27
VICTORIA
The universe is playing a cruel trick on me. It’s either that or I’ve eaten another bad batch of potato salad, but instead of getting sick to my stomach, I’m having hallucinations.
Luke is here. Luke Graham.
“The Luke?” Joel whispers next to me.
Yes, the Luke. The Luke who strung me along for the better part of four months. Who sent me pictures online. Private, intimate pictures. The Luke who I sent pictures to. We had hours-long conversations via text, spoke on the phone in the middle of the night. The Luke who fooled me into thinking relationships created online, forged without touching the person for real, were authentic.
He made me believe in the philosophy that out of sight doesn’t have to mean out of mind. That what we couldn’t see in real life, we could still get. That love could be channeled through the pixels of the computer screen, and that words on the page were as solid and as valuable as gold.
While for some these are still valid truths, with Luke, they were simply lies.
Because of him, I’m not sure how I will ever be able to discern what is true and what is false when it comes to love.
“Are you sure it’s him?” Joel’s words are clipped, rough around the edges, as he scans the crowd.
“A hundred percent.” I can barely get the words out, my chest tight. Discomfort flows through my veins, a mix of rage, curiosity, and hurt.
I could spot him anywhere. Besides the daily pictures he sent me via texts and private messages, I committed to memory the way he looked when I saw him that day in Phoenix. It’s burned in my mind: Close-cropped sides with long, purposely disheveled hair on top. A carefully trimmed beard that I dreamt of running my fingers through. Deep-set eyes that used to strip me of my inhibitions, eyes that lured me into exposing my whole heart. We had an emotional, rather than a physical, relationship, where we relied on our words—spoken and written—to establish trust.
Trust he broke.
And now, standing behind the crowd that has formed around us, Luke’s gaze is leveled on me.
My chest feels constricted, like a ribbon’s been wrapped around my torso. I’m floundering and questions ping-pong inside of me. It’s been five weeks since my trip to Phoenix. Five.
Though the pain has dulled considerably, seeing him now is like ripping off a Band-Aid.
“It’s going to be okay.” Joel whispers so it’s only me who hears. “I’m here.”
Joel’s gaze is an anchor. It’s serious and unwavering, and it brings me back to this crucial moment when I’m going to be watched by hundreds of people. Our moments since finding out about the competition have been tense at best, but that all disappears.
It’s a reminder that Joel never has to say a word for me to find comfort in him. With him, it’s the actions that matter.
I believe him.
So I stare into those dark brown eyes of his and take a deep breath.
“You remember our plan, right?” he says. “You’re supposed to give me a run for my money.”
I jut my chin out. That’s right—this job is something I want. I’m going to kick this segment’s ass, and not for anyone else, but for me. Luke can’t take this away.
“You guys ready?” Tara takes her place next to Lowell. The lens of the camera pans over to us, and she gives us a count.
The red light turns on.
My cue.
Joel nudges me forward, and it’s like jumper cables, and from somewhere my voice returns.
“Welcome to West Coast BBQ. I’m Victoria—”
“And I’m Joel—”
I take a step forward to snag the limelight, and Lowell follows my cue and steps in closer. With my eyes focused on the tiny light above the front lens, where I pretend I’m speaking to my dearest vlog viewers who left me the most encouraging comments and who took my reviews to heart, I let myself be pulled into the moment. “Today, we’re in Gilroy, California. I know, I know—Gilroy? You’re thinking garlic, right? Well, now, there’s barbecue.” I throw an arm to the side and Lowell pans across the food-filled table and the chefs, then returns back to me. “We’re here at the first annual Gilroy barbecue festival, where the best restaurants from the area are keen to show you that there’s life after garlic.”
The camera swings to Joel and follows us as we approach the first vendor, Hog-ulous. The owner, Myra, a woman with her hair pulled back beneath a bandana and in forties-inspired clothing with makeup akin to Rosie the Riveter, hands me a plate. “Brisket with a little something special,” she coos.
And I swear, my mouth waters. Next to the brisket are greens and baked beans, and the combination of their scents wakes the synapses in my brain. While Joel asks about this restaurant’s departure from the old-school version of smoking by choosing to use a pellet smoker, I suddenly know exactly what to say.
Whether barbecue is growing on me, or if I’m just thankful to think of something other than Luke, I throw myself into the segment. My taste buds fire when Joel and I begin tasting, and I don’t hold back with my impressions of the dish.
“Aha, you’re feeling it, too, right?” Joel asks, as if we’re having a one-on-one conversation. “There’s something deeper going on with this brisket.”
“Yep. It’s the rub. This might sound silly, but it feels like a day in the orchard, of picking fruit.”
“It’s apples,” Myra says.
“I knew it. Apples and garlic and maybe a little cumin?”
Myra touches her nose, and her red lips part in a satisfied smile. “You got it.”
Inside, I fist-bump myself. Yes. I did it. It’s such a small accomplishment, but it’s one just the same, because it catapults Joel to ask Myra more about how long she’s been in business. From there, we move on to the next vendor, then to the next, allotting a couple of minutes for each one.
For the first time since the beginning of this trip, I feel completely at ease. Joel and I are like two halves of a whole, and we work together seamlessly. His passion propels me to keep up with his banter. We finish each other’s sentences. We make up for each other’s lost words. With the raised ante of our competition, we step up to perform, and our connection is electric and exciting. I’ve never seen Joel more animated the whole time I’ve known him.
That is, except behind closed doors, when he’s pulling my clothes off with abandon. When I have him in my hands and he’s got no choice but to enjoy. When he’s rocking in between my legs on the verge of climax.
Today’s foreplay is in front of the camera, and I’m equally turned on by it.
“Victoria?” Joel snaps me out of my thoughts.
Startled, I shift my feet and my face flushes. What was the last thing I said? Did I reveal what was going on in my head?
Joel, sensing my confusion, looks back at the camera. “And that’s it for today. Thank you for joining us here on West Coast BBQ. I’m Joel—”
Ah. I recover. “And I’m Victoria. And we hope you’ll join us in two days in Alford for the Central California Barbecue Food Truck Festival.”
As soon as Lowell lowers the camera, Tara is upon us, ecstatic and throwing out high fives and compliments. Though I’m breathless, Joel and I thank the crowd and vendors. We sign a few autographs, agree to selfies.
I don’t leave Joel’s side, following him when he ducks under one of the tents and makes conversation with Popping Pig’s pitmaster.
I know I’m stalling, but I need a breath, another jump start before I face Luke.
“You don’t want to walk out, do you?” Joel asks.
“No, I don’t.”
“I can go out there. If you’re uncomfortable, tell me and I’ll take care of it.”
My first thought is to take him up on his offer. It would take a simple please, and I know Joel would find a way to run Luke off.
My next thought? Joel and I have slept together. We have had amazing sex. He’s asking if Luke is important to me. He’s asking if I’m going to choose Luke over him. If I’m willing to risk Joel’s respect in order to find out the real truth from Luke.
“I have to talk to him.” I look down at my feet.
He frowns. “I was hoping you’d say you wanted me to beat his ass.”
My lips press into a grateful smile.
“What are you going to say?”
“I don’t know, honestly.” Scouring Joel’s face, I look for a blip of emotion as to how he feels about me, about us. But there’s nothing, except for suspicion of the man from my past who’s just shown up. “But yeah. I’ll catch an Uber back to the campsite. Will you let Tara know?”
“Yeah, sure. But, Victoria . . .”
“Yes?” I wait for the rest of his sentence, but instead, he shakes his head.
“Be careful.”
“Always.” I exhale, making room in my lungs for the strength I need to confront the man who’s hurt me the most.