Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“My grandma used to do this cool, like, pinch and twist thing that made it look—nope, not like that. Oh, well.”
He shrugged, put the pie into the oven, turned it on, and set a timer. They sat at the kitchen table.
“So you came here?”
“Yeah. Once it was clear Mason wasn’t going to be part of our lives, it didn’t make sense to stay. I just couldn’t afford it. I was talking to River one day about six months ago. They were telling me all about how great the cat shelter was doing and how they had this whole group of queer friends now. How things were changing here. And they said they wished they could be a part of Gus’ life. They were only a kid when she was born, so they’d hardly spent any time together. That clinched it.
“I felt horrible making Gus leave her friends, but coming here just made sense. Rent is affordable and River was excited to watch her sometimes. It seemed like a good solution.”
“Could I see your pictures?”
“My photography?” Adam looked surprised. “Yeah, if you want.”
“You said you loved it.”
“Well, yeah.”
Wes wanted to see what it looked like for Adam Mills to love something.
“Hang on a sec.”
Adam returned with a beat-up laptop.
“This is some of my stuff.”
The website was called Adam Mills Photography and its aesthetic was a combination of rustic mountain charm and elegance.
Adam scrolled through his portfolio and talked about the shots. He used words like composition, balance, and focus, but all Wes saw was how every single one of Adam’s photographs looked happy.
Some were of people, and even those who weren’t smiling had an air of lightness about them; of ease. The pictures of nature looked peaceful and joyous. Even a shot of a general store at sunset managed to convey a sense of cheer.
“They’re lovely,” Wes said, then amended, “I don’t know anything about photography. But they make me happy.”
“Yeah?”
Adam’s voice was soft and he was smiling.
“Yup.”
Gus wandered into the kitchen then, hands and face smudged with gray streaks of grease.
Wes snorted to hide a laugh and watched Adam’s eyes go wide.
“Daddy, can I have a snack?”
“Your timing is perfect,” Adam said excitedly. “I just made apple pie.”
“You did?”
Gus did not sound optimistic.
“Yeah. My grandmother used to make it in these special dishes, and I wanted to make it for you. That’s your great-grandmother. You never met her...”
Adam kept talking while he scrubbed at Gus’ hands and face. He asked her about what she invented, and she said it was a secret. Adam’s eyes sparkled at Wes when she said that, and Wes got the idea that secret might be code for nothing much.
“Okay, sit down and get ready to have your mind blown with deliciousness!” Adam said.
Wes worried Adam might be overselling this a bit.
The timer went off just as Gus sat down and Adam grinned as if this were another sign of the fated perfection of this pie.
He opened the oven door and paused.
“Hmm. Um. Well? Hmm.”
“Everything okay in there?”
“Oh, yeah. Well. I mean. Sure.”
Wes and Gus exchanged a look and the second their eyes met, Gus raised an eyebrow conspiratorially and shook her head slowly, then put her hands to her throat and made a face like she was choking.
“Do you bake often?” Wes asked.
“Oh, sometimes,” Adam said breezily. “I made cookies for Gus’ class.”
Gus made a crossed-eyes death face.
“And I always make her birthday cakes.”
Gus shook her head rapidly in warning.
Adam turned to the table with the pie and Gus just smiled. When he turned away to get silverware, though, she caught Wes’ eye again and shook her head deliberately, eyes wide.
A plate was placed before each of them, and Adam regarded the pie.
“Well, it doesn’t look quite like what my grandma’s used to look like. But I’m sure all pies are different?”
He cocked his head like perhaps looking at it aslant would change it from hideously misshapen to appetizing. After all, he had just spent ten minutes telling Wes about how changing perspective could change any photograph.
Adam shrugged. “Let’s dig in!”
He cut into the pie and liquid bubbled up in the incision. With extensive wiggling, sawing, and scooping, he managed to excavate three pieces of watery pie.
Pieces was perhaps an overstatement. Globs? Piles.
Wes was not a picky eater. Food was just calories and calories were just energy and every human needed energy to get through the day. He took a bite of the pie.
It turned out pie was rather an overstatement as well.
“Mmm,” Wes said, trying to swallow the bite very quickly to avoid tasting any more of it and also not swallow it because the filling was very hot and felt like it might scorch a path directly through his esophagus.
He blinked rapidly. His body’s attempt to rid itself of this unholy abomination, or just a side effect of burning himself, he couldn’t tell.