrazy an hour away at the old folks home.

  Stubborn didn't even begin to describe it.

  She had won the first-place prize on the show. She took the final round with a hybrid of her cherry-filled cookies topped with the Bubble Balls she used to make for the bakery. Even though she was ten grand richer, she insisted on putting the money toward starting her own bakery outside the city, so her nights were still full of bingo night and shuffleboard at the retirement home for the time being. She was working full-time as a baker's assistant in someone else's shop downtown to save as much as she could. I let her have Gremlin for a week, then I’d take Gremlin back to my place. The puppy was a hit at the retirement home, so I grudgingly let the shared custody ridiculousness keep playing out.

  I met Bruce and Natasha in the parking lot of the notorious Grammy's retirement home.

  "You ready?" I asked Bruce.

  "How ready do I need to be for bingo night at the retirement home?"

  "Depends how ready you usually like to be before getting your ass kicked."

  Natasha stifled a laugh.

  "Think we can stuff our parents in here? Maybe this Grammy character could whip them into shape."

  I gave a noncommittal grunt. I always felt a little uncomfortable when Bruce wanted to bash on our parents. I knew they had a different relat
ionship, and it was even more uncomfortable because I'd seen a more realistic glimpse of who they were after they tried to lead me to break up with Hailey. I hadn't taken their appointments or returned their calls since, because deep down, I think I knew I was going to have to accept the truth about them. They'd only shown favor to me over Bruce because they thought I'd be an easier payday for them. I was the pushover, in their eyes.

  Figuring out women had been using me for my money was a hit to my pride in the past, but realizing I'd been voluntarily blinding myself to my manipulative parents was going to be on an entirely different level. Later. It wasn't urgent, and I could put it off as long as I damn well pleased.

  Inside, we found a rowdy bunch of seniors all jonesing for their shot at the grand prize of bingo night. The winner got to pick what was on TV on the big screen out in the living area with the best couch all weekend. Since I'd had to make more appearances here than I liked to admit, I knew all too well how vicious these men and women got over being TV captain for the weekend. If me or Hailey won, we got to pick the winner, which basically meant Grammy had three horses in the race—an issue none of the other seniors had the balls to raise with her.

  Grammy was sitting with Hailey near the back, and she waved us over when she saw us.

  Bruce and Natasha followed a little hesitantly. The group of us was drawing stares, but Bruce and I always drew stares in public. Put us together with Hailey and Natasha, and you'd need sunglasses to look at us directly, or maybe one of those little cardboard boxes with the holes in it that you have to use to look at the eclipse without burning your retinas.

  I stole a quick kiss from Hailey as we sat down and then squeezed her ass. The woman behind us gasped, so I turned and gave her a wink. She looked shocked for a moment, and then she reeled her head back, summoned up the spirit of her younger self, and waggled her eyebrows at me.

  I turned quickly around, sat, and stared straight ahead like a shell-shocked soldier. If anyone tried to tell me that the human sex drive diminished with age, I'd tell them to spend a few days a week hanging out in a retirement home. "You know," I said, leaning into Hailey's ear and whispering. "If it weren't for menopause, I'm pretty sure these places would be a hotbed for accidental pregnancies and steamy love triangles. Yeah, I said it. Old people having sex. Deal with it."

  She gave me a disgusted look. "Sometimes I wonder what goes on in your head."

  "What's there to wonder? It's exactly what comes out of my mouth."

  She shook her head, smiling. "Why am I not surprised?"

  "Who is this handsome young man?" Grammy was looking up at Bruce. She had her shock-white hair in a puffy little q-tip style today. Her eyes were bright and blue as ever, and she still looked like if you gave her a cross look, she'd uppercut you in the jaw without a second thought. The woman was terrifying, but kind of cute, in an old lady sort of way.

  "I'm Bruce Chamberson. This is my wife, Natasha."

  Grammy took them both in with hard eyes, then nodded and smiled. "I like you better than your brother, Bruce. He's a real dickhole."

  "What the fuck?" I asked.

  "You stole my slippers. I know it was you!" She said, jabbing her finger at me.

  I held up my palms. "Woah, woah, there. Just because I've stolen a few things in my past, it doesn't mean you get to go around blaming me when dementia starts to set in."

  "That's it," she said, popping up to her feet. "Today is the day I cut a bitch."

  I burst out laughing. "Have you been watching Cops or something?"

  "Would you two get along for once?" Hailey asked in a bored voice.

  "If you tell the old coot to stop profiling me every damn day, maybe," I said sourly.

  "If your delinquent boyfriend steals from me one more time, I'm going to choke him out with all that money of his."

  "You don't have the upper body strength!"

  "Seriously?" Bruce was standing beside me, looking down at the two of us like we were absolutely insane.

  Hailey cleared her throat while Grammy shot me a fierce glare. "The two of them don't get along too great. But if you get a little alcohol in the two of them, they turn into old drinking buddies."

  "Bold-faced lie," Grammy grumbled.

  "How did you get them to let you stay here?" Natasha asked as she and Bruce sat down to my right. The seating was a jumbled mixture of fold-up lawn chairs, recliners, and flimsy plastic chairs.

  "I think they were too scared to tell Grammy no," Hailey said. "I'm sure if I stay too long they'll eventually give me a hard time about it, but for now, it's working. I sleep on the couch in her room."

  "And she snores like a whale," Grammy added.

  Hailey's cheeks turned red. "I've just been dealing with some sinus blockage these past few days, actually."

  "Hah. Putting that criminal's johnson in your mouth doesn't count as sinus blockage, sweetie."

  Natasha was mid-sip with her cup of water and half choked. She gurgled up some of the water, rocked back in her chair, and started tipping backward. Bruce calmly stuck his hand out, caught the chair, and set her upright like it was the most normal thing in the world.

  I roared with laughter, reaching to high five Grammy. She was a crazy, but she could be funny when she was on a roll, I'd give her that.

  A young woman got up on stage and saved Hailey the embarrassingly long silence that was bound to follow a burn like that. She started the game of bingo for the night as some other employees of the nursing home handed out the game boards.

  "Excuse me," I said to Hailey, and I got up to push my way to the front of the stage.

  The young woman gave me a confused tilt of her head.

  "Just gonna need to—yep, just let me—give me the fucking thing!" I growled as she finally let me wrestle the mic from her hand. The last of my sentence boomed into the microphone and silenced the crowd. "I'll give it back, calm down. I just had a message for my lady."

  Hailey was already burying her face in her hands, but she spread her fingers just enough to peek out at me.

  "We first met when I bought your cherry and deflowered you. We almost broke apart when you threw a cherry pie so hard at my head it nearly killed me. And now I want to end this the way it started. With a cherry." I pulled a cherry from my pocket and lobbed it toward her. When I rehearsed this in my head, the Hailey I imagined had some semblance of athleticism and hand-eye coordination. Real-life Hailey apparently had neither.

  The cherry bonked straight into her forehead and fell to the floor. Her head whipped back in surprise and she clapped her hands to her forehead.

  "Oh. Shit," I muttered into the mic before dropping it and jogging down to where she sat.

  The crowd was muttering as I got to her and found the cherry on the floor. I grabbed the recliner of an old man who was asleep in front of her and shoved it forward so I had room to kneel in front of her. I held the cherry up to her on one knee. "Will you eat my cherry?"

  "What?" she asked.

  "Bite it," I said.

  She looked worried, like she thought maybe I'd lost my mind. "It was on the floor!"

  "Just a nibble, but do it slowly so you don't break your teeth."

  She took the cherry from me and slowly sank her teeth into it, stopping when she felt it. She pulled it back, dug her fingers around a little, and then extracted the engagement ring I had buried in the cherry—with a little bit of edible glue and a knife, it had made for a cleaner job than I expected.

  She chewed her lip. "I'd love to."

  "Eat my cherry," I prompted. "Sorry, I just kind of imagined how this was going to go. That's what you're supposed to say."

  "I'd love to eat your cherry."

  "Hell yeah!" I took the ring and slid it on her finger, then gave her a kiss.

  "That was the dumbest thing I've ever seen," Bruce said.

  "Oh stop," Natasha said. "It was sweet."

  "At least he has money." Grammy had somehow managed to get her hands on the mangled cherry and was eating i
t.

  "Grammy!" Hailey looked outraged, but her smile kind of killed the effect.

  She shrugged. "It's true. I'd marry Quasimoto if he was loaded enough."

  "I'm not saying yes because he's wealthy."

  "Shit," I said. "So it's a no?"

  She laughed. "It's a yes."

  "Oh, good, because I paid Earl to record this on my phone, and I don't want a record of my ass getting rejected. Earl! Did you get all that?"

  "Huh?" Earl looked like he had just been startled awake from a good nap.

  "Useless," I muttered.

  "Enough with the bullshit!" Grammy groaned. "Miami Vice is coming on this Friday, and if I have to watch Family Feud one more goddamn time, I'm going to murder somebody."

  "You're on your own tonight, Grammy," I said. "I've never had sex with a fiancé before."

  Bruce made a disgusted noise. "What about us?"

  "Here." I fished something out of my pocket and handed it to him. It was a nice, big banana. "See? I was thinking about you."

  I picked Hailey up from her chair before she had time to get up on her own.

  "I can walk, you know," she giggled.

  "Yeah, but now I can say I stole you, and I get to use the corny pun I planned on the way over."

  She visibly braced herself.

  "You're the best cherry I ever stole."

  I stood in the middle of my trophy room and admired the centerpiece of my collection: the preserved banana I'd stolen from Bruce. I still hadn't told Hailey about my little collection, and maybe I never would. Every man had to have his secrets, after all. My Hailey collection now consisted of some wilted flowers, the pie pan that had a dent roughly in the shape of my head, a few pairs of panties, and some hairpins. I'd also started a Grammy collection right next to it, which held two pairs of slippers, hair rollers, a pair of toenail clippers, and an Ace I'd stolen right out of her hand during a game of poker.

  Today was my birthday, and Hailey had been flaking out on plans all day, so I decided to come by the office and drop off the pair of toenail clippers I'd stolen from Grammy last night--she accused me of being a cheat, so she had it coming.