“Pie pie pie… I love pie,” Taylor said to himself as he started to make his fourth pie crust from scratch. It was a complete and total lie. Taylor didn’t like pie. Not even a little bit. He’d never been a fan of baked fruits or vegetables, and had consequently avoided pie for most of his entire life. But as he tried to keep his mind busy and free of the events of the previous night, the only thing he could think to do was the thing he was worst at in the world: baking.
The first pie, a lopsided cherry concoction, had come out half burnt and mostly flavorless. Still, he had meticulously cut it into eighths and set it to cool of the marble-top sideboard in his kitchen. He wouldn’t eat a bite of it, but he still wanted the presentation to be just right. His second endeavor had been of the apple variety and had come out only slightly more edible than the first. The strawberry rhubarb he’d attempted third hadn’t been too bad, and he had high hopes for the French silk he was currently working on, as that was the only one he planned on eating.
He’d called Adrian at four in the morning, insisting that he bring him enough baking supplies to keep him busy all day long. And so, with a heavy buzz still working its way through his system, he started baking with the dessert recipe book Adrian had also bought him and he had every intention of working his way through the entire thing, no matter how many more trips Adrian had to make to let him accomplish that.
The kitchen was warm from the oven and was filled with the scents of blackened fruit and cigarette smoke. Taylor didn’t usually smoke in his condo, but he had pushed the windows wide open after the first pie burned and had sent the smoke alarms into a frenzy and decided, what the hell. What was a little more smoke?
Flannery found him mid-fourth pie and mid-first pack of cigarettes around nine in the morning. He was working diligently, covered in flour, his hair smeared with bits of pie filling, and a cigarette dangling from his lips as he molded the pie crust to the sounds of the Spice Girls blasting through his speakers.
“Is Ginger Spice helping you bake?” she teased hesitantly, not really sure if she should be joking with him in such a mood. She’d never even seen him touch his oven, let alone actually use it.
“Shut up,” he mumbled, his mouth still obstructed by the Marlboro and his gaze still fixated on pinching the edges of the pie crust evenly, “My iPod’s on shuffle. So sue me.”
“I’m not even going to ask why the Spice Girls are on your iPod to begin with,” she rolled her eyes, “But I am going to ask why you’ve gone all Julia Child all of a sudden.”
“Well, as Willow once said: “Baking lifts about 30% of my guilt, but only 7% of my inner turmoil,” he stated absently, quoting Buffy the Vampire Slayer without even realizing that he was doing so. He and Flannery had been so obsessed with the show about two years ago that he found himself quoting it way more than he liked, but so many of the quotes fit into everyday life so effortlessly that he did it anyway.
“And why are you experiencing guilt and inner turmoil?” she ventured to ask. He snuck a look at her but didn’t answer immediately. Admitting to her that he had made out with Tre would make it real. As long as it was just in his head, he could continue to convince himself that maybe he’d imagined it or gotten some bad liquor and hallucinated it or something. But the truth was that he knew it had happened and it scared the hell out of him.
The kiss had been hot and passionate and everything he’d wanted it to be, but with possibly the most confusing person for it to happen with. The fact that it had happened with his best male friend made a difficult situation uncomfortable as well, something that almost made him want to stick his head in the oven instead of the pie. Part of him had been so desperately hoping that he would hate it when he kissed a guy, that it would turn him off or fail to excite him in any way. Instead, it had set every nerve ending in his body into a sense of instant arousal and thus he had been forced to flee the scene and immerse himself into a pointless, calorie-rich distraction.
“Something just happened last night that’s kind of freaking me out,” he finally admitted as he placed the pie crust into the oven and readied himself to make the filling.
“And that was?” she asked, already getting annoyed with him. As much as she loved him and wanted to help him in any way possible, his frequent use of intentionally abstract statements was driving her absolutely crazy.
“Kissed someone…” he muttered. Flannery made a painfully high-pitched squealing noise and started jumping up and down.
“You did?! Shut UP!” she yelled at him, shoving him hard to the side and almost knocking him over.
“Yeah, I did. Now would you stop shrieking? You’re going to send birds off their flight paths and shit,” he said. Flannery just ignored his comment that almost made sense. She was used to him attempting to be funny, and while much of the time he succeeded, there were times when he bombed completely and she found that it was much easier to just ignore him than to correct him.
“And who did you kiss? Do you even remember? How trashed were you?” she asked rapid fire. Taylor used her hyperactive line of questioning to his advantage and only answered her last question figuring that it would at least keep her from finding out for a few seconds.
“I was pretty drunk by the end of the night,” he told her, severely downplaying the level of intoxication he had actually reached, “But it took me several hours to get there, which is a considerable improvement from last time.”
“Okay, now why are you avoiding tell me who you kissed! Do you not remember who it was or something?” she asked. Taylor tried as hard as he could not to smile as she provided him with the perfect way out of responding. He just shrugged and smiled sheepishly instead of answering and she just laughed at him. “Oh Taylor, my little lush.”
“That’s me!” he grinned, hoping that she wouldn’t catch on. He wasn’t in the right state of mind to fake enthusiasm and sincerity well. And with that, she let it go and stood there watching him continue with his baking marathon. It went on well through the completion of the French Silk and into another attempt at cherry when the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it!” Flannery said cheerfully, dancing to the door to the “Macarena,” “I don’t know where you get your music from, Taylor, but at least it’s keeping me entertained!” Once she’d reached the door, she pulled it open wide and found a very perturbed looking Tre standing on the threshold. “Tre!”
Taylor stopped dead in his tracks on the way to the sideboard to cut the now-cooled apple pie when he heard Tre’s name spill from Flannery’s lips. Taylor knew that he looked like a dirty crazy person and it was so not how he wanted to look when he saw Tre for the first time after their encounter. He wanted to look polished and in control and like he knew what the hell he was doing despite the fact that he totally didn’t.
“Is Taylor here?” Tre asked Flannery, stepping halfway in the door and looking around with an obvious sense of paranoia.
“Yeah, he’s baking. No idea why…”
“Taylor knows how to use an oven?” Tre asked, joking in spite of himself as he followed Flannery into the kitchen.
“Apparently,” she shrugged, “I guess we’ll find out when we sample his wares, eh?” Tre just laughed nervously and entered the kitchen, completely taken aback at the sight of Taylor. He looked a mess and was completely invested in making yet another pie crust.
“Hi…” Tre started, stepping slowly into the kitchen with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans. Taylor ignored him for a moment, putting the finishing touches on the crust before standing erect again, stretching his back and forcing a smile in Tre’s direction. His heart had started pounding somewhere in his neck and he felt rather like he wanted to throw up everything he’d eaten for the last several days. From the look on Tre’s face, it appeared as though he felt the same way.
“How’s it going?” Taylor asked casually. Flannery made her way back into the kitchen and she had yet to notice the incredible tension in the room. Taylor ventured to look up to find Tre staring right back at him. His stomach flipped nervously, so he busied himself opening a can of peach pie filling.
“Mmmm! Peach pie!” Flannery said obliviously, sticking her finger in the gooey orange liquid to sneak a taste.
“Fuck, Flannery! Don’t put your germy fingers in the food!” Taylor exclaimed, pushing her away and sighing loudly. As much as the OCD part of him wanted to immediately throw the can away and pick another filling, he knew it would hurt Flannery’s feelings immensely and that any germs would undoubtedly bake out with the intense heat. So, he just dumped filling in the pie crust he had just taken out of the oven and started in on the top piece.
“Oh god, you’re just going to burn it anyway, so what the hell do you care?” she asked, choosing to bite back at him rather than sit there and take his shit. She was getting so tired of mopey, awkward, moody Taylor and wanted her old best friend back, gay or straight.
“I am not. I’ve gotten much better since the first one, athankyouverymuch,” he sassed before sliding it dramatically into the oven. He caught sight of Tre in his peripheral vision, leaning against the doorway in a manner that he supposed was intended to look casual, but instead he was radiating discomfort. “The first couple should be ready to eat if you guys want a piece.”
“Maybe in a minute. I have to go to the bathroom first,” Flannery announced. Taylor scrunched up his nose and leaned against the counter, waiting for the pie crust to get done baking so he could distract himself further.
“Thanks for sharing,” he muttered, rubbing his flour covered hands over his face and bracing himself for the conversation he was sure was about to happen now that Flannery was out of the room.
“Taylor-” Tre started, but Taylor interrupted him before he could finish his thought.
“We’re fine, Tre.”
“I didn’t assume that we weren’t. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry I was so aggressive. I was really drunk, but I knew better.”
“I could have stopped it, Tre. It’s not your fault.”
“Yeah, but I just wanted you to know that I didn’t plan it. I mean… I don’t want you to think that I’ve only been friends with you because I’ve had feelings for you and wanted to get close. I don’t want you to think that I’ve just been sitting around waiting for the chance to do that, because that’s not how it is.”
“Then how is it?” Taylor asked. Tre shrugged and let out a nervous laugh.
“I don’t know. No offense, but I’d never thought about doing that before, but it just felt right at the time.”
“Yeah, it did…” Taylor admitted, staring at his toe as he traced the tile pattern of the floor with it.
“So…” Tre said, turning his attention to the intricate flooring as well.
“So… we just pretend like it never happened, right?” Taylor asked, not sure if it was the right thing to say. He wasn’t sure how things were handled between men in situations like this, but he knew that Tre needed to know where he stood on things. Yes, he had enjoyed the kiss, but seeing him in the sober light of day, he knew that nothing else could ever happen between them. It would only make things a thousand times more complicated and Taylor knew that he wasn’t ready to put additional irons in the fire. As much as it disgusted him to admit it, he knew that he needed to talk to Adrian. He knew that Adrian would have never encouraged him to kiss someone so close to him for this exact reason, and Taylor had gone and messed it all up.
“Yeah… I think we do,” Tre responded, “Well, I think I’m going to take off. Good luck with your pie.”
“Thanks,” Taylor said before taking the crust out of the oven and setting back to work. As soon as the front door closed, Flannery stepped back into the kitchen with her jaw slack.
“Tre?! You made out with Tre?” she managed. Taylor sighed and turned to face her.
“Yes, Tre is the guy I kissed last night.”
“How is it even possible that you didn’t tell me?”
“It’s just a little complicated, Flannery. I never intended for it to be him, it just happened.”
“Well, who came on to who?”
“He came on to me.”
“Do you think he has feelings for you?” she asked.
“He said he doesn’t,” Taylor told her.
“It wouldn’t surprise me if he did,” Flannery started and suddenly Taylor felt like he was losing it. His heart started pounding ferociously against his ribcage and the overwhelming feeling of nausea overtook him once more.
“You know what?” he started, “I can’t fucking do this! I can’t even go through this process without everyone questioning me and being on my case. Hell… I couldn’t even be doing this at all without the help of a complete douche bag my brother hired to help me. That’s it! I’m done!” And with that, he stormed into his room and shut the door.
Flannery calmly turned off the oven and removed the half baked pie from inside, setting it one of the stove-top burners before looking at Taylor’s door and sighing. She certainly hadn’t meant to upset him, but as much as she wanted to know what he had meant by his rant, she knew that she just had to leave him alone.