Citrus

Chapter 4

“It won't kill you." I glare at her.

"Yes, it will. You're being a terrible friend for forcing me to go." Blair clutches onto the arm of the couch, fighting my pull.

I scoff in her face before forcefully dragging her off the couch where she collapsed earlier this morning. Blair makes a satisfying thump on the floor as I lean over her, "You told me to make you go," I accuse.

Blair had a nasty habit of trying to avoid anything that makes her sweat. She had a dream body but always complained she wanted to be healthier. Yesterday, she had vowed to go running with me, saying I shouldn't listen to any of her pleas and drag her along. However, when I woke up today, Blair was sitting in the living room with a guilty expression next to our close college friend and neighbors, Glory Minabou.

Glory was a lovely Cameroonian girl, quiet and sure. She had a large coily afro, came up to my shoulders, and was full of wit. She could be the life of the party when she wasn't studying. Blair and I had met her sophomore year when Glory was volunteering in the medical center on campus. Blair had invited her under the guise of brunch, which would help her avoid exercising. Her plan was failing as Glory sat back, watching as I dragged Blair towards the door.

I had been dressed and ready to go for an hour, wearing skin-tight runners' leggings in a delicate cream color. It was still warm outside when the sun was shining, so I skipped wearing a runner's shirt and instead wore a black sports bra. Blair had been stalling, as she sat in a dingy T-shirt and a pair of shorts. Blair glumly lays her chin on her arms and buries her forehead into our carpet. "Jamie, I'm in mourning,"

With a sigh, I know Blair won't get up from the floor unless I play her game, "Who are you mourning?" I deadpan as I put my hands on my hips.

"My dead romantic life,"

I look towards Glory to see if she knows what that could mean, but she just shrugs back at me. One thing to know about Blair Montgomery is that she is boy crazy. She's always been like that but perfected her craft in high school. She sees someone interesting, whether it be for a physical attribute or a talent.

Blair draws them in with her bubbly personality and good luck and they always fall for it hook, line and sinker. Blair keeps them around until she's done finding them interesting and cuts them off with no remorse or hesitation. It's always something I've admired of her.

However, I haven't seen her with anybody or show interest in anybody since Henley. Which had been months ago. Before I can even decipher if I need to be comforting her or staging an intervention to get her back in the field, a weak knock comes from the front door. Heaving a sigh, I grab Blair's running outfit and hand it towards Glory with pleading eyes. She begrudgingly takes them from me.

I open the door hastily, not bothering to use the peephole on the door, rubbing at my temples as Blair and Glory howl in the background. I'm not prepared for the sight that stands on my welcome mat. Vanessa stands there, jumping at the sudden movement of the door swinging open.

Her hair is in a severe ponytail at the nape of her neck. Today she wore a turtleneck in a nice lavender color, and it tucked in primly into a pair of grey slacks. On her arm is a large tote bag that looks as if it's weighted down. Her face has minimal make-up, but it took a lot of work. I stare at her for a few moments, surprised she's there at all.

It had been a few days since the elevator incident. After the way I had stormed off, I thought it would strain any attempt at future conversations between us. I was no longer angry about the event. It hadn't been either of our faults. My face was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. That being said, I had no clue why Vanessa was on my doorstep.

Vanessa seemed stuck in place as her eyes widened on me, moving from the top of my head to my feet. When she continues to stare at me, I lean against the door frame and raise an eyebrow. "Hey,"

Vanessa lightly shakes her head and smiles weakly, "Hey back," This recommences Vanessa just staring at me for a few more seconds.

When it's clear she will say nothing else, I ask, "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Vanessa, who has always appeared cool and collected, does something new. She flushes. She becomes a pretty pink that begins leaking from her forehead down her neck, going underneath her turtleneck. She sputtered as if water was just thrown into her face.

"Oh, yes!" She exclaims and begins fumbling with her bag. The bag almost tumbles off her shoulder and onto the floor. The scene reminds me of a comedy movie, something you always laughed at, but in real life, you want to cringe. I reach out to grab something, but she waves my hands off. The pink on her face becomes a more intense red the more she fumbles around. When she has a handle on everything, a loose handle, she shoves the bag in my direction. "My father always says to call a truce before the war starts. Especially when you're in the wrong."

For a second, I stare at the bag before my eyes slowly come up to Vanessa's. In the two meetings I had with Vanessa, I realized I couldn't predict what she would do. Vanessa lightly chews on her lip as she watches me take the bag from her. "I have to say sorry. A few nights ago I was being stubborn, and you got hurt because of it. I hope this makes up for it and we can call it even," She explains as I heft the bag up onto my arm. It was heavy.

My eyebrows furrow at the weight and how the bag feels warm on the bottom. Curiously, I look into it and it's packed with foil. All I can see is something brown buried in all the foil. A sweet smell lazily wafts out of the bag, smelling like sugar.

"It's an apple pie." Vanessa offers offhandedly. At her words, my head snaps back up towards her. There she stands, brushing imaginary dust off her top. Her eyes avoid mine.

"A pie?" I ask. Honestly, it stuns me. This was one of the last things I expected. The elevator incident only warranted a simple sorry. And yet, here I was holding a heavy baked pie. Did people really do this or was that only in terrible movies? I feel like I'm dreaming. I feel a laugh bubbling in my chest.

"Yeah. I made it with jazz apples instead of granny smith apples. I like my apple pie sweeter." Vanessa rambled off more steps that she had to take to create the pie, but I wasn't listening.

I interrupt her rambling with a look. "You made me a pie," I talk slower to reiterate. "Why would you do that?" Vanessa's head tilts to the side in a confused manner. Her mouth opens once before she closes it again. She opens it again when she finds words.

"A few days ago you were helping me," She looks towards the elevator as if to confirm the memory was real. I knew it was real because of the bruise on my foot. "It's to say sorry for hitting you in the head."

I just blink in her face as I try to piece everything together. Vanessa had felt like she needed to apologize to me and to do so, she had taken the time to craft a homemade apple pie. A nod in the hallways when we passed each other was all I needed. I had never heard about gifting baked goods in exchange to bury a hatchet.

Vanessa's face blanches as a thought crosses her mind, "Did I give you brain damage? Did you forget that night?" Of course, I hadn't forgotten how I had let her in.

"I don't have brain damage, I'm just trying to make sure I'm not dreaming," I can't help the dry, surprised laugh that comes out of my mouth. "To be clear, you made me an apple pie to say sorry for a box falling on my face."

Saying that sentence aloud almost caused me to kneel over.

"Yes, you don't have to laugh."

"I'm sorry, It's just..." I straighten up, "Does anyone do that?" I can't imagine the answer is yes. In California, or anywhere in the north, I assume it's the basic practice of pretending people don't exist.

"Do what?" she sighs, exasperated, her hands flying up before slapping her thighs.

"Bake to show gratitude to almost strangers. Seems like that only happens in movies. Or bad romance books." I say truthfully.

"Everyone I know does something like this back home." Vanessa defends, shrugging her shoulders once. Her mouth becomes pinched as her eyes slide off to the side.

I hide my amusement poorly, "How very Southern of you."

Vanessa's eyes narrow on me, but she's still a rosy pink color on the face. With a huff, she reaches for the bag in my arms, "Look if you don't want it-"

I jerk the bag out of her reach quickly, tilting my body back, "I want it. A simple sorry would have worked but, free food is never a bad thing." I soothe. Vanessa huffs but relaxes a bit where she stands. "Sorry, I was just teasing."

Vanessa reaches up and smooths her hair, which is still perfect, "It's alright, I'm just not used to being teased about my pies."

"You wanna come in and have a slice?" I offer while lifting the bag. I smile invitingly. Eden mentioned that Vanessa rarely gets out, only coming when he forces the welcoming committee. Blair already didn't want to go for a run, so there was no harm in having people over instead. Plus, I just wanted her to relax and hang out. It seemed like she never had the time.

Vanessa blinks slowly. Her eyes move to behind me, where I know she can see as far as the kitchen turns off. I can hear Glory and Blair cackling in the living room still. She shakes her head a little. "Ah, no thank you. I have a prior event." Her apologetic wince makes her face squish in a way that makes my chest pulse. I keep the surprise off my face of the feeling because that was weird. I almost don't even want to think about it. Instead, I just plaster another smile on my face.

"Consider the water under the bridge," I lower my voice, even though the hallway is quiet as I lean forward, "I'll eat every bite," I promise. Vanessa, who suddenly looks like she wants to be anywhere but here, nods stiffly before finally smiling at me. She woodenly turns and begins heading towards the elevator with no more words.

I snicker as I lean a little out of my doorway, "Bye Vanessa," I call with laughter in my voice. The prim and proper girl turns on her three-inch sandal heels and waves back quickly before righting herself and almost jogging towards the elevator.

With a chuckle, I go back into my apartment and kick the door shut with a bang. I shuffle to the kitchen before lightly putting the bag on the empty counter. Immediately I unpack the bag, revealing napkins, forks, and the pie wrapped in foil. The pie wasn't what made the bag so heavy, though. The pie rested on top of a porcelain blue and white dish. The dish had to have been five pounds by itself. Bluebirds were painted on the side of it, and it was cared for. The porcelain seemed to shine.

"Who was it?" Glory asks, popping her head around the corner. She must have noticed my expression because she walked farther into the kitchen and plopped down onto one of the kitchen stools, looking at what was laying out on the counter.

"Vanessa Colby." Glory's eyebrows go up towards her hairline. Glory, Blair, and I know that Vanessa is Eden's responsibility. She knew just about as much as us, so she was just as surprised to hear her name, as I was opening the door to see Vanessa. Glory's eyes tag the pie that rests on our counter. I can see her trying to do the math in her head.

"She gave me a pie." I motion towards the pie. We both stare at the anomaly presented to us. I've never experienced neighbors, let alone strangers, giving me an item as a sign of thanks, so I'll excuse my floored response to it.

"What?" Glory asks, her voice unnaturally high.

"Exactly," I lean gently on the counter, "She stopped by to drop it off. That was nice of her..." I trail off. Part of me is ready to cut it and move on while another part of me is fighting a wave of heating from rushing to my face unexceptionable.

"That is either the sweetest thing I've ever seen or the gayest," Glory says unabashedly. I choke on the inhale of air I was taking, coughing loudly. I glare at Glory as she's the cause. She shrugs her defense, not looking the least bit sorry.

"You and Blair are such hopeless romantics that you're projecting on others," I accuse. This isn't the first or last time she has said this. Glory claims she has a sense, that she can tell who is and isn't interested in the same s*x. It's ridiculous, especially since seventy percent of the time she is wrong. I think it's because she reads so many books online.

Glory snickers before grabbing a fork and gesturing for me to grab a knife. Blair, as if summoned by food, walks into the kitchen and the entire conversation about Vanessa stopping by occurs again, except this time Glory relays the story. While Blair and Glory make outlandish theories about why she could have stopped by I go searching for a knife.

"Maybe it's filled with untraceable poison from the south," Blair offers to Glory. She seems proud of this theory, with wide eyes and a smile. Almost like she was hoping our neighbor was trying to poison us.

"Alternatively, maybe she was just being nice," I grumble under my breath, before finally pulling a large enough knife out of the drawer.

Blair scoffs, "Be serious, Jamie. We could die eating this. I read about this one serial killer-"

"She is not a serial killer," I cut her off. Blair makes a high-pitched sound as if to say 'we don't know that'. I ignored her once again. I peel the foil away completely to reveal the whole pie, and it was nothing like I was expecting. I was expecting maybe a regular flat pie, but this was a work of art.

The pie was big enough to feed more than the three of us. The pie was a golden brown, toasted to perfection. There was brown sugar and cinnamon sprinkled onto the top that would explain the sweet smell that wafted in the kitchen. There was a crisscross pattern over the top, leaving little holes to peek into the filling. The filling looked gooey brown with hints of apple chunks nestled in.

It was still deliciously warm to the touch, which leads me to believe that it had just come off the cooling rack, if not the oven. Freshly made and nothing like store-bought desserts, it made this look delicious.

Something so much better than I could have ever made. I could burn water if I tried hard enough, which is why in high school I gave up on the pursuit of cooking or baking. People needed a certain talent to make food delicious, and Vanessa Colby had it.

"Jamie..." Blair haltingly calls my name. When I bring my head up from the pie she gives me a strange look, "You ok? You're glaring at the pie."

I blink at her. Once. Twice. Before jerking my head. I cut myself the pie without hesitation, quickly serving up three pieces. Blair, who is more than happy to taste test pie, quickly shoves a chunk into her mouth without ceremony. She chews once before her eyes close in what looks like bliss.

"If this is poisoned, I don't want to be resuscitated." She happily moans. Blair wastes no more words before she wolfs down her piece. Glory follows Blair's lead and has a similar reaction, making happy sounds.

I slice into my piece easily with my fork, grabbing a sizable chunk. The crust crumbling underneath my fork, flaking off lightly. I raise the piece to take my first bite. The bite itself is like a little bite of heaven. The tart dough of the pie is a surprise, and it balances out the sweetness of the brown sugar filling. The soft apples are hidden inside crunch delicately under my teeth, giving a tart aftertaste. I don't stop the pleased sound from coming from my mouth. On the second bite of the pie, I skipped the run until tomorrow and let Blair off from the hook. On the third bite, I took the pie to my room and ate half of it for dinner. The next morning, much to Blair's despair, I finished it for breakfast.