Chapter 3 Alex

O of. I roll over in bed gingerly, the silk sheets gliding softly against my naked body. My head throbs, the insides bouncing around like the inside of a washing machine. I run a hand through my hair but succeed only in making it stick up even straighter.

As a recovering service industry worker, I’ve had my fair share of wild nights. But that type of life holds little appeal for me anymore. Which probably explains why I’m now the kind of lightweight that succumbs after a few glasses of wine with friends.

“See you this afternoon at the thing!” A text message from Glenn, a high school friend and one of those wine pushers I hung out with the night before, pops up on my phone. It’s accompanied by three emojis: a spoon, a bowl, and fire.

What the heck is he talking about?

I lean back and try to piece together the end of the night. Glenn and I had relived the old days when we would run wild around Bandera, scrounging parts from his uncle’s scrapyard and attempting to repair a beat-up vintage motorcycle in the hopes we could someday take it for a ride.

We had gotten up to a lot of stupid shit back then. My mom, in particular, was convinced that Glenn was a bad influence, distracting me from school to go on boneheaded adventures. I didn’t know how to tell her that Glenn was one of the first people I had met who accepted me unconditionally. Like me, Glenn preferred doing things with his hands – rather than sitting still in a classroom trying to cram information into our brains we weren’t sure we’d ever use.

These days Glenn is a settled family man with three daughters – and the best motorcycle mechanic you can find in central Texas. He and his wife Lenora had invited me up to their bungalow last night to celebrate 15 years of the shop being in existence.

I rub my eyes and try to blink myself back into remembering what happened. Had I agreed to show up to something? If I did, I’m sure that I’m going to regret it – since coming home, I try to keep a low profile and stay out of the way.

I swing my legs out of bed and smile as they make contact with the fuzzy slippers I keep nearby. Spend enough hours on your feet as I have, and try to tell me there’s anything better than feeling like you’re wearing clouds on your feet. The studio I’m renting while back in Bandera is pretty bare, so I’ve tried to bring in my creature comforts where I can. Take this fancy coffee machine I lugged over from New York, for example – it’s already set to auto-brew, so I pour myself a cup and hope the caffeine will bring some memories to the surface.

Were we talking about the herd? The chaos of produce and beef prices these days? I do remember ranting about my brisket quest … oh. It’s all coming back to me.

*****

“Maybe you need to stop cooking and start eating a little more,” Glenn had waggled his eyebrows at me mischievously as Lenora shook her head at him.

I paused, savoring the light buzz that greeted me as I finished my third glass of red. “Is this a plea to get me to start dating? Because that’s going to be a hard pass.”

Glenn laughed. “Actually no – although we will absolutely return to that topic of conversation in a moment. I was more thinking along the lines of the Annual Chili Cookoff we’re hosting at the shop tomorrow.”

“Ah, so this is a plea to get me to make you some chili. All you have to do is ask, man. I’d be happy to do it.”

“Well, I’ll take you up on that offer anytime. But I was more thinking along the lines of you … judging the Cookoff.”

I startled out of my pleasant daze and narrowed my eyes at my old friend. “Excuse me?”

“Look, Bryce from the Chuckwagon dropped out and we’re in a real bind. Who would be more perfect to judge than our own hometown boy, once featured in the papers because George fucking Clooney couldn’t get enough of your chili? It would be amazing.”

“Glenn, absolutely not. You know I’m trying to lay low. Plus, I’ve already been roped into that charity event next week.”

Glenn turned to Lenora for support as he tipped more wine into my glass.

“Alex, the Cookoff is our big fundraiser for the shop – we’ve been trying to scrape by as best we can, but you know how folks have been hurting over the past few years. We just felt like getting a little more star power could draw out a bigger crowd. Plus, everyone’s been dying to see you. I think we’d get a huge turnout if we could spread the word that you’re coming.”

I wish I agreed with Lenora’s sweet thought, but I’m pretty sure the real reason folks want to see me is that love a good mystery as much as a good downfall story. Everyone in our town is hankering to hear what chewed me up and spit me back out at home.

I take another sip of wine and lean back. The soothing hum of night surrounding Glenn and Lenora’s patio threatens to lull me into complacency.

“Plus, we really need your tastebuds – and your willingness to duke it out with the other judges.” Lenora continues. “Last year, the judges couldn’t get to a consensus on any of the top prospects and so they just decided to go with the entry that was the least offensive. Alex, Mina took home the prize.”

I snap my eyes open. “Yikes.”

“Anyway, you don’t have to decide right now – just give us an answer by the end of the night. Glenn, should we grab another bottle from inside?”

****

I shake my head as the night’s memory recedes into a drunken haze. Classic Glenn, getting me into trouble just like old times. I glance at my watch and notice that the cookoff starts soon, so I hastily get dressed and head out to my truck. I’m hoping that blasting some 80s tunes and getting some fresh air streaming in through the windows will clear out the buzz.

A short while later, I park Layla in front of Glenn’s shop, still annoyed at how I’ve been strong-armed into this. I tell myself it’s for a good cause, but I’m still planning to give him a piece of my mind. I spot the shiny pate of his bald head towering above the crowd as he holds court on a small makeshift stage adorned with balloons.

He makes eye contact with me and motions me over. “So he lives after all! Welcome, champ. You look like a million bucks.” He slaps my back and wraps me in a bear hug.

“You’re lucky I showered,” I grumble as I extricate myself.

“Man, we’re so lucky you’re here in general! Lenora and I told a bunch of folks you were coming and as expected word spread like wildfire.”

I look around and notice hundreds of folks I haven’t seen since I left town all those years ago. I feel a queasy sensation behind my sternum, but I’ll chalk it up to the hangover.

“Plus, we’ve managed to swing not just one but two star judges – I’m so excited about this reunion. Oh, here she comes now!” Glenn gives me a quick wink and starts waving wildly. “Riley!”

Well, shit.

Riley walks our way, a smile lighting up her face - no doubt because she hasn’t yet seen me skulking behind Glenn. She’s wearing a pair of stonewashed jeans that perfectly hug her hips, and a white denim shirt tied at the waist, exposing a perfect slice of tan skin. I feel slightly drunk at the sight of her. Surely that’s the hangover too.

“Glenn! Lenora!” Riley trots over and gives them each a big hug. She looks so thrilled to be here, joy infusing her cheeks with a gorgeous pink glow.

When she looks up and sees me, however, the glow fades, and her face drops. “Great,” she mutters under her breath.

Glenn looks between us, noting our expressions. I had never told him about everything between me and Riley all those years ago – he just knew her as my tutor – but I could always tell he sensed something was going on.

Lenora grabs both of us by the hand. “I can’t thank both of you enough for agreeing to do this. We just thought it would be so fun to have two bona fide big shots from Bandera High as our judges. We’ve seen you both on Top Chef, so we know you’ve got the practice.”

My heart had swelled when I saw Riley on TV all those years ago, as a guest judge on Chef Showdown . Her face was a recurring player in my dreams, but seeing it on my screen felt like a sign somehow. I had looked her up on social media and everything and almost messaged her. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

As she faces me, I want to tell her how impressed I was by her ability to deliver feedback to the contestants with a gentleness and poise that in no way undercut how spot-on it was.

Instead, seeing her glower at me, I choke out: “I mean, I was on the show as a culinary judge. That’s pretty different from just filling the celebrity judge slot.”

Riley lifts her chin, bristling. I marvel at how imposing she is, even though she’s a full foot shorter than me. “And what does that mean? You don’t have some exclusive claim on the title of foodie, Alex. And if I remember correctly, you were perfectly happy to lean into your celeb status when it was your turn on the show.”

I clear my throat and stare down at my feet.

Lenora glances between Riley and me as the air crackles around us. “Um, well. Shall we get you guys started on the tasting?” She leads us over to a table adorned with yellow ribbons. An assortment of numbered bowls is laid out next to a handful of rating cards and some pencils.

“So, we’ll give y’all a bit of time to just try everything peacefully and gather some initial impressions. Once that’s done, we’ll announce the official tasting, which is where the fun happens – everyone will be gathered around to watch y’all work your magic.”

As Riley and I start circling the table, I notice a few heads in the crowd swerving our way. A group of teenagers points in our direction, and some old-timers I’ve known since I was in diapers look over and raise their eyebrows at one another.

I run my hands through my hair again as I survey the scene. “I really did not think this was how my day was going to go.”

Riley scoffs. “I’m sure you feel like this is beneath you. I’m happy to be here, though, even if it is as a mere figurehead.”

She grabs a spoon and jabs it into bowl #1, her scowl letting up slightly as she savors the bite.

I sigh and turn towards her. She avoids my gaze and stares straight ahead, the graceful curve of her neck extending her soft profile. “Hey, look, I’m really sorry about what I said right now. It’s just a little jarring to be confronted with reminders of my old life.”

“Is that why you basically sprinted away at Jared’s the other day?” Riley levels me with a knowing look. It’s a look I remember well – a sense of being laid totally bare, even when you’re trying your best to put up walls.

I give her a sheepish half-smile. “That might have been part of it. Although, to be clear – some elements of my past are definitely better than others.” I reach for a bowl at the same time as Riley does and our arms brush against one another. I feel a sharp tension in my chest.

“Plus, you’re not wrong.” I continue. “There are so many moments from that early part of my career where my cockiness got the better of me. That season of the show I had just opened my first restaurant and I felt like I was on top of the world. So I might have acted more than once like a total …”

“Jerk?” Riley offers, a small smile dotting her lips.

I laugh. “Yes. Definitely that.”

“Well, it can’t help to have had several moments from your early 20s captured on camera, you know? And yes, I’m fully aware of the irony of saying that as someone whose career has been built on making people look like the worst versions of themselves.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I grimace at her. “Some of us are plenty good at that even without a camera on us.”

Riley laughs, but I can see a weariness cloud her face as she moves on to her next bowl.

“How is work going, by the way?” I ask. “You’ve been kicking ass as a showrunner, just like I always knew you would.”

Riley nods as she takes another test bite. “I’ve been incredibly lucky. The show just took off out of nowhere, in a supersaturated reality TV landscape. It’s been a whirlwind ever since.”

I watch as she pulls the spoon out of her mouth and studies it.

“But?” I prod.

She lets out a soft laugh and looks up at me. “I feel ungrateful even saying it. I have everything I could have asked for – enough that I can send money home to my parents during a bad year. I’m just not sure that I’m … passionate about what I’m doing anymore. And that scares me. Because passion was the reason I wanted to go into film in the first place. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just burnt out from too many long days.”

I want so badly to take Riley’s hand, but I settle for grabbing another bowl. “You did what you had to do. There’s no shame in that at all – whether it’s a documentary or a reality series, I know you’re pouring everything you have into it.”

Riley offers up a small look of gratitude. “I appreciate that. I’m probably complaining about nothing, to be honest. But speaking of reality, Alex, are you ever going to explain what happened?”

Blood thunders in my ears as we hold each other’s gaze. I’m not ready to talk about that night yet, not ready to explain why I turned my back on this person who could always see right through me in the best way –

“What are you doing back here in Bandera?”

I pull myself out of my temporary panic spiral. I’m not thrilled about this question, either – but I owe Riley answers, even if I’ll never be able to explain what happened our senior year.

I steel myself for Riley’s judgment – or worse, her pity. “I ended up having to step down from all of the Park restaurants. It turns out my business partner was stealing from the company, and since I brought him on and vouched for him, our investors placed the blame on me.”

Riley’s eyebrows shoot up. “What? That’s terrible, I’m so sorry.”

I shake my head. “No, I should have been paying more attention – I’m ultimately responsible for what happens under my name. I was too caught up in the bustle of fame and now I’ve lost everything I worked so hard for.”

“It’s not your fault, Alex. You can’t beat yourself up for that.” Riley places a soft hand on my shoulder and the piercing current I’ve been trying to ignore courses at her touch.

How do I tell her that’s not the only thing I beat myself up for? “Hey, Riley – ”

“Alright you two, it’s time!” Glenn interrupts the moment as he starts gathering folks and bringing them in our direction. “Everyone come around! Let’s watch these experts name a new chili champion.”

Riley and I look down at the table. I’ve been so engrossed in this conversation that I totally haven’t been paying attention to the reason we’re here. My stomach is flipping wild somersaults, but I’m hoping that eating something will help.

The first few eliminations are easy enough – both Riley and I try to keep our faces neutral as we taste a few samples that are probably best kept away from public consumption. The next round is a little tougher: these are all perfectly passable bowls of chili, but they’re missing either a bit of flavor, heat, or wow factors. Finally, we come down to our final two.

I bow my head towards Riley so we can confer. “So, what do you think?”

She points to the first of our contenders. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything like this one. It’s so unique. Almost a little sweet, but with this fiery spice that I love.”

“Totally. I’m getting hints of some pumpkin? Or maybe peanut butter?”

“But this other one – it reminds me of growing up. Just a beautiful, classic Texas chili.”

We each take another spoon of each and I realize that the essence I’ve been getting from our upstart option is … red curry paste. Riley comes to the realization at the same time I do.

“Alex, this is your recipe. The one that was all over the news after Clooney raved about it!”

Does that mean she’s been following me all these years, too?

I laugh. “Well, that’s definitely one way to try to tip the judging scales in your favor.”

Riley grins. “True. But I have to be honest – and if we have to duke it out on this, bring it on – I really think the classic wins for me.”

As usual, she’s right. “Let’s call it.”

“We have a winner!” Lenora exclaims, and the crowd cheers. “Show yourself!” Bailey, Glenn and Lenora’s 14-year-old, steps out and waves, beaming a mouth full of braces.

As Bailey gets another round of applause, I hear a slight sniff next to me as an older woman with a bright orange apron grabs crockpot number 8 - one of the batches Riley and I had counted out immediately.

“Oh, hello Mrs. Gershon.” Mrs. Gershon had been an exacting history teacher in high school – although to be fair, I’m sure that my skipping class every once in a while hadn’t helped either.

“Hello, Alex. So good to see you here. Although I can’t say I’m particularly pleased with the way things unfolded today.”

Riley lets out a small laugh under her breath, but it appears Mrs. Gershon isn’t kidding around. “You know, Alex, I saw your mom at bridge club the other day. It must be so heartbreaking for her to see you back where you began, after all this time.”

My stomach flips again.

“Actually, I bet she’s really grateful to have Alex home and helping with the ranch.” Riley fixes Mrs. Gershon with one of her trademark stares, eyes blazing.

“Ah, Riley dear. You were always such a good student, so focused. Wish I could say the same for everyone.” With a final huff, she lifts her crockpot and walks away.

“Good to see you too,” I mutter.