Gina Calanni - How To Bake The Perfect Pecan Pie

“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.

I wipe the saliva off my face and stand up. “Okay. To be continued.” As much as I would love playing tag all day, I’ve got to get the pie made. I brush the grass from my skirt and wipe my shoes off on the doormat. It’s my dad’s favorite football team. His friend Buddy gave it to him for Christmas last year and said “now you can walk all over the boys, just like everybody else.” I’m surprised my dad is using it. However, I wouldn’t be surprised if my dad hasn’t given Buddy a similar gift for his rival team. When I make it back to the kitchen door, Aurora is drinking coffee. Isn’t that a pregnancy no-no ?

Aurora rubs her belly and gives me her list. Tea is not the only item. Time is of the essence, so I decide not to argue over the additional items. I take the list as I make my famous closed-mouth smile.

I go upstairs, give myself the once over in the mirror, eye make-up is great, but perhaps a dab more of gloss. I swipe the brush of my Cranberry Heaven across my lips and toss the tube back in my purse. I swing the straps over my shoulder and turn the knob. I close the door to my room, I don’t want the young detective duo of Winter and River to rummage through my things in search of dress-up clothes. I take two steps in the hallway. Megan’s voice is coming through her bedroom door, it almost sounds like she is in an argument.

“I just don’t want her to mess up the pie.”

“You have to give her a little faith.”

“Brian, you have no idea, what you are talking about. Lauren is not a baker. The pecan pie is a big deal. Everyone will be really upset, especially Grandmother and I don’t want her to have her feelings hurt. You know Grandmother isn’t doing well and she probably gave the letter to Lauren by accident.”

“Megan…you know the letter was written to Lauren, give her a chance, she might surprise you.”

“Maybe, but I think it’s best if I take out an insurance policy for her.”

“What are you saying?”

“Maybe, I’ll make a pie and hide it in case hers doesn’t turn out.”

“That’s a bad idea.” Brian opens the door to Megan’s room.

My eyes are about to pop out of my head. I take in a deep breath.

“Oh, hey Lauren…uh…”

I shake my head. “It’s okay, I’d feel the same way if I was her.” I suck the insides of my cheeks in. I’m not going to cry. Not over pecan pie. I rush past the door and charge down the stairs as fast as I can without falling. I hustle to the door. A car. I need a vehicle.

“Mom, can I borrow your car?” I wipe a lone tear from my lash. It’s not really crying if it’s only one.

“Sure, honey. The keys are in my purse, you better hurry, remember what your dad said, the stores close early today,” she yells back at me from the kitchen.

As I grab the keys from her turkey beaded purse, I push the home button on my phone. Yikes . It’s almost noon. I do not need any more setbacks. A tear drops from my other lash. I will not cry over pecan pie . Ha! That rhymes. I hop into my mom’s car and inhale. She always has a flavorful car scent, I check out the dangling piece of cardboard shaped like a pie hanging from her rearview mirror, pecan. I take a deep breath and put the car in reverse. My map program searches for the address as I back the car out of the driveway on the hunt for the best pecans in Texas.

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