Spicy Pickle (Fake Engagement)

by J J Knight

  Mom drops her knitting. Grandmama stops rocking. Dad looks at the floor a moment. Then, as if he suddenly realizes exactly what Havannah has said, he lunges out of the chair. “You are what?”

  “Pregnant,” Havannah says. “Due in June. I won’t find out the gender for a while yet.” She grips my hand like a vise.

  “I’m going to help,” I say. “We might get a larger place. It will probably be okay for a while. We’ve started rearranging Havannah’s room to make space for a bassinet.”

  “I demand to know who the father is,” Dad says. His face is bright red.

  “Your demand will not be met,” Havannah answers. I admire her calm. “I’m to be a single mother, and I will need my family.”

  Mom sets aside her knitting. “That’s ridiculous, Havannah. The boy needs to step up.”

  “He won’t,” she says, but her voice has a shake in it. “And I don’t want him to. If that is all you have to say, Magnolia and I will head on home.”

  “That’s enough,” Grandmama says. “It’s a family holiday. We should spend it together.” Her eyes shoot daggers at her son. “Sit down, John Paul. You’re going to be a grandfather. It’s not the end of the world.”

  Dad drops back into his chair, his hands gripping the armrests.

  “Havannah, my love, sit over here,” Grandmama says. “How are you feeling? I had the worst morning sickness with your father.”

  Havannah lets out a tiny whimper of relief and releases my hand to sit near the rocker. “I’ve been terribly sick. Only crackers and ginger ale seem to help.”

  Grandmama begins to rock again. “Let a little Sprite go flat and sip that when you first wake up. That’s what did it for me.”

  Havannah nods.

  I lean against the wall, relieved that the moment of shock is over.

  Mom resumes her knitting. “I found plain saltines were better than butter crackers. And it was all done by the time I was three months.”

  “Same here. How far along are you?” Grandmama asks.

  “Ten weeks.”

  “So not much longer until you feel better.”

  I fetch the tea Dad requested. Now that the big news is out of the way, I’ll compile our financials and take my idea to Dad about the new branch. We’ve planned it for years, but this is the first earnings quarter where it seemed like we could make it work.

  The shipments from the online store will roll out in two weeks, and the preorders are tremendous, six figures, just like Charity promised. The money from the orders will be dumped into our accounts before Christmas. It’s amazing.

  With so much new business, we can expand, introducing new dishes regularly with an eye toward a brighter, fresher second store that will appeal to a younger crowd. Even without Anthony generating new ideas, we have Dan. He’s a trained chef, too, and brilliant with food.

  The original store can remain the same or adopt the most successful of the new items. That will be up to Dad. We’ll leave Sakura to manage the old store, but maybe Dan could move to ours. The most expensive position would be covered if Havannah and I manage it ourselves. We’d only need a crew.

  My personal plan is to throw myself into the work. When the proposal airs next week, we will have a new rush of business. I probably should have kept the ring. People might come in and ask.

  But of course, I don’t work the front room. I hide in the back. So once the initial publicity has passed, it won’t matter.

  My relationship with Anthony has run its course. I don’t have to fake anything. We never saw each other in Boulder anyway, outside of tasting the new deli items and going on the local show.

  Our affair was all about the publicity and the travel. Of course it happened. Temptation was so close, with so much fake romance and hotel rooms all to ourselves.

  It was fun. Hot. Amazing.

  But the shows are over.

  And so are we.

  Kitchen Time with Dawn airs the week after Thanksgiving. I half hope they’ll cut the proposal, but it runs as expected.

  I watch the show as Havannah gets ready for chef Dan’s annual Christmas party. I’ve already declined. I never want to leave home again.

  Havannah pauses by the TV, fastening long swirly earrings. She’s got a tiny baby bump, but in the swish of her flowy dress, you can’t see it. She’s not planning to announce her pregnancy more widely until January.

  “He sure looks earnest,” she says as Anthony gets down on one knee.

  I don’t answer, wishing for ice cream to shovel in my gullet. I’m getting unexpectedly teary. I’d turn it off, but Havannah sits next to me to watch.

  “What does he say right there?” she asks as Anthony leans close to my ear.

  “I love you,” I say.

  “Shut the front door!” Havannah shouts. “He said he loved you?”

  “It was for the show,” I say. Now I really want that ice cream.

  “If it was for the show, why isn’t it loud enough for the mics to pick it up?”

  I shrug. “He probably didn’t know it wouldn’t.”

  “I don’t think so! You two have done a million shows at this point. He knows what a mic can pick up!”

  “Whatever it was, it’s over now.”

  “Did you sleep with him?”

  I never told anybody, not even Havannah. “Maybe once or twice.”

  A day.

  “Magnolia! Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “You are going through something much bigger. And it didn’t matter. It was just a hotel room fling while we were traveling.”

  Anthony and I start kissing on screen. I can’t stand it any longer, so I shut off the TV. “I’m glad you’re feeling well enough to go to the party after all. Does Dan know you’re coming?”

  Havannah watches me a moment. “That’s all we’re going to say about this?”

  I drag the blanket up on my lap. “Yep, that’s it.”

  She pulls on my arm. “I understand where you are. But please come to the party. It might be important if we want Dan to come to our branch.”

  “No way.” I scoot away from her on the sofa. “Let me sit here and wallow.”

  “All right. I suppose you let me do that.” She stands up. “I understand about wallowing.”

  “Get me some ice cream from the freezer?”

  Havannah tosses a really? expression my way, but heads to the kitchen.

  I pick up my phone and check my messages out of habit. Anthony has written me once a day, usually around dinner time. Easy stuff. Did you see the labels? The stock just hit the warehouse. So proud of what we’ve done here.

  It’ll be an hour until his daily message. Sometimes I write back. Sometimes I don’t. They’re not personal anymore, not since the Thanksgiving one when he hoped he’d see me.

  I guess he’s done too.

  Havannah returns with my pint of Chunky Monkey and a spoon. “Knock yourself out,” she says before disappearing down the hall.

  We’re back to Boudreaux status quo. Havannah is the elegant sister heading to a party. I’m the wallflower binging ice cream on a Saturday night.

  My phone pings. Anthony’s daily message must be early today. Maybe he just watched Dawn’s show, too.

  But it’s Charity.

  Milton must have seen the comment about the ring and prepared a social media blitz for the airing of the show. He’s interviewed the woman and launched an offense we’ll have to handle.

  The other woman. Anthony’s first proposal.

  I don’t even want to know about it.

  More messages ping. Links. Something comes through from Anthony. It’s a group chat. I fling my phone to the table, half hoping it breaks.

  I’m going to be humiliated. Milton will say the other proposal was real and mine was fake. I was never the one. Anthony’s one true love was that other woman.

  It’s horrible. I never should have played the fame game.

  I set the uneaten ice cream on the table and fall face-first onto the sofa.<
br />
  Havannah returns. “Uh oh. What’s going on?”

  The sofa squeaks as she sits next to me. “Mags?”

  My phone dings, dings, dings, and I wave my hand in its direction.

  Havannah picks it up. She can’t unlock it, but she can read the previews of the notifications. “Mags, you have to deal with this. People are suggesting everyone cancel their preorders of your and Anthony’s stuff.”

  That makes me sit up. “What?”

  “Charity is saying you two need an appearance together — now.”

  “Oh, God.”

  The phone rings.

  “Don’t answer that,” I insist.

  Havannah ignores me and takes the call. “This is Magnolia’s sister.”

  She nods. “Uh huh. Yes, we’re headed to a Christmas party. Will that work?”

  What does she mean we?

  I paw at her thigh, but she bats my hand away. “I’ll text Anthony the address.”

  Anthony?

  “Make sure he has the ring. Yes, the one from the show. What’s the story about why it’s a new one?” Havannah nods, ignoring my slashing motion in the air. “I’ll make sure some of our friends record it and upload to social media. Is there a hashtag? Right. Boudrickle. Got it. No problem.”

  She hangs up. “Come with me, Mags. You’re getting dressed and headed to a party.”

  “No!”

  She stares me down. “Do you think you’re sitting here mooning over Anthony Pickle because of some hotel fling?”

  I shrug.

  “You realize he loves you, right?”

  I’m not sure about that, but I’m not positive she’s wrong either.

  “And you sitting here like a lovesick fool isn’t going to fix anything!”

  I cross my arms over my chest like a five-year-old. “I don’t care.”

  “Come on. I’m going to get you looking like yourself.” She shakes her head. “Somebody has to make you two see what’s right in front of your eyes.”

  She takes my arm and drags me off the sofa to the bathroom.

  And I’m right back to where we started three months ago, my sister prettying me up to put on a show.

  29

  Anthony

  I wait in my car for Magnolia and her sister to arrive. We have to walk into this party together.

  The engagement ring from Dawn’s show is too small for any of my fingers, so I twirl it on the end of my pinky. This is what I wanted, to see Magnolia again. But our entire plan is on the brink of collapse.

  We have to save it.

  Snow falls softly, quickly obscuring the windshield. I flip on the accessory switch, and the wipers swoosh it away. Colored lights twinkle along the street. It should be beautiful and calm. But I’m unsure of what Magnolia will be like. Apparently, her sister has forced her to come. The last thing I feel is peace.

  Magnolia’s car pulls up beside mine. Her sister is driving. She reverses and parks along the curb behind me. I shut off the car and fist my hand to avoid losing the ring.

  Havannah is the spitting image of Magnolia, but with softer edges. Her long blond hair spills out of a sparkly knit cap. “Anthony!” she calls. “We finally meet!” She envelops me in a hug and whispers, “She’s missed you. You’ve got this.”

  My heart hammers. She has? I do?

  Magnolia crunches through the snow in red boots. She wears the black coat I remember from New York.

  I hurry to her side. “Here’s the ring,” I say, and hold it out.

  She takes it and shoves it on her finger. “Thanks.”

  I grasp her hand. “We’ll make this happen.”

  “Did you see all the links? Five separate videos attacking us.”

  “Charity is on the defense. We have a plan.”

  Havannah leads us along the sidewalk. “Isn’t it a beautiful night?” She turns in circles, like she’s thrilled to be alive.

  Magnolia is perfection, her hair in curls again, her red lips a temptation I know I should resist. But there will be mistletoe and, surely, we should kiss for the posts. We have to prove Milton wrong, show him to be the malicious jerk he is for bringing up my past to break us up.

  Havannah knocks on the door, then pushes it open. “Come on, love birds!” she calls. “You’re the life of the party!”

  A roar goes up when we enter. The house is packed with people in bright colors. A lady takes our coats, and my breath catches when I see Magnolia is wearing the dress from New York, our first date.

  I turn her in a circle and the dress flares. When I pull her to me, cameras raise. Perfect.

  She forces a smile, and it’s convincing. Only because I know her so well do I recognize the fake. I squeeze her hand. I want to make her happy again, to find that place we were at in Los Angeles.

  Havannah works the room, asking to see images. She says if they use the hashtag, it might go viral. People are excited.

  I make a big show of giving her a small package. “A gift for my lady!”

  Magnolia tilts her head. “Really?

  Everyone lifts their cell phones again, jostling for a good angle.

  She takes the small box and unties the string. When she lifts the lid, her gasp has to be real. I know her.

  She glances up. “Anthony? How?”

  “What is it?” people murmur.

  Magnolia lifts an earring, and its cascade of rubies catches the light.

  Photos snap. I take it from her and slip it through the hole in her ear. “The woman in New York, the night of our first date, said you admired these.”

  “I couldn’t afford them,” she says, a catch in her voice. There’s no fakery there.

  I take the second one and place it in her ear. “She said you said they were the most beautiful earrings you’d ever seen.”

  Magnolia nods. “I did.”

  “So they belong on the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  The room lets out a sigh.

  Her eyes glisten. When I lean in to kiss her, she’s lost her tough stance. She’s my Magnolia again.

  When we break apart, everyone claps.

  “Excellent, Anthony,” Havannah says brightly. She leans in. “Uploads are hitting everywhere.”

  So that’s done.

  A tall man with a gray beard walks up. “Magnolia!” His face shifts to concern. “I thought you weren’t coming!”

  Magnolia tenses beside me. “Surprise?”

  Havannah steps in. “We wouldn’t miss a chance to sample your incredible cooking. Right, Mags?”

  This must be Dan, the host. And something’s up. I see it in his expression. But he gives the sisters a smile. “Of course.”

  Dan leads us to a dizzying array of food on a long table shoved against the wall. Shallots in cream sauce. Puff pastries. Hand-stuffed ravioli. Dips. Paté. This man is a connoisseur. A real talent. I want to eat everything.

  “This looks wonderful,” I say.

  His brow furrows again as he takes me in. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Dan Teagan, the head chef for the Tasty Pepper.”

  I shake his hand. “I’m Anthony.”

  “Oh, I know who you are!” His gaze crosses the room. “It’s such a surprise! A surprise and an honor.”

  I cast a furtive glance at Magnolia. She’s watching Dan with great interest. So she sees it, too. Something’s off.

  Dan’s eyes go wide, and Havannah turns from the table, a cheese-covered cracker in her hand. She also spots Dan’s panic. He’s petrified.

  Havannah turns to look where Dan is gaping. She gasps. “Dan. You didn’t.”

  I have no idea what anyone is talking about.

  Magnolia follows her gaze, and her grip on my elbow threatens my blood supply. “Dan. No.”

  They are upset.

  Dan’s face has gone pale. “I’m sorry, girls. No one from the family RSVP’d. And he’s like a son to me. I couldn’t leave him out.”

  I turn to see a lanky young man with blond curls staring at us, his expression
hard. I have no idea why he’s causing such a commotion.

  “Who is he?” I ask.

  Magnolia’s voice is cold. “That’s Shane. The ex-employee who recorded me and released it.”

  “I can ask him to leave,” Dan says. “I understand completely.”

  Havannah’s expression to Magnolia is pained.

  When I turn back to Shane, he appears to be trying to leave. Behind him, a young woman follows. Something about her tickles my memory.

  “Let them leave,” Havannah whispers.

  Magnolia’s jaw is tight, but she nods.

  “Who’s that girl with him?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” Magnolia says.

  “Me neither.” Havannah crunches a cracker as we watch.

  I let go of Magnolia to get a better look. Shane and the woman are headed for the front door. No one is paying attention to them.

  It’s killing me that I can’t remember her. She’s throwing on her coat when I catch up. “Have we met?” I ask her.

  Her eyes widen with fear.

  Shane pulls her beside him. “She’s my friend. Back off, asshole.”

  I hold up my hands. “I just was curious how I know her.”

  “She sure as hell doesn’t eat at your lame restaurant.” Shane shoves the woman in front of him, and they head out the front door.

  I stand in the open doorway, watching them retreat down the sidewalk. It’s not her face I recognize so much as the green streak in her hair. Where did I see it?

  Magnolia comes up beside me. “Good riddance,” she says.

  “I know that woman,” I say.

  “Her hair is unique. Shouldn’t be hard to ask around.”

  We return to Havannah, who is still talking to Dan.

  “Who’s the woman with Shane?” Magnolia asks. “Anthony thinks he’s met her.”

  Dan runs his hands down his apron nervously. “Some college friend of his. Talia, I believe. She’s studying performing arts.”

  “Are they dating?” Havannah asks.

  “No,” Dan says. “They’ve been friends for a long time.”

  My memory snaps into place. “Does Talia work in lighting? In the theater?”

  “Maybe?” Dan looks like he wants to escape. “Can I interest you in some wine? I’ll go open a fresh bottle.” He hurries to the kitchen.