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Patrick nods, smirking as he responds. “We are. Some people live in castles, though, so they’re still houses.”
“God dammit, Patrick, did you just say castle?” Joey calls out. He’s facing away from the table, probably taking the same approach I’d had with avoiding looking at his competition.
“Don’t worry about it, love,” Patrick replies. “I’m sure yours is great too.”
Joey mutters something I can’t quite make out that sounds like a whole lot of swearing, with the word castle in there a few times.
“Are the pictures from the previous years up online somewhere?” I ask.
“Oh yeah, go to my account. It’s Patrick Adam.”
“That’s right, Joey told me you guys both used middle names, and that’s why I couldn’t find you.”
“Aww, were you looking for us over the years?”
“Honestly, I’m a little offended you guys never tried to look me up,” I tease, trying to cover up my blush, because obviously I did. I always wondered what they were up to, but texting felt a little random when it’d been so long since we spoke.
“I thought about it,” Joey admits. “But I was too disappointed that you’d left to want to see how much fun you were having without us in LA.”
“Well, there were no baking contests, so I’ll add that to my list of reasons I should have come back sooner,” I reply in a bright tone, trying to lighten the mood again since up until my comment we’d been having so much fun. “Found it,” I announce as I request Patrick as a friend.
His profile is set to private, and Patrick is very focused on icing something, so I ask where his phone is, steal it from his back pocket, hold it up to his face to unlock, and then accept my request. I find an album labeled “Gingerbread Contests” and open it.
“Wow, these are so cool. I can’t believe you’ve made all of these.”
“We started over ten years ago now,” Joey explains. “So we’ve had some practice.”
“Our nephew was our first judge,” Patrick adds. “But he refused to choose a winner after the second year because he didn’t want to ‘pick favorites.’ It was his idea to post them for a vote.”
My smile grows with each new picture I look at. “I love it.”
Well over an hour later, Joey declares that he’s finished. “That means you have ten extra minutes, Patrick. I’m starting the timer now.”
“A timer?” I ask with a laugh.
“One year, Patrick spent three hours after I was done ‘perfecting’ his roof that had cracked under the weight of all the candy he’d tried to cover it in. So the next year we agreed on the extra-ten timer rule for whoever finished first.”
“I love everything about this tradition,” I respond with a laugh.
Ten minutes later, we’re all taking pictures of our “masterpieces” to post online. I’m a little surprised when they not only include a picture of my house, but tag me as well. I guess anyone who knows any of us will realize we’re all here together. I’m secretly kind of thrilled they aren’t ashamed to claim me in such a public way, even if it is only as their friend.
I finally text Tara, sending her a picture of my gingerbread house.
Tara
A GINGERBREAD HOUSE?!? That’s what you decide to send after over twenty four hours?!? That is not the kind of update I was talking about!
Scotty
Oh I’m well aware. But a gentleman never gets spit roasted and tells or however the saying goes ;)
Tara
SHUT THE FUCK UP! I NEED DETAILS!
Scotty
No. Go vote for mine even though we all know I’m not winning.
