Page 8 of My Irresistible Enemy

“Jesus, Mom, can you drop it?” I snapped, standing up from the couch.

I felt guilty as soon as I said it. It wasn’t her fault, of course. She was just trying to help, and the last thing she needed was me yelling at her.

But I couldn’t talk about this. With anyone. It was too complicated and too—I hated the wordsensitive, but that was what it was. It made my skin crawl, admitting that there was this part of me that was still too tender to talk about. It was easier, and better, if I just handled things my way.

“I’m sorry,” I said, turning around. I made my voice warm. It really wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know. “I didn’t mean to snap. I think I’m just nervous.”

I was far more than just nervous, if you wanted the truth. I’d been a wreck ever since I found out I’d been cast onA Piece of Cake, and it had only gotten worse as the competition got closer and closer. I’d been too panicked to sleep last night, and now I had to drive down to Georgia in a couple of hours, and I hadn’t packed so much as a single sock.

“You have no reason to be,” my mom said, reaching a hand out. I took it and let her pull me back to the sofa. “You’re going to walk onto that set and blow everybody away from day one. You’re going to win this thing. I just know it.”

“Youhaveto say that,” I complained. “You’re my mom.”

“Yes, but I’m also an excellent judge of baked goods,” she said. “What have I been eating for the past few months if not evidence of your growing prowess in the kitchen?”

I snorted. “Growing, maybe. I’m still not sure I’d call it prowess. It’s not like you’re eating whole trays of cookies in one sitting.”

“That’s the chemo, honey, not you.”

“Still.”

Until a few months ago, I’d never baked a single cookie, much less a tray. But my mom had started watching old seasons ofA Piece of Cakeduring her chemo appointments and had somehow gotten it in her head that I could audition, and win. Telling her that I worked in restaurant management, not a restaurant kitchen, hadn’t dissuaded her even a little bit.

I’d been prepared to ignore her, until I’d gotten the most recent round of medical bills. No matter how much I’d scrimped and saved over the past few years, I didn’t have nearly enough money to pay for everything my mom needed. I’d already taken out a huge loan to pay for surgery costs, and I’d have to take out another if I wanted to cover the rest of her treatment. And suddenly, it didn’t seem quite so crazy to think that maybe I should try out for the show after all.

Or, actually, no. It still seemed crazy, but I think I’d become a little crazy myself, with everything that had happened. And I didn’t want to let her down.

It probably helped that this season ofA Piece of Cakewas being filmed on Summersea, the same tiny, semi-tropical island that two of my friends lived on. And not just on Summersea, but on the grounds of the Wisteria Inn, owned by my friend, Mal and his husband, Deacon. Mal was a wizard in the kitchen, and he’d been giving me baking lessons over the phone ever since I’d decided to go for it.

There were still a million reasons why this was a terrible idea. I was awkward around strangers these days, and I froze up in crowds. My anxiety, which had been running at an all-time high just generally for the past year, went through the roof when I got stressed—to the point where I’d stutter and stammer and lose the ability to speak entirely if I got too worked up. I couldn’t imagine what I would be like on camera.

But my mom wanted me to do it. My momneededme to do it. And frankly, I needed me to do it too.

With any luck, the chemo would work, and she’d beat this for good. But even if the cancer never came back, I still needed to find some way to pay for all the expenses we’d encountered so far. If I didn’t, I’d spend the rest of my life drowning in debt.

So I was going. Even though I was terrified, even though I worried about leaving her alone, even though all I really wanted to do was crawl under the covers of my bed and never leave my apartment again.

“Besides,” my mom said brightly, “who knows? Maybe you’ll meet a gorgeous girl in that baking tent, and you’ll fall in love over a pair of profiteroles.”

“Mom.”

“What? Too heteronormative? How about a gorgeous boy and a couple of cream puffs?”

“What did Ijustsay about not wanting to talk about this?” I buried my face in my hands.

“Alright, alright.” She raised her hands in surrender. “I’ll let it go—”

“Thank you.”

“—I’ll let it goifyou promise me one thing.”

I looked at her through my fingers. “Why do I feel like I’m not going to like whatever you’re about to say?”

“Because you’re a stick-in-the-mud who’s way too responsible and serious for his age, and for how handsome he is.”

She brushed my hands aside so she could pinch my cheek. “Just promise me that you’ll keep an open mind. Promise me that if you meet someone you’re interested in, you won’t shut it down just because—well, because of whatever reasons you’ve been shutting things down for the past year. At the very least, once you’re down there, you won’t have to worry about bringing someone home only to find your mom on your couch eating cereal at two a.m.”

I rubbed my cheek. “You’re really not going to let this go until I promise, are you?”

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