Pie
She made me pie.
I mentioned off the top of my head the other day that I liked apple pie. I explained how my sister used to make me apple pie for my birthday every year when I was in college because she was the only family near me at my birthday and I loved apple pie. So tonight, when she came over just to hang out before going out of town, she made me an apple pie. Crust from scratch with stars on it and covered in course sugar and as sweet as anything can make it.
We just sat with the television on, though we didn’t watch it really. Mainly, we looked at each other. Somehow in two days I’d forgotten how beautiful she is. How captivating her eyes are as they shift from blue to green like precious gems from a lost kingdom swallowed by the encroaching jungle. Her deep, throaty laugh makes me want to be wittier and more charming than I have a right to expect to be. I’m learning to smile and say thank you when she tells me how handsome I am. I don’t see it myself, but, then, I’ve never seen my good qualities as clearly as those around me, so I’m learning to internalize it.
Hilda, of course, was jealous. Oh, she was put off for a bit by the treats that came with the pie, but we both knew it wouldn’t last forever. Doc was around early on, but made himself scarce when it was so obvious that we were going to end up ignoring him anyway, poor guy. But, honestly, who could compete with an almost six-foot, blue-eyed blonde that makes me apple pie from scratch?
Oh, one small note, though, she found the blog. She admitted it to me this evening with a guilty red-faced look. Apparently, she’d been Googleing my name and, well, up it popped. She read some, but felt guilty and stopped. But, she fessed up right away, so I told her to go ahead and read. After all, it’s nothing but sunshine and light right now anyway. Besides, she said she liked my writing…
