up on. You eat what you like; no feelings will be hurt here. What was your favorite dish growing up, dear?” Betty asked as she served herself a heaping spoon of mashed potatoes and passed the bowl over to Bobby. Piper noticed no one at the table seemed to have read the same article she had regarding etiquette.
“Um… we ate a lot of takeout when I was growing up. Pizza, fast food, not a lot of home cooking, but this all looks amazing, I’m sure I’ll love it. Are these your own recipes or something from a cookbook?” Piper had become incredibly astute at redirecting a conversation away from her. She had found people generally enjoyed talking about themselves more than listening anyway.
Betty proceeded to go into elaborate detail about how the fried chicken recipe had been handed down through many generations of her family. She talked at length of how it was her mother who had started adding sour cream to the mashed potatoes, her great-grandmother who had first fried the okra, and how the biscuits were a family secret.
Piper, who had no appreciation for cooking, or food for that matter, was astonished by the pride Betty associated with the simple act of mixing up some ingredients. It was another reminder there was no shortage of things that separated Piper from the rest of the world.
The screen door swung open and slammed shut again, and in walked a stocky bald man wearing the navy button-down shirt of the cable company. This must be Scott, thought Piper. He was as dull looking as Betty had implied. Piper thought she recalled Jules mentioning that Scott was twenty-eight, but he could easily pass for forty. His eyes were slightly vacant and droopy like those of a basset hound. His round face was flush and sweaty from working outdoors. Piper thought if you put a hard hat and tool belt on this guy he could be the poster child for blue-collar work in the South.
“Hi Scott,” Jules squeaked. “This is Piper; remember Mom was telling you about her? She’s interested in a job at ComCable with you. Remember?” It was as if Jules was willing him to not say something dumb or to admit that he didn’t remember who the hell Piper was or why she was there.
“Oh, yeah we’ll get you a job.” He smiled, flashing the small gap between his front teeth. “I mean, a hot chick like you they’ll hire in a minute. I was afraid you were going to be some cow with a unibrow, and I’d have to find some nice way to tell you no dice on the job. But any of the guys would be all right with you on the crew.” Scott clearly couldn’t see the icy stare of his wife or the enormous, gloating grin plastered across Bobby’s face. Scott just continued to check out Piper’s goods and assess her qualifications for the job.
Piper coughed as the water she was drinking lodged slightly in her throat. There was really nothing left to the imagination when it came to why Bobby had been so snarky about the love of his young life marrying a dumbass. No wonder Betty was disappointed in her daughter’s choice for a husband, especially when there was a man like Bobby in the running. Scott was exactly as Piper had imagined him, maybe slightly worse, but he was going to get her a job and access to what she needed. That was really all that should matter to her. For some reason however, a small part of her ached for everyone in that room, excluding Scott.
“Thanks Scott. For the job and the self-esteem boost. I was feeling a little bovine-esque lately.” Piper knew she was speaking to only one person in the room. That was Bobby. She knew her comment would fly over Scott’s head, sting Jules and maybe even Betty, but Bobby would appreciate it, and she found herself wanting to put a point in his column for some reason. It worked, because as she glanced over at Bobby she saw him smiling. Her remark may have been funny, but her timing was terrible, as he too coughed back a sip of his drink.
Bobby shot Piper a grateful look and she felt herself blush slightly.
“Oh good,” Scott said obliviously. “Can we get to eating now? I’m so hungry my belly thinks my throat's been cut.” He reached his large arm across Jules’s plate and began to serve himself.