Easy as Pie

  Easy as Pie

  A Novella

  M.J. Pullen

  Copyright © 2019 by Amanda Pullen Turetsky

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For the dishes. One day I’ll get around to you.

  People who love to eat are always the best people.

  Julia Child

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Newsletter & Free Book

  Also by M.J. Pullen

  Prologue

  Marlowe held her breath as Rick Richards, sparkly-toothed host of Takeout Takedown, accepted a gold-plated takeout box from a pretty young woman in a short skirt and roller skates. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Rick said expansively, “as you know, we are down to our final two teams of what has been a very competitive season on Takeout Takedown. The judges have just given me their final decision.”

  Marlowe groped for Tara’s hand, and her friend clasped back hard in return. Marlowe could feel the rough bandage where Tara had burned herself making the butterbean and bacon fritters in the appetizer round. Eight weeks of intense competition, twenty-four creative dishes suitable for service in paper boats and Styrofoam, and more than a handful of tearful breakdowns—on and off camera. Each week a pair of contestants had been eliminated; each week the stakes had felt that much higher. She and Tara had made it to the finals, somehow, without screwing up or killing each other. Now they were seconds away from the decision that could change their lives forever. Or, they’d leave disappointed and report back to work at Murray’s Southern and Soul Food restaurant.

  I can live with it, either way, Marlowe told herself, as Rick opened the golden takeout box with glacial slowness and took out the fortune cookie — also gold-plated, because “over the top” was an expression never uttered on the set of Takeout Takedown. Rick extracted a slip of paper from the cookie. It took him hours to read the names printed there, and Marlowe felt sweat running down the back of her neck under the hot television lights. He smiled, smug expression revealing nothing.

  “And the champions of Season Four of Takeout Takedown, winners of $50,000, a year’s lease on a top-of-the-line food truck, and a reserved spot at the best food truck festival in their respective city… are…”

  He paused for dramatic effect. Marlowe knew from years of reality shows that this was the point where the broadcast show would break for commercial, leaving the viewing audience in suspense for another three minutes. Rick looked back and forth between Marlowe and Tara and their rivals, twin brothers from Wisconsin who served everything beer battered and/or dipped in cheese. Marlowe had long suspected that the gregarious twins had been favored by the judges episode after episode, not because of their excellent cooking skills, but because their antics in the kitchen made for great TV. Still, there was no telling…

  “Tara James and Marlowe Spencer!”

  What? She looked at Tara, whose eyes were peeled open in the same expression of shock as her own. Did he say us? Did he really say us?

  Over Tara’s shoulder, the matching polite grimace worn by the twins confirmed what Marlowe had heard. From there, everything exploded into hugs and crying and being congratulated by the show’s judges—even the one who’d called Marlowe’s spicy pimento cheese balls “pedestrian,” which they absolutely were not—and the reluctant handshakes from the twins, which were maybe the most gratifying thing in her life so far. When people at home watched this episode in a few weeks, the credits would roll now, camera panning back on their shocked, smiling faces and cutting to shots of the dishes they’d prepared that day.

  But for Marlowe, the moment seemed to stretch into an oblivion of heady excitement and that “top of the world” feeling that was so rare in her life. So rare in anyone’s life.

  It had all come together. All the hard work and stress and sleepless nights with Tara, practicing and strategizing in the tiny galley kitchen they’d shared for the past two years, experimenting with their own creations in the restaurant where they worked (always after the head chef left for the night). It had all paid off.

  They won.

  Top. Of. The. World.

  1

  Six Weeks Later

  “Sorry I’m late.” Marlowe slid into their favorite booth at the Buckhead Diner and peeled off her rain jacket. “I was just talking with Jerry from Takeout Takedown on the way here.”

  “It’s fine. We ordered bleu cheese chips.”

  Tara and Calvin were already settled into the booth on their side of the table, with a half glass of beer in front of one and sweet tea covered in condensation in front of the other. Calvin had his arm slung around Tara’s shoulders, and she leaned into him comfortably.

  Marlowe ordered a Diet Coke. “How was the getaway? You guys both look so relaxed. I’m seriously jealous.”

  They looked better than relaxed, Marlowe realized. They looked as if they were still in the Caribbean, despite the late November rain. She’d rarely seen Calvin in anything but a suit and tie or his Emory Law T-shirts, but tonight he was in a white linen button-down, open at the neck to reveal a glimpse of his smooth mahogany chest. Beneath a cardigan, Tara wore a floral halter, tied behind the deep bronze of her long neck. With her colorful hair wrap and shell earrings, Marlowe could almost smell the ocean.

  “It was great.” Calvin grinned. “Warm sunsets, unlimited food, cocktails on the beach… It’s going to be rough finishing out the next couple weeks at work without getting fired.”

  “Like you’re in any danger, Mr. Top-Billing Associate…” Tara cooed, tapping Calvin on the nose with a freshly manicured finger.

  Marlowe felt a stab of envy, which she assured herself was related to their beach vacation, not the sickly sweet closeness of their relationship.

  She cleared her throat to redirect the conversation. “So, I did some thinking while y’all were gone, and I wanted to go over some food truck ideas with you. I’m thinking we can play with the soul food fusion theme we created during the show.” Marlowe pulled a stack of rumpled papers from her bag—notes, drawings, and even some recipes she’d been experimenting with while Tara was gone. These had splatters of grease and flour everywhere. “I mean, really play to our strengths—old-school Southern cooking, but with a unique twist.”

  Tara bit her lip. “Marlowe, I feel bad. You shouldn’t have done all this work…”

  “It’s fine. What else did I have to do while you guys were out of town? Besides, the last episode of the season airs in just a few weeks. As soon as the show cuts our prize check, we’ll have to hit the ground running to be ready to open in the spring.”

  Tara and Calvin exchanged glances.

  “I know it sounds fast, but our spot at the Cotton Mill Food Truck Park starts in May and I think we’ll want to have a few dry runs before then, to work out the kinks.” She consulted her notes. “I figure we can start with planning the outside of the truck because we can do all that without staff or space. The prize includes a basic logo and a little bit of decoration—but if we want anything fancy, we’ll have to pay
extra.”

  “Marlowe, about the truck…”

  “I know, I know. It doesn’t make sense to put too much into it since the lease is only for a year, but we will have the option to renew, or we can buy it outright. If we’re careful with the prize money… Fifty thousand can go a long way if we’re smart about it.”

  “Marlowe.” Tara leaned toward her now, resting her hand on Marlowe’s. “Listen.”

  “Right. Sorry.” Marlowe tended to get swept up in things. Tara’s steadiness was one reason they made such a great team. “What’s up?”

  Tara wiggled her hand and waited. Looking down at Tara’s lean, brown fingers across her own pale, unmanicured hands, it took Marlowe a confused second to see what she was looking at. A large diamond engagement ring, which dazzled with light whenever Tara moved her hand. Holy crap.

  “Really?” She looked between their cheese-grin faces, shocked, even though she really ought to have been expecting it. “Congratulations, guys?”

  It wasn’t supposed to be a question. Marlowe held her distracted smile in place while Tara recounted how Calvin had proposed, a romantic picnic dinner at sunset on the beach in St. Something-or-Other. They kept looking at each other, handing off the threads of the story to get the details straight.

  Tell her how you dropped the ring in the sand and the waiter had to bring a flashlight.

  What about how you kept getting annoyed because people would walk by on the beach and disrupt everything.

  You thought I was mad at you.

  But you were just trying to propose.

  No, you tell her.

  No, you.

  “So, I guess this means you’ll be officially moving out of the apartment?” Marlowe asked. “Guess I need to look for a roommate who won’t mind us being up all night in the kitchen, huh?”

  Tara’s smile faded. She had the same look as when Marlowe had tried out a new recipe for deviled eggs with curry powder (not recommended). “That’s the thing.” Tara’s voice broke. “I don’t know how to tell you this. I mean, it’s great news…” She smiled at Calvin, looking for help.

  Once again, Marlowe felt a pang of unearned jealousy. Tara had always turned to her when she didn’t know what to say or do, and now, seamlessly, the job had become Calvin’s.

  He pulled his arm from around Tara’s shoulders and leaned forward on his elbows. “The thing is, I applied for an associate position at this huge commercial finance firm. One of the best in the business.”

  “He didn’t even tell me about it, it was such a long shot,” Tara said.

  “I didn’t want to jinx it by even saying it out loud. They typically only recruit from the Ivy Leagues.”

  “Emory is a top-twenty school. And you were top of your class.” Beaming with pride, Tara’s face was even prettier than usual. She was going to make a beautiful bride.

  “I think Calvin should share that honor with us,” Marlowe put in, swiping at the first of many tears in anticipation of her friend’s wedding. “Since we kept him fed and happy for most of law school. And we hosted his study group every week at the restaurant.”

  “Best Brunswick stew in town,” Calvin said dreamily.

  Tara nudged him.

  “Uh, anyway. This long-shot job, dream job, really… I got the offer.”

  “That’s fantastic!” Marlowe hoisted her Diet Coke in the air. “Now we have two big things to celebrate! Three, if you’re still counting our Takeout Takedown win. Which, of course, I am!”

  Tara and Calvin lifted their glasses, but it seemed half-hearted. The waitress interrupted to drop a heaping plate of thick homemade potato chips, dripping in bleu cheese sauce.

  “Calvin,” Tara hissed. “You said you would tell her.”

  Tell me? Marlowe thought, keeping her eyes trained on the pile of greasy goodness in front of her. Tell me what?

  “The job is in New York,” Calvin said abruptly. “I start at the first of the year. I’m flying up Thursday to look for an apartment. We’ll move right after Christmas.”

  “But…” Marlowe stuttered. Her brain had been working nonstop on very little sleep lately. Now she was struggling to process all the news at once. “You’re engaged, you can’t… long distance?”

  Tara reached across the table, taking Marlowe’s hand the way she might comfort a child. “I’m going with him, honey. We’re moving to New York together.”

  “But…” Marlowe said again. “The truck. Our business.”

  “We’re getting married, Mar.” Tara looked pained. “And this is his dream job. He can’t turn it down. Surely you can understand that?”

  There was a lump in Marlowe’s throat. She wasn’t this friend. She wouldn’t be petty. Disappointed, sure. Sad, sure. Devastated and more than a little freaked out… “Of course. I’m thrilled for you guys. I just need a second to process everything.”

  “I think that’s my cue.” Calvin kissed Tara on the temple. She shifted out of the booth to let him up, and Marlowe congratulated him again, accepting a tight hug as he took his leave. “I’ll leave you ladies to talk.”

  They were quiet for several moments after he left, facing each other across the bleu cheese chips they both loved, but neither of them had touched.

  “You’re moving to New York,” Marlowe said eventually. Way to state the obvious, genius.

  “The timing sucks, I know.” Tara looked miserable. As miserable as a newly engaged woman fresh from the most romantic beach vacation ever could look. “I have been trying for days to figure out a way it could work, if I could stay and start the business with you…”

  “You should be with your fiancé.”

  “It’s just that he’ll be in a new job, in a new city. And you know I love him, but…”

  Marlowe sighed. “But he’ll be helpless without you. Even more than I will, maybe.”

  “That’s debatable,” Tara said.

  They both laughed, both reached for the pile of chips, and grinned at each other again. Marlowe’s disappointment hung over the table between them, still raw and confusing, but at least she could let in some joy for her friend. Even if she had no idea what she would do without Tara, Marlowe owed it to her to see the bright side now.

  “It will be an incredible adventure.” She wiped bleu cheese from her fingers as a warm chip melted in her mouth. “And there is so much amazing food in New York. I’ll have to come stay with you once you get settled.”

  “Definitely. Just give me a few weeks to learn the best places to take you. And you know you’ll have to sleep on the couch, right? We can barely afford a postage stamp in New York, with Cal’s student loans.”

  “What are you going to do up there? I’ve heard it’s crazy expensive and hard to find decent jobs.”

  “I thought I’d ask Murray if he has any contacts up there. If he gives me a strong recommendation, I might even make sous chef in one of the nicer places.” Tara leaned back against the booth, disentangling another chip from the heap. “And in the meantime, the prize money will really come in handy.”

  Marlowe froze with a chip halfway to her mouth. A globule of creamy white dressing dangled off the edge of the chip for what seemed like forever before it swelled and dropped to the Formica table below. “Prize money?”

  “Yeah. I know twenty-five grand won’t last a whole year or anything, but even in New York that’s enough to float us while we’re figuring things out. Plus, Calvin’s salary will be pretty good for an associate…”

  Tara went on into the minutia of their finances, but Marlowe couldn’t focus on any of it. “You’re taking half the prize money with you? Tara, that money is for the food truck business.”

  Tara’s head snapped back and her lips pursed defensively. “The money is for busting my ass in that kitchen with you for eight weeks, where we both won together. You couldn’t have done it without me.”

  “I know that,” Marlowe said. “But the whole idea behind the prize is that the money goes with the food truck lease. It’s supposed to help u
s start up the new business. I thought we were in this together.”

  “We were in this together, but now I’m in something else, with my future husband. You don’t honestly think you’re entitled to the full prize money just because I’m leaving for New York, do you?”

  Marlowe was quiet. She did think that, to be honest, but the edge in Tara’s voice told her to tread carefully. “I just… I think the money should fund the food truck business. That’s the intention of the prize.”

  “Who cares about the intention of the prize? This is about our friendship, and doing what’s fair. I worked my ass off for that prize, just like you did. Technically, I’m entitled to half the food truck lease, and whatever else the show gives you, but I’m not even asking for that, because I’ll be in New York. I’m not starting a damn food truck business by myself.”

  “I don’t want to do it by myself, either!” Marlowe nearly cried with desperation. “And this whole thing was my idea. You would never have auditioned without me talking you into it.”

  Tara stared her down for a minute, in that disturbing way she had of not blinking when she was pissed. “Calvin says the television contract awards the prize to both of us and doesn’t restrict how the money should be spent.”

  Calvin said. So there it was. In his role as both boyfriend and lawyer, Calvin had looked over the contracts before they signed on with Takeout Takedown. But it was clear he’d looked at it again recently, in anticipation of this conversation. He and Tara knew Marlowe might be upset, and they’d prepared a legal argument just in case. They weren’t even married yet, and the team rosters had already changed.