Spicy Pickle (Fake Engagement)

by J J Knight

  “But it’s curry!”

  I give him a weak smile. “I’m fine with curry.”

  He opens his mouth, understanding dawning. “I see.”

  Right. I can apparently lie about anything.

  We record that segment of the show again, this time with me taking only the tiniest nibble. Dawn shows off more completed cookies, and I’m guessing it’s time for the proposal.

  Anthony leads me to a part of the set not hidden with a counter, a table and chairs set for Christmas. A plate of perfect cookies waits for us there.

  Anthony lifts a candy cane. “It’s fun to add a little fire to the red frosting to make a spicy surprise on your cookie platter.”

  Dawn turns to the camera. “Fire cookies. How is that for a Christmas with kick! Thank you for watching this episode of Kitchen Time with Dawn.”

  Anthony taps her on the shoulder. “I have one more thing,” he says.

  “Oh really?” She feigns surprise.

  Anthony takes my hand and leads me to the other side of the table, where a lace napkin covers a plate.

  “What’s this?” I ask.

  He shifts me so that we’re in the optimum position for the camera and lifts the plate.

  He gets down on one knee and holds the plate up to me.

  I’m confused. Did he put the ring on the plate?

  I lift the lace napkin. Beneath is a huge Christmas tree cookie. It reads Magnolia, will you marry me?

  My hands fly to my face. “Anthony!” He pulls a box from his apron pocket.

  Dawn takes the plate and sets it strategically behind us on the table.

  Anthony opens the box to reveal the ring. “Will you make me the happiest chef in the world?”

  He did a smart job of bringing out my surprised face with the cookie. He’s good.

  Despite the farce, knowing it’s all for show, my eyes mist up. Anthony’s expression is so earnest. It feels real. How could that face tell a lie?

  I can only nod at first, then squeak out a tiny, “Yes.”

  He slides the ring onto my finger and stands, pulling me to him. His thumb caresses my cheek as our eyes lock. A single tear slides down my cheek. If only this were real.

  He moves close and whispers, “I love you,” in my ear, but it’s on the camera side, so it’s only a tactic.

  His lips meet mine and it’s a relief, something familiar in all this overwhelming emotion. I kiss him like I always do and fall into his closeness. We both smell of sugar and vanilla, Christmastime and peace on earth.

  When we break apart, Dawn claps and the crew cheers.

  “What a lovely way to start the holiday!” she says and draws us into a hug.

  The director calls for the cut, and the crew descends, cleaning up. Dawn breaks away. “Thank you for such a memorable moment on the show. I bet this becomes a classic.”

  “Happy to,” Anthony says.

  The sound tech unhooks us, and we head to the dressing room. Only when Anthony has left me so he can collect his things does the full weight of what we’ve done hit me.

  I lift my hand, the diamond sparkling in the mirrored light.

  To the entire world, I’m engaged.

  I’ve just committed the biggest fraud of my life.

  27

  Anthony

  The day before Thanksgiving, I take Magnolia to my dad’s brownstone on the Upper West Side.

  We haven’t talked to them about our official relationship status. Magnolia slept in my room last night, but there was a strange quality to it. She seemed lost. Confused. Unlike herself.

  Something is wrong, but when I ask, she waves it off, mentioning her sister. The holidays.

  I understand that. Just walking up to my old front door infuses me with memories. Mom, turning to lead me up the steps, her arms laden with grocery bags. Unlocking the door, calling for Max to stop fooling around.

  Glancing up with pride at her window boxes, teeming with red blooms. She loved bright pops of color. Life with her in it was always vivid and sharp.

  I’ve only just begun to see those hues again, the world coming into focus since Magnolia arrived. I take her hand and head up the gray stairs. It’s cold here, colder than Boulder even. Magnolia is angelic in the white puffy coat, made up like the show days even though we’re done recording in New York. She spent a lot of time this morning doing it herself.

  Grammy Alma opens the door. “Welcome, welcome!”

  “What are you doing here?” I stamp the snow off my feet as we enter the small foyer.

  “You’re making me feed everyone at noon tomorrow. I have to start cooking today!”

  “Is your deli covered?” Grammy has her own tiny counter-service walk-up in Brooklyn.

  “Sunny’s running it through lunch, then we’re shut down until Monday.”

  “Nice break.” I reach to take Magnolia’s hand, then remember we haven’t confessed. I take her coat instead and hang it in the closet by the door.

  Dad is in the kitchen, his old familiar “Kiss the Cook” apron on. Mom gave it to him when we were young. My throat tightens.

  “There you are!” he says. “Anthony, I could use a hand dicing the peppers. Magnolia, you’re a guest, so you set your pretty self wherever looks comfortable.”

  Grammy heads to the fridge. “We have eggnog if you’d like some.”

  It feels like old times. I slide a set of peppers near me and pick up a knife. “When are the rest arriving?”

  “Max and Camryn are on their flight,” Dad says. “I’ve sent a car to fetch them. Jason and Nova will be later on.”

  “I’m so glad everyone’s coming,” Grammy says, closing the fridge with her hip. Both hands hold sticks of butter. “They get to meet this one.”

  I glance over at Magnolia. She’s not wearing the ring today. We agreed that until the show aired, it didn’t matter.

  “Oh, I saw something today,” Dad says. He nudges his phone with his elbow. “It’s queued up. Thought you and Magnolia might want to take a look.”

  I pick up his phone. His access code is the same, Mom’s birthday. My throat tightens as I press the numbers. She would have been sixty in two weeks. No one’s mentioned anything about honoring the day.

  His phone serves up a video promo for Kitchen Time with Dawn.

  “Look at this,” I say to Magnolia. I press play.

  The video shows a bit of bonus footage that was taken of me hiding the ring behind my back. The camera zooms in so that the pear-shaped diamond is in full view.

  Magnolia busily rolls out cookie dough in the background.

  An announcer says, “What famous couple will have a romantic surprise right on the show?”

  Dawn’s logo fills the frame.

  I press stop. “Cool, right?” I say.

  Magnolia nods. “A good ending to the season. This is the last one, right? We don’t have anything else booked this year?”

  “Charity has some leads, but only if we want to pursue them.”

  “You two ought to take a break,” Grammy calls from the sink. “You’ve been traveling like mad.”

  “We have.” I scroll through the comments. There are hundreds. A few of them are linking to the online store. Excellent.

  “What is that?” Magnolia asks, and I pause.

  There’s a title on a comment that says, “THAT RING IS FAKE.”

  I shrug. “Probably some armchair gemologist.”

  “It’s got almost a hundred replies,” she says.

  I open the comment thread to reassure her, then stop cold. I want to hide the phone, but Magnolia takes it from me.

  “What?” Her voice has a high, frightened quality.

  Dad and Grammy stop what they are doing to come close.

  Magnolia reads the original comment, every word sharp, like an accusation. “I dated Anthony Pickle two years ago. He proposed to me, and this is NOT his family ring. He was VERY CLEAR that the woman who held his heart would wear his mother’s ring. He gave that ring TO ME. I tur
ned him down, but I know the right ring. AND THIS ISN’T IT. This relationship is a LIE. Listen to that recording where she admits it. THAT is the TRUTH. Magnolia and Anthony are only trying to sell you crappy food with a fake love story!”

  Magnolia’s hand is shaking, and I take the phone before she drops it. “Magnolia—”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “I’ve had enough. Enough. We’ve made good money. This has to stop.”

  She backs toward the door. “I can’t take this. Fake kisses. Fake love story. Now a fake engagement?”

  She runs into the door frame, then shifts so she can walk through it. “I’m going home, Anthony. My family needs me.”

  Then she hurries away.

  I stand in shock for a moment, then glance at Dad. His lips are pressed tight. “Go get her, son. Try to make it right.”

  I sprint out of the kitchen.

  Magnolia has pulled her coat out of the closet and heads for the door.

  “Magnolia, wait.”

  She doesn’t stop. “I’m getting a cab to the hotel. Please ask Charity to reinstate my old ticket for tonight. I want to go home.”

  She pulls open the door. “I’ll leave the ring in the safe for you. We can talk business after the holiday.”

  I start to follow her, but she holds up a hand. “I’ve had enough, Anthony! Back off!”

  So I stop on the top step.

  She hurries down the sidewalk. Her arm lifts as she flags down a cab driving slowly along the curb.

  Dad comes up beside me. “Aren’t you going to go?”

  I shake my head. “She’s stubborn. We’ll catch up again in Boulder.”

  He puts his hand on my shoulder. “So, what really is happening between you two?”

  I shrug. I don’t even know. “We were getting along.”

  “Is it true you proposed to that other girl? You never told us.”

  “I did. She said no. There was nothing to tell.”

  “Were you broken up about it?”

  “Yes and no. I guess I knew she wasn’t the one, but I was tired of looking.”

  He squeezes my shoulder.

  We head back inside.

  “I need to call Charity to get Magnolia’s flight square.”

  “You do that.” He steps away. “For what it’s worth, I think you two will figure it out.”

  I nod and head to my old bedroom to make the call.

  I’m no good at this. I never see what’s coming.

  All I can do is try to make the inevitable ending go easy.

  Dad’s house feels empty once Magnolia is gone.

  Charity confirms that Magnolia used her ticket for Boulder.

  The smells of cooking waft up to my childhood bedroom, still festooned with Mets pennants and high school memorabilia.

  Max and Camryn arrive, and the hush that follows their boisterous entrance tells me that quiet conversations about me are happening elsewhere in the house.

  When no one knocks on my door, I head to the desk and dig around until I find the lockbox hidden in the back.

  I turn the three sliders until it opens. Inside is a worn blue velvet box.

  My dad gave it to me shortly after I graduated culinary school. Opening it now, I can only picture the princess cut diamond flanked with blue baguettes on my mother’s finger. Every time she brushed back my hair after a fall or showed me how to stir a proper batch of fudge, it winked on her hand.

  I know exactly who wrote that comment on the site. Calinda Foster. I dated her while we were both in culinary school. But when I opened the deli, she made clear that her skills were for Michelin-starred restaurants, not counter service delis. She berated my choices.

  Still, I proposed. I was prepared to abandon Boulder Pickle for her. Fly to France. Learn any cuisine.

  But that wasn’t enough. It turned out it was me after all. She handed back my mother’s ring with a grimace. I regretted my heartfelt spiel. I brought the ring back to New York to get it out of sight.

  And I made a mistake this time too. A big one.

  In the car when we decided to buy a ring, Dad asked if I wanted to go somewhere else instead. He was asking about this ring. If we should fetch it.

  And I had said no.

  I said no.

  I could have stopped this whole thing by coming for it. Using it instead.

  But I hadn’t. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself a second time.

  Now it’s too late.

  The front door opens and closes, a sound I could always hear from my room, as I’m directly above the entry. Jason’s voice calls out, and the happy sound of my family gathering rises again.

  I should go down there. Be a part of things.

  But I can’t stop looking at the ring. What would Mom tell me to do? I told Magnolia I loved her on the show. That was a mistake. She won’t believe it if I tell her again. She’ll assume it’s all part of the ruse.

  A rap on the door startles me. “Anthony?”

  It’s Max. He’s always the one who reaches out. He’d flown all the way to France to fetch Jason once.

  I pop the box closed and stick it in the drawer. “Yeah?”

  He opens the door. “The gang’s all here.”

  “I’m sure the whole block heard.”

  He laughs. “Subtle, we are not.” He sits on the bed. “You want to talk about it?”

  I shrug. “As usual, the youngest is making life difficult for everyone.”

  “No, bro. You never do that. You’re the only one who’s had your head screwed on right from the beginning. It’s why you were Mom’s favorite.”

  “Mom didn’t have favorites.”

  “Au contraire. We don’t begrudge you. You were the cutest kid.” He reaches over and rubs my head with his knuckles. “Which is why we treated you the worst.”

  I duck away from his hand. “Well, I’ve screwed the pooch this time. Nothing’s gone right since I went on that stupid show. I wish I’d never invented that spicy pickle.”

  The doorway darkens. It’s Jason. “Now that’s a sack of bull if I’ve ever heard one,” he says. “You went viral. You’re famous.”

  “And look where it got me.” I fall back on the bed and stare at the ceiling. It’s the same swirl of paint with zero answers for me since I was born.

  “So, do you like this girl or not?” Jason asks. “Nobody’s clear.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I do.”

  Max elbows my ribs. “Then why the hell did you let her get away?”

  “Like I could stop her!”

  Max and Jason exchange glances.

  They say the same thing simultaneously, “She’s a Packwood.”

  I sit back up. “Hardly.”

  Jason slugs my shoulder. “We’re not saying it’s going to be a smooth ride.”

  Max punches my gut. “It never is.”

  “You two beating up on me isn’t going to solve anything.”

  They both laugh.

  “We’re shifting your pain around,” Jason says.

  The two of them head to the hallway.

  Max has a parting shot. “It’s going to work out. Just don’t quit on her. Say something. Even the wrong thing. Just keep talking.”

  Their footsteps disappear down the hall.

  So I should say something.

  Like what?

  Sorry I proposed with the wrong ring? We’ve only not hated each other for a month.

  I snatch up my phone from the desk. I’m not good at this.

  But then, probably neither were my brothers, and they managed to snag their perfect match.

  She’s a Packwood. Were they right?

  I start and delete a dozen sentences. Finally, I only text her this: I’ll be back in Boulder on Saturday. Hope to see you.

  But I’m not going to hold my breath.

  28

  Magnolia

  Despite the comment from Anthony’s ex, the word about the fake engagement doesn’t seem to gain any traction. Charity thinks that since nobody
’s seen the proposal yet, they are reserving judgment.

  She has the show delete the comment, and Anthony’s ex doesn’t pursue it any further.

  On Thanksgiving Day, as we all pitch in to cook the meal, I tell my parents about the upcoming fake proposal on Dawn’s show to undo Shane’s recording. It’s a relief to tell someone the truth.

  “I’m sorry I ever trusted that boy,” Dad says. “Dan was particularly broken up. He’d taken Shane under his wing. He was like a son to him.”

  “I hope I never see him again,” Mom says. “I can’t believe he called me Mom like he had any claim to our family.”

  We’ve finished dinner and the dishes are drying on the rack when Havannah takes me aside. “I think this is as good a time as any, don’t you think?”

  “You’re going to tell them you’re pregnant?”

  She nods.

  She’s done more research to make sure the baby doesn’t belong to one of the other guys. Based on her positive pregnancy test date, it’s impossible to have been anyone else. A pregnancy from either of the later men could not have given her a plus sign that early.

  Psycho band dude has pled guilty to assault and will probably serve about a year. In the follow-up stories we’ve read, other women he’s injured have come forward, so new charges are being filed. He’s toast. We don’t want him.

  Havannah’s decided single motherhood is going to be her lot. She doesn’t want to think about the father and has decided she won’t entertain any questions about him from anyone, not even Mom or Dad. She and I will be the only ones who ever know, at least as long as the man is in jail, and until the baby is old enough to ask about it.

  I hold her hand as we walk to the living room, where Dad watches a football game from his recliner. Mom is knitting a green cap on the sofa, and Grandmama rocks in her favorite chair.

  We wait for a commercial. Dad glances up. “Since you girls are on your feet, can somebody get me some iced tea?”

  Havannah nods. “In a second. I have an announcement first.” She picks up the remote and mutes the sound.

  She draws in an unsteady breath. “Mom. Dad. Grandmama. I’m having a baby in June. By myself. No father. I’m excited and I hope you’ll support me.”