Pink Flamingos

Cherry Pie

The next morning, Mama Heather presented me with a steaming hot cherry pie that smelled like heaven and looked even better. Knowing that that could never come without a catch, I raised my eyebrow.

“You, little Missy, are going to take this to the boy across the road. You really ought to get to know people your own age. And we really ought to start being neighborly.”

I scowled. “We’re neighborly enough. We stay out of everyone’s way…and we don’t bother other people with our loud music. Sounds fine to me.”

“Don’t make excuses.” She handed me the pie and practically pushed me out the door. “Go talk to him.”

In my opinion, the boy in the trailer across from ours did not deserve a pie as delicious as the ones that Mama Heather could whip up. I would’ve felt differently if it was one of Mama Chelsea’s, or even one of mine – Mama Chelsea was good at witchcraft but hopeless in the kitchen, and my pies always collapsed in on themselves, which justified by describing it as an artistic representation of my mind – but Mama Heather’s were beyond heavenly. I didn’t want to walk over to him and hand him magic,

Unfortunately, it seemed that there was no other option.

He was sitting in the same chair, wearing the same Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses, listening to records I had already heard coming from his record player. Boring, I thought to myself. And I thought it again as I marched over to him. Boring, boring, boring.

It was déjà vu. He slid his sunglasses down, looking unimpressed but a little bemused by me. I stood in front of him, staring down at him blankly with the pie in my hands.

“My Mama told me to bring you this.” I held it out for him.

The boy raised his eyebrows. “You bought me a pie, sweetheart?”

“My Mama told me to bring you this,” I huffed.

He held out his finger for me to wait. Quickly, he stood up and disappeared inside his trailer. It wasn’t long before he came out with a handful of cutlery in his right hand and another fold-up deck chair in his left, which he set up next to the one he already had out.

“You brought me a pie,” he repeated.

“Like I said, I didn’t bring you a pie-“

“Yeah, yeah, I get it – your Mama told you to. But you’re the one who brought it over. So take a seat and have a slice. My treat.”

At a loss of what to do, I sat down with a pout, the pie in my lap. “It’s not really your treat. My mom baked it after all.”

“You look five when your face is like that,” he commented, sitting down beside me.

I retorted maturely, “You act five.”

He laughed and handed me a knife and fork, instructing me to dig in and saying that plates were unnecessary. But I couldn’t bring myself to eat – I could only stare at him with a frown. He had never been nice to me before. That being said, all I’d really done was yell at him. That didn’t help my understanding of why he wanted me to sit down with him.

“What’s your name, new girl?”

“Nancy.”

Between mouthfuls of pie, he said, “Nancy? Cute. I’m – f**k, this is good pie – Eddie.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said out of habit.

“No, it’s not,” he said with a sparkle in his eye.

“You’re right,” I said, “it’s not.”

A few moments of silence passed, only interrupted by his loud chewing and my controlled breathing. Whenever he turned away slightly, I took the opportunity to study his features. Messy hair, hazel eyes, wide nose, soft jawline.

I hoped he didn’t notice my staring. It seemed like the kind of thing that would only inflate his ego, and I didn’t feel like explaining that I did it so I could work on my descriptions of people in my writing.

After more silence, he said, “You have two moms, don’t you? That’s what everyone’s saying.”

I nodded slowly.

“That’s weird.”

I scowled. “It’s not weird. I bet your family is weird,” I said angrily.

Eddie laughed. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing. Why have you got two moms?”

“I don’t need to tell you anything,” I said angrily.

His smile faded all of a sudden. He swallowed nervously. It was the first time I had seen him taken aback.

My own anger was replaced by nervousness. It had never been like me to yell, swear or even really speak my mind. Eddie had certainly brought a different temperament out in me. I wasn’t so sure that I liked it.

“Sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He looked at me with wide eyes. I sighed, defeated. “I’ve got two moms because they’re in love. Isn’t it as simple as that?”

“Fair enough, but which one’s womb did ya come from, sweetheart?”

“Like I said, my name is Nancy,” I huffed. He apologized again. After a moment’s hesitation, I said, “Mama Heather is my real mom. She’s the tall blonde one.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen her around. She seems nice, she always smiles at me.”

“She hates your music. She’s like me, she thinks it too loud.”

“Obviously she’s not quite as mad ‘bout it as you are,” he grumbled. “But why have you got another mom?”

“Like I said, they’re in love. Mama Chelsea and Mama Heather have been together since I was ten.”

“Where’s your father?”

I glared at him. “What’s it to you? You shouldn’t be so nosy-“

“I was just asking.”

Abruptly, I stood up, dumping the pie on his lap. “Thanks for the chat, keep the pie and the questions to yourself.” I stormed back to my own trailer and closed the door behind me. I only wanted to get the nervousness I was feeling away from me – my head was spinning.