How To Bake The Perfect Pecan Pie. Gina Calanni
off. I bet she has all of her current recipes color-coded and exact times listed in the margins of when to do what.
“Hey now, just cause me and my little flower petal still have the love after all these years, doesn’t mean you have to be jealous.” Luke kisses Aurora once more on the lips but it’s actually a peck.
“Yea, that’s it Luke…I’m jealous.” Megan air quotes.
“Hey, all I’m saying is we’ve still got the love, still got the love we made,” he sings.
I laugh. “Luke, I never took you for a Reba McEntire fan.”
Luke takes the carafe from the holder. “Lauren, you would be surprised what you might like if you open your mind…maybe even find yourself a guy.” He twirls the liquid into his cup as if he is a barista at Starbucks. “Isn’t that right, babe?” He glances back at Aurora.
Aurora nods her head. “That’s right baby, you just have to open your mind to see all the things your mind was meant to see.” She rubs her lips together. I’m not sure if this is a cue for another make-out session either way, I need to exit this room.
I take a swig of my coffee and head for the door. “I should go say hi to Winter and River, before I leave.” I turn the knob, hoping for a quick exit.
“Where are you going?” Aurora stuffs the rest of the second muffin into her mouth.
Darn…almost made it. “I have some Thanksgiving errands to run—a few things to pick up at the store. That’s all,” I say, trying to be vague. I’d normally ask if anyone else needs or wants me to pick something up for them. But Aurora never needs anything simple. It’s always some rare health food find, and I already have to make two stops before the stores close.
“Would you mind picking up some loose decaffeinated oolong tea for me?” Aurora rubs her tummy and picks up her fork to plow more food into her mouth. Luke eyes her stomach as if he wants to rub it as well.
“Mom, where’s the bacon, my little flower petal needs to fill up.” Luke raises his cup in the air.
“Oh honey, it’s all gone. We’ll make sure to have extra for tomorrow’s breakfast.” My mom picks up her pencil and crosses off a note on the side of her game.
“Um, let me look at my list as well.” Megan checks her binder. “Oh I see here on my grocery list, I’ve already bought everything. I guess that’s what happens when you plan things properly.” She shrugs her shoulders and flashes her teeth at me in her quasi-business-to-customer-speak-smile.
“Well, I just found out last night I was making the pie.” I cock my head at Megan.
“Oh, poor Worwen just found out about the peecahn piiie,” Megan says in her fakest baby-talk voice.
“Megs, you know green is not a good color on you.” I wink at her.
Megan laughs. “You’re right and I’m actually glad that you are taking part in the meal this year.” She pulls me in for a side hug and kisses my head. Jasmine, cucumber, and roses invade my nose. Poppy, her favorite perfume. I squeeze her back. Having her acceptance and support means a lot.
I glance back at Aurora. Obviously, I can’t say no to a possibly pregnant woman. “Could you just write down what you need? I don’t want to forget.”
My dad walks into the kitchen wearing a big smile, a navy polo shirt and khaki shorts. “Hey, it’s the bird, come give me kiss.” He motions me toward him. I smooch his cheek and we hug, the kind of hug I really like. My favorite kind of hug, one from my dad. He has just the right amount of embrace, its firm but not too crushing.
“So, Grandmother wants me to make the pecan pie this year.” My mouth opens into a wide grin. I am quite proud that she has requested this task of me. Pecan pie is a big deal for Thanksgiving in most American houses, but for mine it is the crème de le crème of Thanksgiving. If the pecan pie didn’t happen it would be like Thanksgiving was a trial run and we would have to redo the entire dinner again. Which wouldn’t be the worst thing, I’m sure everyone would appreciate eating the rest of the meal a second time. But regardless, if I mess up the pie, it will not go over well. I can’t say I’m not nervous about it. I’ve never made a pie in my life. The last time I baked something, or rather the last time I tried to bake something, was in Home Economics and it turned out awful. My teacher said she could smell the incorrect substitution of baking powder for baking soda. She went into great detail about her trained nose. I’m not sure if this is even conceivable, but I have not forgotten the hard muffins I pulled out of the oven and had to toss in the trash. “No birds would eat those Lauren, you could kill them.” I shake my head. Is it possible for a baking soda/powder change to actually kill something?
“Well, then you better get on it, you know the stores close early today. Which reminds me, I’ve got to run to Golfsmith. I’m getting low on balls.” My dad leans in and kisses my mom on the lips. After thirty years of marriage, they are still as affectionate as ever. I appreciate that they love each other and all, but seeing more PDA, is not exactly something I look forward to on my visits home. However, my parents keep theirs to pecks vs make-out sessions like Luke and Aurora. I can’t imagine kissing a guy in front of my family.
“Oh, yeah I remember Luke mentioning something about your swing being off the last time we were here.” Aurora shovels a ton of eggs into her mouth. All eyes were on her, not a good idea to mention my dad’s swing being off. Yikes. I’m not going to stick around to see how that plays out. I take that as my cue and exit quickly.
I run outside. Darn. I want to see Winter and River before I leave for the store. Hopefully the tension in the kitchen will have cleared by the time I have to pass through again and possibly I can avoid any other items Aurora or the maybe-baby might need.
“Aunt Lauren!” Winter and River scream and run toward me. They’re playing near the tree that Brian has used to build their tree house. The sight isn’t pretty. There are all different-sized wood planks, some with jagged edges. Some of them appear to have been sanded down. Yet, there isn’t a similar-sized piece of wood in the bunch. Did he even use any building plans or simply cut up some wood and begin nailing? Hopefully my mother will say something regarding the safety of this thing. Surely, she knows that monstrosity will only come crashing to the ground once anything heavier than a toothpick is placed on it. The sharp edges impaling— No, I don’t even want that visual.
“Hi, Winter. Hi, River. How are you?” I squeeze their small little bodies tight. Winter is almost a mini-version of Aurora except the eyes, she has Luke’s chocolate eyes and River is an exact replica of Luke, same dark curly brown hair with matching eyes. They couldn’t possibly be any cuter. Luke and Aurora definitely make great looking kids.
“We’re good. Can you play with us?” Winter’s auburn buns wobble just above her ears. I guess it’s mother-daughter buns this year.
“Oh, I wish I could, but… You’re it!” I tag her and take off running in the opposite direction. My heels aren’t the best for running in grass, but I’ve already committed to this game. I can’t disappoint those darling little faces. I try and run on my toes to avoid getting stuck in the grass.
She squeals with delight and chases after me, forgetting River is an easy target. He seems to wobble back and forth in place not quite sure what do to. He’s only three. Figuring out how tag works is still something new to him. Winter on the other hand is an expert at the wise old age of five and she seems to be gaining on me. We race several circles around the yard, and then she eyes River and moves in on her prey.
“Tag. You’re it!” she yells at River, almost knocking him over.
He glances up and races toward me. I pretend to rush in the opposite direction and fall in the yard. He tackles me, and I’m squashed to the ground. I’m thankful my parents did not run their sprinkler today. The ground is dry.
“Tag. You’re it!” he yells with so much excitement that he spits a bit on my cheeks.
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