Pumpkin Pie

FEATURED in the DRAMA Newsletter DTD: 19 NOV 2008.

Word count: 2,720


The neighborhood was small and quaint, dotted with old-fashioned victorians and newer cape cod style homes. Rustic yellow, gold, red, and purple leaves swayed precariously on the maple and oak trees, threatening to fall off if the mild autumn breeze became a gentle gust.

Miguel drove his little Toyota car down the street, looking for Alyssa Rydell’s house, admiring the beauty of fall in New Hampshire. It was nothing like Miami, where he’d grown up. This was his first autumn here, his father moving to New England when his job transferred him up to Boston. Miami was usually mild all year round. Here though, in Manchester, New Hampshire, September had started with a gentle chill, October grew crisper, causing the leaves to change, and now, early November was frigid. In the mornings, frost overtook his car’s windshield and made his breath white as smoke. He wasn’t used to such quick changes in the weather. Sometimes the cold made him miss Miami’s mild disposition, but as long as he had Alyssa to help him get by, being here wasn’t so bad.

Aly, as she preferred to be called, was his partner in his high school American Studies assignment – to find the first flag of New Hampshire. A couple of weeks ago they had stopped by a pumpkin patch on their way to Portsmouth in search of the flag. Aly bought several pumpkins so her mother could make pies after Halloween. He chuckled to himself, remembering how he had sheepishly admitted to never trying pumpkin pie before. That admission got him an invitation to her house as long he promised to help make pies. How could he refuse? One thing he noticed about Aly was that she was all work and very focused when they were at school, but every so often, when she was away from campus, working on their assignment, he thought she was very nice and sweet, with a smile that tilted almost perfectly on her face. Her odd, dry sense of humor would make him laugh so hard, he’d get tears in his eyes. He noticed she didn’t have too many friends, a girl named Karen, who wasn’t in the same classes she was, and, well, him. She accepted him unconditionally and he appreciated that.

Her house was a statuesque victorian, gray in color, set a little way back from the street. He pulled up to the curb and parked, growing a little nervous as his eyes raked over the historic facade. Would Aly’s mother be nice? Or would she think he was the type of guy who would do anything to get a date with her daughter? Would she be judgmental because he was different – Latino?

He got out and checked his appearance in the driver’s side window. The collar of his polo shirt bent under itself and he flipped it back. His khaki pants were neat with a sharp crease down the middle of each pant leg. With one last glance, he ran his hands through his thick, black hair and drew in a deep breath for courage.

It’s just Alyssa. She’s nice. I don’t think she likes me like that. After all, she doesn’t have time for a boyfriend. I’m sure her whole family is nice.

With a sharp pivot, he turned up the stone walkway that led to her house and took a lively step onto the porch, ringing the doorbell.

Time hung in the air. The porch floor creaked when he swayed back and forth. His heart began to thump. More than anything, he wanted to make a good impression.

“Meow.”

Miguel practically jumped out of his shoes!

“Meow.”

He looked at his feet and discovered a fluffy black tomcat purring against his leg. His lips crooked into a smile.

“Hey, cat, you nearly scared me to death.”

“Meow.”

Miguel bent down and ran his hand over the cat’s fur.

“What’s your name, cat?”

The front door flung open with such vigor, Miguel froze for a second.

“Hi, Miguel. I see you met Fluffy.”

“Aly! Hi, ah…yeah…Fluffy…”

He looked up and her playful smile instantly relaxed him.

“Come here, Fluffy,” said Aly. Fluffy ran into Alyssa’s arms and a spot of white powder fell onto the black cat’s nose. It was then he noticed a clump of flour on her shoulder, and a white dusting on her chin. Her long blonde hair was up in a bun, again, and a cooking apron hung down from her neck, secured around her waist. As he stepped inside, he was assaulted by a warm, yet spicy scent coming from the direction of the kitchen.

“Come on in, Miguel. Gosh, I should have told you to wear a t-shirt and blue jeans. My mom’s turned the kitchen upside down,” she said, motioning for him to follow her while she
lightly petted Fluffy.

Miguel couldn’t help but smile as the cat shook its little face and then sneezed from the flour dust.

“No worries, Aly,” he said, evenly. He fought the temptation to roll his eyes at himself. He wore his best clothes too!

She giggled. “Okay, Mr. Dress-to-impress.”

Miguel put his hands casually into his pants’ pockets as he followed her into the kitchen. He’d never seen one so large. There were two stoves against the far wall, and lots of wooden cabinets hung overhead. In the corner was a refrigerator, and in the middle was a large island with white tile. Across from the island was the kitchen table littered with plastic containers of flour, butter, cream, and salt. Fresh homemade dough draped over two rows of pie pans lined up on the counter space next to the stoves. Spices and gutted pumpkins waited patiently on kitchen cart.

“Mom, this is Miguel,” Aly’s voice announced. “He’s my partner in American Studies.”

Miguel stopped in his tracks next to the island, pulling his eyes away from the cluttered mess. Alyssa’s mom was just as tall as she was, only her fair hair was laced with dull streaks of gray.

“Alyssa, put the cat down and wash your hands. Hi, Miguel, I’m Gail.”

Miguel held out his hand as Alyssa’s mother approached, her eyes welcoming him with no reservations. He breathed a sigh of relief. “Hello, Mrs. Rydell.”

“Alyssa said you’ve never tried pumpkin pie?”

“Ah, no,” he replied nervously.

“I thought everyone had pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving,” she added.

“Well, for Thanksgiving, my Abuelia usually makes carnitas and tamales, and my Tia makes the best flan I’ve ever had.”

Her mother looked at him like she was stumped. “Carnitas?”

“Ah, pork, Mrs. Rydell.”

“It’s slow cooked and simmered, Mom,” Aly said. She put Fluffy back outside through the kitchen door.

“Well, Miguel, you’ll have to show me how to cook it before Thanksgiving so when you come over, you can have some. Right now though, you have to earn your piece of pie. Wash your hands and put on an apron,” Mrs. Rydell said, pointing to an apron hanging over one of the kitchen chairs.

“Ah…are you inviting me over for Thanksgiving?”

“If you’d like to come. Bring your family, we’d love to have them,” she added.

Miguel looked at Aly who bit her lip. He didn’t think her mother would actually ask him and his family for the holiday!

“Ah, sure, Mrs. Rydell. I’ll talk to my Dad and ask him.”

“Good.”

He watched Alyssa’s mother walk over to the stoves and begin adjusting racks, as he walked to the sink with Alyssa. She squirted some soap on her hands and ran them under the warm water.

“Your mom is very nice, but I didn’t think…” he began quietly.

“She thinks we’re dating,” Aly whispered.

“What?” he croaked.

“Well, you are the first boy I’ve ever asked over. I tried to explain to her that we’re JUST friends, but she doesn’t get that…” Aly added quietly. “Do you think you could come?”

“I think so. There’s not enough time for Dad and I to fly down to Miami and then come back. He has to work on Friday,” Miguel explained. He lathered up his hands and washed them as Aly dried hers off.

“So, ah, what’s next?” he asked.

“The filling,” she said, smiling at him.

Miguel’s heart tripped at her smile. He was the first boy she’d ever asked over? Was it possible he was making headway with her? When she was at school, Aly was so focused on her work and rarely smiled. He’d never met a girl like her. She was smart, but very intense, and hardly ever let her hair down. The corner of his lips crooked into a grin as he put on his apron noting that, even now, she wore her hair up.

Aly tied the apron around his waist and they walked over to the kitchen table.

“Okay, I’m ready to learn the secrets of pie making,” Miguel announced.

“Aly, you and Miguel make the filling, okay? I need to adjust these racks,” chimed Mrs. Rydell.

“Yes, mom.”

The kitchen table was adorned with brown sugar, pecans, sticks of butter, a cartoon of eggs, and various small jars of spices. He picked up one, opened the lid, and sniffed, almost choking on it’s warm, spicy scent.

“What is this?”

“Silly,” Aly scolded him, a twinkle in her eye, “it’s nutmeg.”

“Oh.”

She uncovered a big mixing bowl of mashed up orange pumpkin meat. His nose wiggled. Pumpkin smelled warm, too, yet mild – like it needed something liven it up. His eyes cut to Aly. Aly needed something warm, yet spicy to liven her up, too.

She put two cups of the pumpkin meat into a smaller bowl. “Did you know pumpkin is really a squash?”

“No, I didn’t. How much nutmeg?”

“Half a teaspoon. The Spaniards discovered it when they landed in Central America…” she continued.

“Miguel! Do me a favor and add an extra shake or two,” Mrs. Rydell called over her shoulder.

“Yes, Ma’m.”

He measured the nutmeg and added and extra shake, leaning over toward Aly. “You know, your mom seems to be taking this boyfriend thing really well.”

“She’s just focused. The oven racks have to be just the right height.”

Miguel pursed his lips, noticing how Aly seemed to avoid the issue. “She’s like you – when you’re at school you’re very focused, you know.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. I just know what I want, that’s all. Add a half teaspoon of allspice.”

Miguel grabbed the allspice and sniffed, wrinkling his nose. “This is some potent stuff. It’s really…spicy.”

“Then we need two-thirds cup of brown sugar…” she continued.

He tried not to look exasperated as he measured the brown sugar. “So…what do you want?”

“From what?”

“School!”

“A scholarship,” she announced, finally looking up.

“Well, you keep it up, and no one will ask you to the prom,” he replied.

“Keep what up? Add one teaspoon of cinnamon,” she continued, stirring the mixture of spices and meat while he added the ingredients.

“Keep acting like little miss focused.”

She frowned at him. He didn’t like that.

“Okay, I might ask you, but only if this pie is mouth watering delicious like my grandmother’s carnitas,” he quickly added.

“You are such a tease, Miguel. Would you really? After all, we are JUST friends.”

“I might.”

“Add two cups of cream,” she said.

He took a measuring cup and poured the cream. It smelled sweet and inviting as he poured into the mix. “Well, since you only want to be JUST friends, I’d think I’d be a very safe date for you,” he said, smiling.

“Add two eggs.”

He hit two eggs on the side of the bowl to crack
them.

“Miguel?” she asked.

“Yes?”

“If you asked, I might say yes,” she replied.

“Really? You’d go? With me?”

“I’d think about it,” she quickly added.

“Lighten up, Aly. Don’t be like the pumpkin meat.”

“Huh?” she raised an eyebrow, as he wiped his hands against each other.

“I thought pumpkin was pretty mild, but now that it has all this stuff in it, it’s kinda of exciting. You need some excitement in your life.”

“You’re a bold one, Miguel.”

“I’m Latino. I’m gonna’ tell you like it is,” he added.

She dropped her mouth and he knew he had her. Her mother walked over and looked at the finished product. “What are you two talking about?”

“Schoolwork,” Aly answered.

Mrs. Rydell smiled at him. “Well, you must be a smart boy to be in the honor classes with Aly, Miguel.”

He tried not to blush. “Dad says I have to do well in school if I want a good job like him. So…ah, is the pie ready to bake?”

“Just one more thing,” Mrs. Rydell said, reaching into the pocket of her apron. She pulled out a small, metal flask and poured a clear, coconut scented liquid into the mix.

“So…what’s that?” he asked.

“It’s my special ingredient. It adds a little kick,” Mrs. Rydell smiled. Miguel noticed Aly nodded her head, like she knew the secret. “Can you get one of those pie pans from the counter, Miguel?”

He went to the counter and returned with a pan. Aly scooped the filling over the fresh dough and her mother topped it with fresh pecans. Then she took it to the oven. Miguel leaned over and whispered. “Why did you nod your head like that?”

“Her secret ingredient is a splash of rum.”

Miguel chucked. “That’s my aunt’s secret ingredient for her flan!”

Aly laughed, too. Then she got serious and just stared at him. “You know, you’re a really nice guy, Miguel,” she said softly.

He blushed at her compliment.

“Come on, you two, I need you make another batch of filling,” Mrs. Rydell called out from the stove.

“Yes, mom.”

Miguel stirred the meat as Aly added the ingredients. Despite their differences, growing up world’s apart, they seemed to click. The hour flew by as they mixed spices and pumpkin meat to make ten pies. Aly’s mother explained they would keep two for Thanksgiving, and the others she would take back to the pumpkin patch where Alyssa bought the pumpkins. There they would be sold for a tidy little profit.

When the pies were finally done, hours later, Miguel noticed the sun was starting to set. Knowing his father would be home soon, he announced that he’d have to be leaving. He didn’t want his dad to worry about him, after all, it was just the two of them. His mother had passed away five years ago.

“But, Miguel! You have to try a piece now!” Aly protested.

“I agree,” her mother added. She walked over to the counter and cut a slice for him. Then she put it down on the table in front of him. Aly and her mother sat down next to him and looked on intently. He felt under a lot of pressure not only to taste it, but say that he really liked it, as their eyes seemed to bore into him.

“Go on, Miguel…” Aly prodded.

He put his hands on the table. “Um, maybe you could give me a little space?”

Mrs. Rydell stood up. “I’ll just go…wash some dishes. Why don’t you help me dry them, Aly?”

“Sure, mom.”

Miguel watched them walk to the sink and start running water. That was better. He broke off a piece with his fork and brought it up his lips. It smelled heavenly. After savoring it’s spicy fragrance, he tipped it into his mouth.
Mild, it stirred his taste buds as the tantalizing pumpkin came alive in his mouth. The texture seemed to melt under his tongue.

“Wow! This is really good, Mrs. Rydell.”

“Good. I’m glad you were able to come over and help Aly and I bake,” she said.

Miguel smiled. He was glad, too. It was fun hanging out with Aly without the pressures of school, and he didn’t mind one bit if her mother thought he was her boyfriend. After today, he felt very encouraged.

“So, when do you want to learn how to make carnitas, Mrs. Rydell?”

“Next week? Is that good for you, Aly? Do you have any plans?” her mother teased her.

“Next week is fine, mom,” she replied. She looked at Miguel and winked. He winked right back.