Saturday's Storyteller: "I brought you your favorite pie."

by Belinda Roddie

"I brought you your favorite pie."

"..."

"Aaron?"

"Yeah."

"It's right there. On the table. Your favorite pie."

"..."

"Strawberry rhubarb. That's your favorite. Right, honey?"

"..."

"...God damn it, Aaron."

"What."

"Why did you do it?"

"John."

"Why? Out of all the stupid arguments we've had..."

"Don't start."

"You decide to get uppitiy about Valentine's Day chocolate..."

"John, please stop."

"Then you go to Rick's and get fucking shitfaced. Like, I may drink a lot, but I'm not an alkie."

"Debatable."

"Shut up, Aaron. Just. Please. Shut up."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...I shut up."

"Aaron."

"Sorry."

"...A bus, dude."

"Yeah."

"You were so blitzed that you got hit by a bus."

"I know."

"...a fucking bus, sweetie!"

"Yes. We established that."

"You could have died!"

"Well, luckily, I didn't."

"Aaron!"

"I didn't die! Okay? Sure, I have a broken leg. Some lacerations. Maybe even a traumatic brain injury. But I didn't. Die. Isn't that worth something?"

"..."

"John."

"Of course it's worth something. That's not the point."

"...John..."

"Why did you get so drunk, Aaron? Tell me. Was it me?"

"...I..."

"Was it really me, Aaron? And the chocolates? Was it really about some stupid fucking candy?"

"..."

"...or was it something else?"

"..."

"Because if it was something else, then you need to tell me. Now."

"..."

"So I can figure out if I need to do something."

"...John...they found out."

"..."

"My parents. They found out. About you. And me."

"...Aaron."

"They're not like your parents, babe. Hell, even your dad came around to it after a while. But them? Shit. It was already bad enough that I didn't become a doctor."

"..."

"They disowned me, John. Right then and there. They disowned me."

"...I'm so sorry."

"And they did it right in front of my sister. And her husband. And my little nephew."

"No. In front of William?"

"Yeah, man. In front of him."

"Aaron..."

"I can never see him again, John. My parents said so."

"Bullshit."

"You know how they are."

"It's bullshit."

"I know."

"So, what? You lashed out at me because of them?"

"...Yeah. I guess I did."

"...Because you blamed me."

"..."

"Deep down, you blamed me. For all of it. For being here. For being with you."

"..."

"For being in love with you."

"...John, I'm so sorry."

"Yeah. I'm sorry, too."

"...Thank God I have good healthcare, huh?"

"Yeah. Thank God. Really."

"...Hey, John?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you make sure I never go to Rick's again? And that if I do drink, it's always with you?"

"...Sure, honey. I can do that."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"..."

"..."

"Yeah, honestly, that pie smells fucking divine, man."

"Right?! My mom made it for you. She's worried sick."

"She made it?"

"With all the love in the world."

"Well, fuck, man, let's do it. Let's dig in."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Fill my fucking broken body up with pie, bro."

"Okay. Your wish is my command."

"Thanks, John. I don't deserve you."

"...Yeah, you're right. But you deserve this pie. So that's something."

"Heh. Yeah."

"Nurse, can we get a knife and some plates and forks in here, please?"

This week's prompt was provided by Arden Roddie. Happy Pi Day, everyone!