over the bluffs, and gently through the snow. The day had started. It would bring what it would bring.
Mom said she could do it totally herself. She had even given Meg the kitchen and was lounging in the bathtub taking a soaking bath. “As long as someone’s doing something, I can relax,” she had told Meg before she left the room.
Meg did not want to disappoint her mother. This pie had to be perfect. Mom had already made the crust, chilling in the fridge. The one rule Mom had was that Meg should wait until her mother was done with the bath to put the pie in the oven. “I don’t want you to burn yourself,” she said.
The way to start, Meg decided, was to put everything out so you could see it all. She got her favorite bowl, a big red one that would be way big enough to hold the pie filling. Mom had already opened the can of pumpkin, and she set that next to the bowl. Then she lined up the spices: nutmeg, cinnamon, mace, and allspice. Her favorite was nutmeg—it smelled the way she thought a fairy might smell.
She got the salt from the stovetop, and then she needed the sugar. A small bowl of sugar sat next to the stove. The chunks looked kinda big, but she was sure they would melt in the pie filling. She grabbed that and set it next to all her other ingredients. Then she got the measuring devices. She loved the silver chain of spoons, one slightly bigger than the next, and how they all fit together. So sweet.
Now she was ready to go. It was more exciting doing it all by yourself. Total responsibility. She wished Mr. Turner would allow her that. If she home-schooled, she could really learn to cook. Her friend Janie, who home-schooled, did all the baking for her family. She was Meg’s same age, and she made chocolate chip cookies and pies and even cakes that she frosted and everything.
First Meg lifted up the pumpkin can and turned it upside down. Nothing happened. She gave it a couple of good, hard thumps on the bottom, and the orange goop came sliding out. Plop! Gross, she thought. She wondered what it tasted like plain. Meg stuck her finger in and took a taste. Really gross! Like bad baby food.
She was so excited her little cousin was coming over today. Maybe Bridget would let her hold Rachel. She knew she could do it. She was nearly the age where she could babysit. In another year or two, she would probably be baby-sitting Rachel. What a blast! Rachel would really be like her little sister.
Then Meg wondered about Rich’s mother. She was picturing her like the Wicked Witch of the West from
The Wizard of Oz.
Her grandmother June was nice and always smelled like a flower. But Meg could tell that her mother was nervous about Rich’s mother coming and thought maybe it was because she wasn’t very nice. Meg would be on her best behavior.
Carefully Meg started measuring in the spices. They made the mixture turn a darker color. It looked better, more like pumpkin pie should look. Then she cracked in the egg and mixed in the milk. She added the salt and then the sugar.
She thought of trying the mixture again, but decided it would taste so much better when it was all cooked together. Like a chemistry experiment.
“Mom,” she yelled. “It’s all ready.”
“What?” her mother yelled back.
Meg ran to the door of the bathroom. “Can I come in?”
“Sure, sweetie.”
Meg opened the door and, as she stepped into the room, was enveloped in the good-smelling mist from her mother’s bath. Her mother’s hair was up high on her head in a ponytail, and her body was stretched out in the tub.
She didn’t see her naked very often, but her mother wasn’t shy or anything. She walked around in her bra and underpants if it was warm out, sometimes. She didn’t always close the door when she was going to the bathroom. But her mother’s body still surprised her—it was so soft looking with those round breasts. Meg knew she was going to get some, but she didn’t quite believe it.
“I’m done, Mom.”
“Great.
Mom said she could do it totally herself. She had even given Meg the kitchen and was lounging in the bathtub taking a soaking bath. “As long as someone’s doing something, I can relax,” she had told Meg before she left the room.
Meg did not want to disappoint her mother. This pie had to be perfect. Mom had already made the crust, chilling in the fridge. The one rule Mom had was that Meg should wait until her mother was done with the bath to put the pie in the oven. “I don’t want you to burn yourself,” she said.
The way to start, Meg decided, was to put everything out so you could see it all. She got her favorite bowl, a big red one that would be way big enough to hold the pie filling. Mom had already opened the can of pumpkin, and she set that next to the bowl. Then she lined up the spices: nutmeg, cinnamon, mace, and allspice. Her favorite was nutmeg—it smelled the way she thought a fairy might smell.
She got the salt from the stovetop, and then she needed the sugar. A small bowl of sugar sat next to the stove. The chunks looked kinda big, but she was sure they would melt in the pie filling. She grabbed that and set it next to all her other ingredients. Then she got the measuring devices. She loved the silver chain of spoons, one slightly bigger than the next, and how they all fit together. So sweet.
Now she was ready to go. It was more exciting doing it all by yourself. Total responsibility. She wished Mr. Turner would allow her that. If she home-schooled, she could really learn to cook. Her friend Janie, who home-schooled, did all the baking for her family. She was Meg’s same age, and she made chocolate chip cookies and pies and even cakes that she frosted and everything.
First Meg lifted up the pumpkin can and turned it upside down. Nothing happened. She gave it a couple of good, hard thumps on the bottom, and the orange goop came sliding out. Plop! Gross, she thought. She wondered what it tasted like plain. Meg stuck her finger in and took a taste. Really gross! Like bad baby food.
She was so excited her little cousin was coming over today. Maybe Bridget would let her hold Rachel. She knew she could do it. She was nearly the age where she could babysit. In another year or two, she would probably be baby-sitting Rachel. What a blast! Rachel would really be like her little sister.
Then Meg wondered about Rich’s mother. She was picturing her like the Wicked Witch of the West from
The Wizard of Oz.
Her grandmother June was nice and always smelled like a flower. But Meg could tell that her mother was nervous about Rich’s mother coming and thought maybe it was because she wasn’t very nice. Meg would be on her best behavior.
Carefully Meg started measuring in the spices. They made the mixture turn a darker color. It looked better, more like pumpkin pie should look. Then she cracked in the egg and mixed in the milk. She added the salt and then the sugar.
She thought of trying the mixture again, but decided it would taste so much better when it was all cooked together. Like a chemistry experiment.
“Mom,” she yelled. “It’s all ready.”
“What?” her mother yelled back.
Meg ran to the door of the bathroom. “Can I come in?”
“Sure, sweetie.”
Meg opened the door and, as she stepped into the room, was enveloped in the good-smelling mist from her mother’s bath. Her mother’s hair was up high on her head in a ponytail, and her body was stretched out in the tub.
She didn’t see her naked very often, but her mother wasn’t shy or anything. She walked around in her bra and underpants if it was warm out, sometimes. She didn’t always close the door when she was going to the bathroom. But her mother’s body still surprised her—it was so soft looking with those round breasts. Meg knew she was going to get some, but she didn’t quite believe it.
“I’m done, Mom.”
“Great.
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