So what the hell have I been doing?
“Jack? Are you all right?” Aulie tilts her head a fraction. Her eyes scan over me, and the crawling feeling inside intensifies.
“Yeah, fine. Why?”
“You’re clutching your knife pretty hard.” She gestures to my left hand holding my butter knife’s slim handle like I might need to stab someone at this table.
“Oh. Yeah. Erm. Fine.” I smile slightly, releasing the knife and tugging at the collar of my shirt. “So, when did this happen?” I nod to Emy and Gus, holding hands across the table.
Gus looks sheepishly at Emy, and it’s cute and stupid and nauseating.
Lucky bastard.
“I think we’d been flirting for a while, but stuff fell into place when Aulie took care of you in Boston. You know it’s funny—we don’t have a specific date we can point to. It just happened. Easy, you know?”
“Friends to lovers is the superior trope in my experience.” Emy smiles broadly at Gus and winks.
Aulie clears her throat.
Easy.
It just happened.
Nope. I can’t say I understand any of that.
“Cool. Cool.” I stab at my meat pie and stuff a heaping bite into my mouth to keep myself from saying something stupid.
The bite is too big, and it lodges itself in the back of my throat, clogging my airways.
Play it cool.
I go for a sip of water, but I’m obviously choking and probably dying, and oh my god, I’m a giant weenie. That’s it. Because I could fucking say something to Aulie now, and I’m literally choking on the idea.
“Jack?” Aulie stands, a worried look plastered on her face, and comes over to whack my back. Once. Twice. “Oh, punaise, how does that hemlock thing work?”
“It’s the Heimlich,” Gus provides.
“Okay, great, Einstein, but do you know how to do it?”
“No.” He frowns. “But I’m sure there’s a YouTube video.” He pulls his phone out.
“I think you have to wrap your arms around his waist somehow. Like a hug,” Emy adds while I continue to cough and sputter.
“A hug, really, that’s helpful. I’m sorry, Jack, I’m trying. Shoot, I should take a class for the fair. This would be an important skill to have on hand.”
“Mrs. King’s apple crisp was too dry last year; I almost died myself.” Emy leans over to watch the video on Gus’s phone.
Aulie whacks my back a second time. “I told her she needed to add more butter, but she’s been on a health kick since Mr. King had his heart attack.”
“See, that’s definitely a hug,” Emy says, leaning over and watching the video.
“Okay, but what do I do with my hands while I hug him?”
Something passes between Emy and Aulie that I can’t decipher, mainly because I’m actively trying not to die, but it ends with Aulie scowling and pointing a stern finger in Emy’s direction. “Don’t.”
She whacks my back several times, and I clear whatever is stuck in my windpipe.
“I’m good. I’m fine.” I catch my breath. “Thank you all for your contributions.”
