How to Bake the Perfect Pecan Pie (18 page)

“What are you talking about? Here, can you help me trim the green beans.” She offers me the black scissors, as if I would be a willing accomplice to her crime.

“No way. I’m not going to be any part of your green bean casserole charade.” I pour myself some more wine.

“Oh come on. They won’t even be able to tell the difference.” She laughs. “Other than it will taste way better than that processed garbage.” Megan snips the ends of the green beans like she’s on a mission. Which she is, if my mother notices what Megan has done, there will be a huge uproar in the Hauser house.

“Megan, I know you can make something better, but have you ever thought about what that recipe might mean to mom and grandmother? You know how much sights, smells, and taste bring you pleasure in cooking, have you thought about what the old green bean casserole recipe might do for them?” I take another sip of my wine.

Megan purses her lips and shakes her head. “When did you become so wise?” She places the scissors down on the counter. “Now, I feel bad. You’re probably right.”

I roll my lips and raise my eyebrows.

“Now what? Crap.” Megan snatches the empty containers from the counter and tosses them in the recycle bin. She places her pointer finger on her lip and begins pacing.

“Let’s check the pantry, I wouldn’t be surprised if mom bought the ingredients for you, just in case.”

We both dash to the pantry and scan the shelves.

“I’ve got the canned green beans,” Megan squeals. This is probably the only time Megan has ever gotten excited about a canned vegetable.

“I’ve got the mushroom soup!” I wave it in my hand.

“Okay, two down, one to go…” Megan runs her fingers along each of the far shelves, while I work the front ones. There is every type of pasta and bean, but no crispy onions.

“I don’t see them, Lauren.” Megan moves to my section to double check my work.

“I don’t either.” I skim the last row in the back.

“Crap. Now what? The stores are closed.” Megan slumps down to the floor. I join her.

“Well we tried.” I pat her arm.

“Yea, but not really, I messed this up.”

The lights in the pantry go out. Something rolls across the floor and hits my leg.

I scream and we both jump to our feet. We can’t make it the door fast enough. My parents have never had rodents, but now is not the time for an inspection. I switch on the lights to the pantry.

Our eyes both make contact on a cylinder object, lying on the floor.

We face each other. “Mom?” Megan asks.

“Maybe.” I pick up the can and hand it to her.

“You open the cans, I’ll get the dish ready.” Megan is hurrying around the kitchen trying to fix her green bean casserole charade as she hunts down the pan, my mom prefers to use. It’s shaped like a green bean who is dressed like a golfer, and at the top it reads “Read the Green”.

I pop open the cans and Megan shakes the beans into the dish.

“So what’s the deal with Jack? Does he live here?” Megan asks as she spreads the soup over the green beans.

“Yes, which is the problem.” I open the crispy onions.

“Why? Brian and I did the long-distance thing when I was getting my MBA.”

“I know, but I tried with Scott and it didn’t work. I don’t want to go through that again.” I finish the remainder of my wine. I pick up some Havarti cheese from the antipasto platter and take a bite.

“So what, maybe you and Scott weren’t meant to be together.” She sprinkles the crispy onions over the casserole.

“Obviously, but I don’t know Jack and I’m leaving Sunday. I don’t want to even see where it might lead.” I pour some more wine in each of our glasses.

“Liar,” Megan says and puts the casserole in the oven.

I pick my mouth up from the floor. “What do you mean?”

“Lauren, you wear your emotions on your sleeve, you clearly care about him.” She presses thirty minutes on the timer.

“How could that be possible? I just met him.” I lift an artichoke heart from the platter. I hold my hand underneath it as I take a bite. Mmm, olive oil and garlic, kosher salt and, what is that, red pepper?

“Sometimes you have to go with your heart.” Megan laughs as I stuff the rest of the artichoke in my mouth. It’s really too big of a bite, but now I’ve committed to it, I have to go all in.

“She’s right Lauren.” Aurora waddles into the kitchen with her eyes on the antipasto platter.

I crinkle my eyebrows. Since when has Aurora ever sided with Megan?

“What?”

Aurora stuffs a big slice of salami, most likely two pieces into her mouth, without waiting for her mouth to clear. “About going with your heart.” She chews some more.

Megan’s eyes are on her bowl filled with rising dough. If it was anyone else speaking, she would turn and give them her attention, but she along with me are not fans of seafood, the kind that rolls around in one’s mouth while they chew and talk concurrently. I lock on Aurora’s eyes and keep my gaze above the tip of her nose.

“Luke and I are totally opposites on the Myer Briggs test, but yet we mold together so well.” Aurora rubs her lips together and nods.

“Yea, I guess they say opposites attract.” Megan lets out a small laugh. She rolls out the dough and balls it in her hands before placing it on her greased baking pan.

“Joke all you want, but I was concerned about getting serious with Luke. We come from such different backgrounds. Our families…” She snatches a mozzarella ball and tosses it in her mouth. “Our families are like, like we came from two different planets.” Aurora tosses another mozzarella ball in her mouth. “You know what I mean?”

My eyes are strained. I do know what she means as we met her entire family at Luke and Aurora’s wedding, but I find it interesting she has this notion figured out. The majority of the time she seems to be lost in her own world. Maybe, I have misjudged her all these years. I stare down into my wine glass.

“I think you and Luke make a great couple. But it’s not like Jack and I are opposites, at least not from what I know at this point.” I take a sip of my wine.

Megan sticks the pan of doughy rolls into the oven. Wafts of the stuffing and green bean casserole fill the room.

“Just go with your heart.” Aurora snags a couple artichoke hearts and stuffs her mouth as she waddles back to the living room. She has bragged before about her mouth dimensions, but this is really something else. Maybe she should enter a hot dog eating contest.

“How’s dinner coming along?” My mom shuffles to the oven with her baster in hand. She pries open the lower oven. Buttery turkey scents fill the room. My stomach growls. With the baster she sucks up some of the pan drippings and douses the top of the turkey with it. She completely covers the turkey with the juices from the bottom of the pan and closes the oven.

“Great, mom, we’re looking at a five o’clock start time, how about the turkey?” Megan peers into the oven.

“Ah ah…keep your fingers away from the turkey until dinner.” My mom pokes Megan’s side.

“I was just admiring the color, it’s really beautiful, the right shade of golden brown.” Megan puts her hand on my mom’s shoulder.

“Thank you, dear.” They form a tight embrace. I’m left out and so I wrap my arms around the two of them. I sigh, this is home. We’ve hugged so many times the three of us. Luke has never been one for the group hug but sometimes we’ve managed to squeeze him in between us. Especially when we were in high school and in front of his friends. He would make a big deal about it and complain but deep down I’m sure he really enjoyed the affection.

“That’s what I like to see, my girls hugging in the kitchen.” My dad struts into the kitchen making a bee line for the antipasto platter. The game must be on half-time. He doesn’t leave his huge leather boy lazy chair unless it’s half-time or a commercial break. He swipes up several slices of salami and takes a big bite.

“Oh Martin, don’t get all chauvinistic with us.” My mom releases us and gives my father a playful shove.

He grabs her hand and pulls her in for a kiss. She giggles.

Megan and I both stick our index fingers in our mouth and pretend to vomit. The ding from the timer breaks up the longer peck they typically share. Megan slips on my mom’s turkey oven mitt. It has large googly eyes which spin around as you move and a little word bubble that reads “Is it getting hot in here or is it just me?” My mom walks over to the wine clock on the wall. Each number is replaced with a glass filled with wine and at the top of the hands reads “Always”.

My mom taps on the merlot. “Fifteen minutes, until show time.”

Megan crinkles her eyebrows. “Showtime, mom really? You’re not doing another show this year? After what happened last time, I thought grandmother had convinced you no more.”

“It’s alright Megan, this year the show is only having two young performers,” my grandmother says as she struts over to Megan and brushes her arm. “Now, where’s that green bean casserole? I could smell it from the living room.”

Megan beams back at my grandmother and opens the top oven and pulls out the green bean casserole. “Here it is.” She offers it to my grandmother to have a VIP view.

“Oh my Megan, it looks delicious!” My grandmother squeezes Megan’s arm.

“Thank you.” Megan leans her head against my grandmother’s and then closes the oven door. She parades with it out of the kitchen and into the dining room.

My mom peeks in the bottom oven and presses the off button. “Let me round up the performers. The turkey can sit for just a minute.” She rushes into the living room.

“Have you heard from Jack?” My grandmother nudges me.

“What?” I squint my eyes at her.

“Lauren, your hearing is really beginning to concern me. Do you wear headphones at work?” My grandmother tilts her head to the right with an inspecting gaze.

“Ah, yes, but, how would I have heard from him?”

“I called Vintage Estates and left a message for him to call you here.” My grandmother beams at me.

“Why would you do that?” I jerk my head back. I cannot believe my grandmother is trying to meddle this much.

“Darling, I saw the two of you together in the dining room, you don’t want him to slip away.” My grandmother leaves me and my open mouth in the kitchen as she stalks to find her seat at the table.

“Okay kids, you wait in here with Aunt Lauren, and I’ll give the cue. I just need to take the turkey out of the oven first.” My mom leads Winter and River to the back of the kitchen and into the pantry. I turn to face the opposite wall. I don’t want to laugh. Children take everything literally and if they hear me laughing they might misinterpret my giggles, and not go along with the performance my mom has created for them. Usually, she is a one-woman act, but last year she used flames in her performance and caught the curtains on fire. My dad went nuts about it and she promised not to have any more Thanksgiving performances before the dinner.

After I have given myself several deep breaths I know I can face them without laughing. I stride into the pantry to join them as my mother is no doubt gathering everyone into the dining room. I inspect their costumes while biting the inside of my mouth.

Winter is dressed like a female version of John Travolta in
Saturday Night Fever
, with a white polyester suit completed with matching vest and black collared shirt. Her feet are adorned with black platform shoes. River is wearing a full-bodied turkey costume. My mom has left his precious face make-up free and around his neck is a gold chain, hanging from it is a gold circle which reads “I’m Stayin Alive”.

I cannot hide my smile, they look adorable…I don’t know where my mother comes up with these ideas. As if on cue she opens the door. “It’s time.” She turns the light off and presses a button on her remote which controls the stereo system Brian installed. The contraption is odd looking but it does work. The sound of percussions and bass guitar play through the speakers as Winter begins shaking her hips and pointing in the air. She takes after my mother in her theatrical talent. River follows behind her making similar movements but not with the same rhythm or gusto.

They dance their way into the dining room, where my entire family is seated with grand smiles across their faces, they too know not to let out a chuckle. Winter dances her way to Luke and Aurora and stops. “Whether you’re a brother,” she points at Luke and back to River, “or whether you’re a mother,” she points to Aurora, “you’re—”

“Stayin Alive.” River jumps in the air.

“Feel the table is set.” Winter points to the plates and then back in the air. “And everybody is shakin.” She motions for us to join in on the pointing.

“And we’re—” She points in the air.

“Stayin Alive.” River jumps. Everyone else joins in “Stayin Alive.” We all point in the air.

My mom peeks her head around the corner “Ah, ha ha.”

“Stayin Alive.” River jumps.

“Stayin Alive,” we all sing.

“Ah, ha, ha, ha, not today turkey.” My mom glides into the dining room with the golden brown turkey on her sleeping turkey platter and places it in front of my dad.

“Well done, well done.” My grandmother claps her hands. Aurora scoops River into her arms and kisses his head.

“That was rock star, you guys.” Luke opens both his palms for high fives from the kids.

“I’m impressed, you two were outstanding.” Megan claps her hands and holds up a glass of wine. She scoots her chair back and stands. She is stealing the first toast of the meal. As the night goes on our toasts get more and more wordy.

“Hear hear to Winter and River for a great Thanksgiving performance and mom for being an amazing director, I think this has been the best performance ever. Luke and Aurora, great job on these two. Grandmother, I’m so happy you’re here to enjoy this great moment with us. Brian, my dear husband, you surprise me every day with your wisdom and love.” She leans down and kisses Brian, a small sign of affection, we made a pact after Luke and Aurora hooked up, we would never act like anything remotely close to their PDA-palooza. “Dad, I heard from Buddy that you played a great game today.” She raises up her glass to him. “And Lauren, dear Lauren you’re my baby sister and I hope that next year you will be asking for an additional seat at the table.”