Page 28 of Last Slice of Pie

Mrs. Caruso comes to stand between us, holding up her pie, and we all smile as I stretch out my arm and take a selfie. It’s the last photo of the night.

Picture requests happen everywhere I go. I’m used to people stopping me to ask me to take a photo with them. It comes with the territory, which is why I really never leave the house in anything but endorsement gear. It doesn’t bother me, but I do worry that it bothers Lexi. Whether she realizes it or not, these pictures will end up online. We’ll both be tagged since everyone here knows her, and I can only pray I haven’t just unleashed a shitstorm on her life.

“Well, thank you both. I’ll just be on my way now.” She smiles at us again and then heads out to her car.

Closing the door, Lexi turns to face me, claps her hands together, and then waves them over her head. “All done!” She throws one hand up in my direction for a high five, and I oblige her. Adorable comes to mind. “Are you hungry? Because I’m starving,” she draws out.

“I could eat.” I shrug. My stomach rejoices by growling again, not so silently demanding pie.

Lexi laughs as she moves past me and heads back to the kitchen. I follow, because how could I not?

“I’m done cleaning up the mess from today, so I can cook something for us.” She turns to face me, runs her gaze over the length of me, and frowns. “What do you eat?”

“I’ll eat anything, but mostly I eat whole foods—a lot of vegetables, lean meats, fish.”

“Okay, I wasn’t sure, given you look like this”—she waves her hand in my direction—“but I can work with that. Helps me with cooking for tomorrow, too.”

“You really don’t have to do anything you weren’t planning on doing. Don’t make something just on account of me being here.”

“I know, but it is Thanksgiving.” She tosses me a grin and then moves over to the refrigerator. She opens the doors, and I move to stand behind her as we peer in. “Hmm,” she mumbles, “how about a roasted vegetable pizza?” She glances back at me.

“Sounds great,” I reply, but my eyes are caught on the lone slice of pie sitting on a small yellow plate on the top shelf. She follows my gaze then quickly bumps my hip with hers to move me out of the way so she can close the door.

“Why don’t you run out and grab your things while I get this going?” She dumps the vegetables on the counter, along with a ball of dough wrapped in plastic and a container of sauce.

“Do you have every kind of dough just always ready to go?”

She laughs. “I do. When I make it, I make large quantities. Work smarter, not harder, right? It’s all freezable.”

“That makes sense. Do you want any help?” I feel bad watching her make me something to eat. She’s been working in here all day.

“I’ve got it. Seriously, go get your stuff and settle in. My old bedroom is now the guest bedroom, and it’s all yours.” She gives me an encouraging smile, and I run my hand through my hair.

“Okay, if you insist.”

She squares her shoulders. “I do.”

Walking outside, I pause on the porch to look out across the property as the cold air bites my skin. It’s not unwelcome, being inside with her; it’s warm and comfortable, and it deepens the guilt I have for, one, leaving her for so long, and two, not being here for her. How many other things like the fireplace and roof have happened? She does everything on her own; from what I can see, there is no one to help her. This makes me a terrible friend, not that I can even call myself one, and I can’t even think about how I didn’t show up for GiGi’s funeral.

Looking back up at the house, I see lights glowing from the windows. Unwanted memories sweep through me as the old familiar longing sets in. I always thought the more time I allowed to pass, the more accomplished I became with my career, the farther away I would get from this feeling, but here it is. It’s a sensation of not belonging, of not being loved and so desperately wishing I could call these people my own.

I know I didn’t have it bad growing up. For the first ten years, I had my mother who loved me more fiercely than seems humanly possible, and then after that I lived here. My stepfather didn’t love me, making sure to let me know on a daily basis that I was unwanted and he was just stuck with me, but I wasn’t abused. I wasn’t turned over to the state; I was brought here. With a different person, I might have been able to relax and enjoy the people he brought into my life more, but instead, I lay awake at night with anxiety, thinking it could all go away at any second, just like my mom, and then what would happen to me?

Threats were his go-to ammo: “You better stay out of their house. They might be nice, but they don’t want you there.” “Don’t talk too much when you’re around them—they don’t want to hear you. You’re a pissant.” “Get in their way and they’ll ask us to leave.” “Do you like it here? Because I can get rid of you at any time.” You name it, I heard it, and if I’m honest, I still hear it deep down.

Behind me, the screen door opens, and Lexi moves out onto the porch. “What are you doing out here? It’s freezing.”

Neutralizing my face, I wipe it clean of my ghosts and turn to face her.

“Nothing. Just got lost in thought.” I move down the steps to go retrieve my bag.

“Oh yeah? Thinking about anything good?”

The glow from the house has her backlit, and she looks like an angel—an angel who has never once made me feel like she shared my stepfather’s opinion of me. If anything, she’s always gone out of her way to do the opposite.

“Nope, nothing that matters.” And really, these scars shouldn’t. The wounds of his words have healed. All that’s left are the faint scars and the reminder that I wouldn’t be who I am today without them.

“All right, the pizza needs about ten more minutes.”