QUOTE : A text comes from Wallace.<br /><br />An actual text too, not a message through the forum app. I gave him my number awhile back, before Halloween, but not because I wanted him to call me or anything. I wrote it on the edge of our conversation paper in homeroom and slid it over to him because sometimes I see something and think, Wallace would laugh at that, I should send him a picture of it, but the messaging app is terrible with pictures and texting is way better.<br /><br />So he texts me now, and it’s a picture. A regular sweet potato pie. Beneath the picture, he says, I really like sweet potato pie.<br /><br />I text back, Yeah, so do I.<br /><br />Then he sends me a picture of his face, frowning, and says, No, you don’t understand.<br /><br />Then another picture, closer, just his eyes. I REALLY like sweet potato pie.<br /><br />A series of pictures comes in several-second intervals. The first is a triangular slice of pie in Wallace’s hand. Then Wallace holding that slice up to his face—it’s soft enough to start collapsing between his fingers. The next one has him stuffing the slice into his mouth, and in the final one it’s all the way in, his cheeks are puffed out like a chipmunk’s, and he’s letting his eyes roll back like it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten.<br /><br />I purse my lips to keep my laugh in, but my parents are fine-tuned to the slightest hint of amusement from me, and they both look up.<br /><br />“What’s so funny, Eggs?” Dad says.<br /><br />“Nothing,” I reply. Nothing makes a joke less funny than someone wanting in on it, especially parents.<br /><br />Wow, I say to Wallace. You really like sweet potato pie.<br /><br />He sends one more picture, this one with him embracing the pie pan, gazing lovingly at it. We’re to be married in the spring.<br /><br />An actual laugh escapes me. I really hope Wallace is having a better Thanksgiving than I am. It seems like he is. I take a picture of myself pouting and send it to him, saying, Aw, the cutest of cute couples.<br />...<br />Another picture from Wallace waits for me. In this one, an empty pie pan littered withcrumbs sits on the floor beside a large knife. Wallace kneels next to it with morecrumbs on his sweater, expression horrified.<br /><br />NOOOO<br /><br />WHAT HAVE I DONE<br /><br />MY LOVE<br /><br />OUR MARRIAGE<br /><br />’TIS ALL FOR NAUGHT<br /><br />I text back: Oh no!! Not sweet potato bride!<br /><br />Another picture comes: Wallace sprawled on the floor beside the pie pan, one arm thrown over his eyes.<br /><br />Let me only be accused of loving her too much.<br /><br />Wallace is definitely having a better Thanksgiving than me.