Page 92 of Why Cheese?
“I can see that, Violette. Is this supposed to be you?” she asks, flipping it around.
I freeze before I touch the photo frame and look down at me sitting on the bench in the park. Brie put so much detail and heart into it, just looking at it makes my heart melt. “Yeah.”
“It’s a terrible likeness,” my mother says. “Trite trash.” She winds up to hurl it into the wastebasket. My arms reach out to catch it, but she pauses. “No. This belongs in the dumpster. Not somewhere where a perverted janitor could find it later.”
My mother’s claws dig into the painting. She raises her nose and stomps toward the door. “Close the shop. We’re done for the day.”
“It’s only four-fifteen,” I say even while following behind her. I strip off my apron and lay my gloves on the counter for the guys to find. As I shove open the door, my mother pauses and stares at me.
“So? Lock up, Violette, while I dispose of this.”
Biting my lip, I blindly fish out my keys while watching my mother approach the dumpster.Please don’t break it. Please don’t rip it.
She holds the painting in both of her hands like she’s about to snap the wood in half. I hold my breath, wincing. With a sneer, my mother hurls the canvas into the dumpster and slams the lid shut. Outside, my face is neutral and blank. Inside, I’m screaming.
Brie’s going to hate me. He’ll think I hate him. That I don’t love the painting. That I don’t love him…painting.
“Are you finished locking up?” my mother asks. “Or are you being weird again?”
“I’m…” I turn the lock five times fast while she stands over my shoulder watching. With the last one, I breathe a sigh of relief. At least they won’t die in a fire tonight.
My mother snorts. “Why couldn’t I have a normal child?”
“Sorry, Mom.” My usual spiel after she’s caught a ritual falls out of me without thinking. All my focus is on the dumpster.Maybe they’ll find it. Maybe they’ll save it. Maybe…
“Violette!”
“Coming, Mom.”
I hurl the dumpster lid up and strain on my tiptoes. “Come on, it’s gotta be in here.” My phone’s weak flashlight darts through the black bags of cheese waste and whatever comes from the store next door.Nothing, nothing. There!
The light catches on a corner of the sun. It’s the painting and it looks in good shape. No coffee or chocolate cake hit it. Unfortunately, it’s fallen to the bottom of the dumpster. I try to reach, but I can’t even touch it. Turning to the side and straining with all I have, my nails scrape the edge of the canvas.
Yes. Just a little more. No!
My finger sends the painting tumbling deeper into the garbage abyss. Exhausted, I slam both of my palms to the dumpster’s lip and shout, “Damn it!”
Hands sweep around my waist, and I’m flying into the air. “Ahh!” I flail, grabbing a bag of trash to hit my attacker.
A voice I haven’t heard in a week asks, “Does this help?” Cheddy’s got me. He hoisted me up without question.
“A little lower,” I say, bending half over and straining for the painting. “Just a bit more.” Cheddy’s hands slip down my stomach until he’s clinging to my upper thigh. I’m more than half inside the dumpster, doing my best to not breathe in old milk and rotting cheese.
“Yes!” I hook a finger under the canvas and tug the painting to my chest. “Okay, pull me up.”
Cheddy slips one hand up my chest and another under my ass. Sandwiched between his palms, I rise out of the dumpster like a stinky phoenix and land on my feet in front of him. Cheddy opens his arms for a hug, but I pause before giving it. Not only do I reek of garbage, I’m also holding the fragile painting.
He stares down at my hands and scratches his head. “Is that Brie’s?”
There’s no denying it, so I turn it around. “Yes.”
Cheddy looks to the dumpster then back at me. “How’d it get in there?”
“An accident,” I say.
“Well. Good thing you found it.” Despite me being covered in gross garbage water, Cheddy scoops his arm under my ass, pulls me to my tiptoes, and kisses me. His smile stretches from ear to ear as he stares into my eyes. “I like looking at it.”
“Me too,” I whisper, in awe at how natural a giant cheese-man’s touch feels. I’m not shaking or blushing in terror.
